Chapter 19

CHAPTERNINETEEN

The door won’t open.

Each of us takes a turn trying to pry it open, and then several of us combine forces, but it doesn’t budge.

“It only opens from the outside,” Zale says as he rubs his temples. “Way to go, brother.”

“Surely you realize you missed this key fact as well?” Dash asks in a flat voice.

“Boys!” Joccelyn interrupts. She likely means to calm their bickering, but her voice comes out high-pitched and nervous, echoing down the stone stairwell. I don’t need my powers to tell she’s stressed about our current situation.

Emman, conversely, is the epitome of unfazed as he switches to king mode. He strokes the stubble on his chin as he contemplates the obstacle before us. With the lack of concern on his face, it’s as though he’s debating between a cup of black or green tea.

“This is unexpected, but do not fret,” Emman says. “We are not entirely unprepared for this. We made arrangements for people on the outside to come to our aid should things not work out as planned.”

I think of Cedrik and Fatima and wonder who else the Vannyks have helping them. With the Vannyks locked in here, any of the people they were relying on for help are susceptible to Mother’s manipulation. If she gets to them, who will be left to come for us?

A bead of sweat trickles down my spine, but I fight to stay cool and collected. I hope Emman has a proper backup plan, or else the fight against Mother will end before it starts.

“Things never work as planned,” Zale mutters. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and I roll my eyes at his disdainful tone. Zale and Dash might be brothers, but the carefree warrior and uptight prince couldn’t be more different.

The six of us stand at the top of the stairwell before the stone door, waiting, as if perhaps it’ll open if we stare hard enough. Between the mildew and general rotting stench, I’m queasy and becoming claustrophobic. I crave lungfuls of fresh air.

“There has to be another way out,” Zale says, interrupting our silent scrutiny.

“There isn’t,” the prisoner replies. The liter of water he guzzled has apparently cleared up his cough. He doesn’t seem to be in as bad of shape as I first assumed, despite the raggedy clothes and stink. Maybe he can keep up on his own now.

“How do you know?” Dash asks, stepping closer to scrutinize the man. The lack of proper illumination makes it nearly impossible for us to distinguish facial features without being uncomfortably close to each other.

“I’ve been here longer than you,” the prisoner says. “Long enough to attempt escapes.” The words are directed at Dash, but his eyes lock on mine as he speaks. It’s as if he’s trying to convey some silent message to me. I shake my head, having no clue what he’s trying to tell me.

Dash shoots me a curious look over his shoulder before turning back to the stranger. “Don’t look at her. Look at me when I talk to you.”

“Dash,” I hiss. Now is not the time for him to be a territorial ass, especially not in front of his family.

“How do we even know we can trust this guy?” Dash asks, glancing at me again.

“We can’t. We just…try,” I say.

“Why’d Enira lock you up?” Dash asks, turning back to the stranger. He’s a few inches shorter than Dash, with a slightly leaner build. Muscles ripple beneath his clothes, and I imagine with proper nutrition, exercise, and clean air, he would be just as strong as Dash. There’s no way he can try anything in his current state, but there’s something about the sharpness of his eyes that’s dangerous.

“Same reason she locks up anyone,” the prisoner says.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t need to answer your questions, pretty boy.” Dash growls at the prisoner’s insult.

“Pretty boy?” Zale chuckles, apparently finding humor in the prisoner’s challenging quip.

“Don’t worry,” Dash says mockingly to his brother. “We all know you’re the true pretty boy.”

Zale’s glee disappears, and he scoffs at Dash. “You are—”

“Let’s focus our energy on the real enemy, sons,” Emman says cooly, taking a step between the brothers.

The longer we stay trapped here, the more hostile the environment becomes. It seems as though we’ve been down here forever, but I think it’s only been around an hour. It’s hard to tell.

“We’re targets in here,” Zale says. He steps closer to his brother and the stranger, as if he’s expecting them to break out into a physical altercation.

