Episode Ninety-Eight

SO BE HER

Baspin crashes into me and while he's nowhere near as big as Bran or Arion, he still manages to lift me off my feet, then slam me into the ground.

From my left, I hear Arion tell Bran, "Hold back. Let her do this."

Pain radiates out from my spine, through my ribs, squeezing my lungs. I gasp for air.

Snowflakes start falling from the sky.

I'm angry at first. Angry that I was caught off guard even though I know that Baspin's warning, to never let my guard down, should be something I do instinctively, without having to be reminded.

I'm angry that I can't defend myself even though I'm supposed to be this big bad fearsome queen that everyone wants dead because she poses too much of a threat.

The anger is unthinking and before I know it, power is soaring through my body. I clamp my hands on Baspin and push the power through me.

Frost burns up his arms. First, a delicate lace of ice, shimmery in the night, but it quickly turns dangerous, blistering his skin, then turning it a sickly shade of green and black.

Baspin trembles from the pain, but manages to get out, "There you go, princess. Good. Now…where's…the…magic…coming from?"

His question distracts me and I quickly lose hold of the power. The frost retreats, but the bruising remains.

Teeth still chattering, Baspin disentangles himself from me and steps back, shaking out his arms like he's trying to get feeling back in his fingers. He asks again, "Where was the magic coming from?"

I climb to my feet. "I don't know."

"I can tell you that when I worked with your father, his power always started in my chest." He taps over his heart. "It was an icy burn that over several minutes would turn prickly and course through my entire body slowing me down until I was nearly frozen. When you think about it, the power of your voice is similar. It takes control of the body, freezes the nervous system, in a way."

I take in several more breaths, replenishing the oxygen in my lungs. "So you think he targeted the heart and the power would just follow the bloodstream?"

"It makes sense," Bran says behind me. "People want to believe they make decisions with their brain, but the brain loves to be on autopilot. It's the heart that often guides us." He gives me a pointed look as if to say he's fallen victim to his own heart when it comes to me. I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.

"Okay," I say and turn to Baspin again. "So…target your heart?"

"That's only part of it." He smooths back his rumpled white blond hair. "Your power is activated by fear or adrenaline or sometimes both. It's a common trigger. You can target the heart for the fastest result, but you have to ignite the power somehow without relying only on anger."

Baspin raises his hand where blue flames flicker to life.

"What's this?" I ask him, suddenly weary.

"You have to figure out how to access your power, princess."

"Obviously."

He twirls his hand and the blue flames crack like a whip, hitting my arm with a sharp snap.

"Ouch!" The pain is immediate and intense and courses up my arm and across my shoulders before fading at the base of my neck. A big, red welt blooms on my skin.

"How is that supposed to?—"

He hits again, this time on my leg.

"Christ!" I turn away, cringing as pain throbs in my foot.

Again, he snaps out with his blue-flamed magic whipping me across the back.

The sting is so bad, the anger is immediate. I turn and charge at him. He dances to the left, and I miss him entirely. I'm annoyed, and embarrassed. Everyone is watching me fail at this.

I spin around, run at him, but he pulls his hand back, then gestures wildly with it and a deep burn blooms across my midsection.

I'm losing spectacularly.

"Come on, princess," he says.

I grit my teeth. My instinct is to use my voice to render him unmoving, but I'm much better at wielding it than I am the winter power and I can't miss this opportunity to get a handle on it.

Everything is resting on my shoulders and my ability to control my power. Not only so I can use it against the Summer Queen, but so I can stop accidentally using it on the people I love and care about.

I concentrate on my own heart, thinking that if my father targeted that area of the body maybe it was where his power originated.

But before I can get any focus, Baspin hits me again and I fall to my knees as the shock reverberates through my hips.

Blue flames flicker around the clearing and my fear and anxiety at being hit again and feeling another well-spring of pain has me lurching to my feet, hands balled into fists.

The snow falls harder, swirling around us.

"What do you feel?" Baspin asks again.

I'm breathing heavy, a coiled heat in my belly.

At the front is the anger still, the frustration, the embarrassment.

And shame.

Shame at being the daughter of a king who tortured Baspin. The daughter of a woman who betrayed her own court and joined her new husband in trying to overthrow the entire fae realm.

I'm their flesh and blood.

A symbol of their love.

What if I'm destined to become them?

What if everyone's worst fears about me come true?

What if I'm also destined to hurt those I love?

"There it is," Baspin says.

The snow goes sideways and then turns to sleet.

"Whatever you're thinking about right now," he says. "Tell me what it is."

I can feel my chin wobbling as the realization takes over. "I…I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"What if I really am the villain? What if it's impossible to fight it? What if I'm no better than my father, who hurt you again and again?"

Baspin goes still, his blue flame sizzling out. "But Jessie…what if you aren't? You'll never know until you try. Stop getting in your own way. Stop being afraid of your own power."

The sleet blows harder, pelting us in the clearing.

I squint as the wind picks up, whipping my hair in my face.

I spot Bran across the clearing, watching me intently, his eyes bright gold ready to come to my rescue if I need it.

But I don't want to be rescued anymore.

I don't want to fall victim to the anger or the power or the greed for more.

I want to be exactly as I am.

So be her , a voice whispers in my head.

You are a girl first, who deserves the freedom to decide exactly who she is.

You are a princess second, who deserves the chance to prove she is good.

But most importantly, you are a powerful fae, not because you were born to a cruel king, but because you were raised by a family who loved you unconditionally, with everything they had.

You are not your father. You are not your mother.

You are a MacMahon.

And you are a force to be reckoned with.

The wind and the sleet stops abruptly and the clearing is silent.

It's snowing again, but only in one spot. Only around me like I'm my own personal snow globe.

I raise my hand and the snow follows the movement, dancing around my fingers.

I'm controlling it, even though there's no anger, no fear.

Baspin's mouth drops open before curling into a wide grin. But his eyes aren't on me, exactly. His gaze his trained just above my head.

"What is it?" I ask.

Bran appears, phone out. He taps at the screen, then turns it around.

The camera is on and I immediately fill up the screen.

And there, sitting atop my head, is a crown made of ice, glittering in the night.