“There will be a shift change eventually, and the new guards will have to open the door to get down to the pit,” Dash says. “Not sure when, but we’ll need to rush them when they open the door and make it beyond the stone. In here we’re all muted.”

“Thankfully,” I mutter, grateful to not have my powers right now. “Small blessings from the goddess.”

“What?” Zale asks.

“My magic is uncontrollable. I’m picking up on everyone’s emotions in extremes, and I’m easily provoked,” I say. “It started after our visit to the falls.” I narrow my eyes at Dash, not that he’ll notice in the dark space. “Combined with Dash’s mind reading, which I also can’t control, by the way, I’m…rather explosive.” Opening up in front of everyone exposes me. It’s a vulnerability I’m not used to.

“Oh, honey,” Joccelyn says, reaching to pull me into a crushing hug. It’s a sweet, unexpected gesture. I can’t help but wonder what it must’ve been like to grow up with a mother like her.

“The falls?” the prisoner asks. His voice is so low I almost miss it. When I pull away from Joccelyn and glance over at the prisoner, he moves closer to me, scrutinizing me. He balls his hands into fists, clenching and unclenching them. “You kissed beneath the falls.” It’s not a question.

“That’s none of your business,” I say. How does everyone seem to know about this lore but me? Luckily no one else seems to notice the prisoner’s odd demeanor. They’re all too busy assessing our situation.

“Reckless. Thoughtless,” the prisoner says so only I can hear him. “Idiotic.” If I’m not mistaken, his tone is disappointed, hurt.

“It is none of your business,” I spit at him before turning my focus to the Vannyks’ ongoing conversation. The prisoner’s judgment is of no importance to me.

“Will Fatima come?” Emman asks Dash.

Dash shrugs. “She’s at South Sands going along with the plan as originally decided. She’s aware of your imprisonment though.”

Fatima.

The curly-haired girl that sneaked out of Dash’s room. My stomach twinges with jealousy once more. Luckily it’s something I can ignore when my emotions are under control.

“She’ll buy us time at least,” Zale adds.

“What exactly is this plan?” I ask. “And who the hell is Fatima?” Dash exhales sharply before addressing me.

“Fatima is a…family friend. She’s a four-elemental aethyn, and—”

“All four?” I say, impressed. “That’s rare.” Although aethyns who control all four elements are no rarer than vygoras or myndoxes, it shocks me to know there is yet another powerful magic-wielder existing nearby.

“It’s not as uncommon as you might think,” Zale says. “We have a wider range of abilities in Stellaris. Hakran is a little less…exposed to diversity.”

Oh.

Maybe I’m not as rare and special as I thought. I add it to the list of things Mother purposely kept from me or lied about. I’m beginning to think the island is a prison. One where Mother has built a reality of her own.

Where do the lies end and the truths begin?

“Fatima’s creating a storm with the four elements,” Dash says, bringing me back to the plan. “Right off the coast of South Sands. It should be strong enough to send your people into shelter.”

My gut churns. “Why would you want to do that?”

“According to our information”—he taps his head, reminding me that he can literally read minds—“you have storm protocols in place. The palace folk shelter in the throne room while your mother takes cover elsewhere. An undisclosed location in one of the many private caves around the island.”

Nodding, I confirm his intellect is accurate.

The throne room was built in the heart of the palace and reinforced with double-layered stone to protect our people from such storms. Though I know Mother had the new palace built purely out of vanity, she claims it was to provide better protection from the storms.

I’ve never even seen Mother during a storm. As Dash mentioned, she rides them out in an undisclosed cave. Some sort of secluded shelter. I’m not sure where exactly she goes, and I don’t know why she leaves the palace. I’ve never thought about it before now.

It’s certainly odd.

Knowing Mother, I’m sure her reasoning is entirely selfish. She probably hides out in an even safer location, reserved for only her. Or perhaps she thinks she’s too good to sequester herself in the throne room among her inferiors.

If Fatima is using her power to create a storm, it’ll be virtually indistinguishable from a wild magic storm. With the four elements fueling it, it will seem like a devastating storm, but since the magic belongs to her, she will be able to control it.

The idea isn’t half bad. It’s a good way to gain control of the island by separating Mother from the people.

Only Fatima, the Vannyks, the prisoner, and I will know the truth—that the storm isn’t any true threat.

“You’re hoping they’ll mistake Fatima’s controlled weather for a wild magic storm,” I say.

“With everyone in one space, we can cast our myndox ability together as a net of sorts over the people in the palace, breaking the hold Enira has. When we find her, we can overpower her guards and capture her,” Emman says. “We can bring her down here to the pit and cut off her magic entirely to free the rest of the villagers from her control.”

“How will you find her?” I ask.

Dash smirks. “Leave it up to me.” Of course. Our resident mind reader.

The plan isn’t terrible. But what about after Mother’s imprisoned? What then?

Do I take over the throne and rule Hakran while the Vannyks return to Stellaris? Will Mother simply rot down here forever?

What will happen between Dash and me? I’m not ready to say goodbye to him, but surely he has duties back in Stellaris. He belongs with his family.

This is the first time I’ve felt so strongly about someone, drawn to them beyond a single night together, and I’m not ready to give that up. I crave Dash. Having him around brings me joy.

“You underestimate Enira,” the prisoner says. “You seem awfully confident in your plan, but do you really think it’ll be so easy?”

Before Dash can get in his face again, there’s a grinding and the stone door begins to move. A ribbon of light peeks in through the crack.

“Get ready,” Emman orders. “We need to rush the entrants and make it beyond the stone to overpower them. Be ready to fight.”

The door sticks, as if whoever is on the other side is struggling to push it open.

A feminine grunt reaches my ears.

“For goddess’s sake, can you help a girl out? I can’t do it on my own! This darn stone door weighs a lot more than I pictured in my head.” The familiar voice warms my insides.

“Ilona!” I yell as Zale and Dash help pry the door open in record time.

The six of us burst out of the pit into the training space, and I shudder with relief at the bright light and clean air.

Wrapping my arms around my best friend, I hold her tight, whispering my thanks in her ear.

“How did you find us? How’d you get in?” I ask.

We break the embrace, and she points to Jamell’s stump of a hand, caked in dried blood and tossed to the side of the pit door. She gags, her eyes watering with disgust.

“I can’t believe I touched that,” she says, scrunching her nose. “I asked Cedrik what was going on with you. I was worried, A. He filled me in on everything, but then a huge storm came rolling in, and I panicked. Everyone’s gone to the throne room for shelter, but I didn’t see you, and I couldn’t leave you, and I knew something was amiss, and—”

“It’s okay. Thank you,” I say, cutting her off as tears well in her eyes. My chest swells with gratitude, mixing with a rapidly intensifying cascade of emotions. “We’re so lucky you came for us.”

Thank the goddess she’s okay, I couldn’t live without her.”

That man smells awful.

That hand is so gross. I can’t believe I touched it! Did she chop it off? How is she capable of such horrible—

“Stop,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. When I reopen them, I glance at Dash, wordlessly relaying my concerns. He nods, gesturing for Ilona to follow him to the other side of the room. Hopefully he can explain that while being near her hurts me, it’s not her fault and I will be back to normal soon.

Her sorrow, fear, and desperation slowly start to hit me as the effect of the silenxstone fades. Mostly she’s glad we’re okay, but I don’t miss the judgment radiating off her.

I don’t wish to hear that from her.

I get it. I’ve been blocking her out. And she did just stumble upon Jamell’s severed hand. She doesn’t know what I do about Jamell, doesn’t know why I killed him.

But her judgment still hurts.

As Emman and Joccelyn step aside to converse in low tones, Zale approaches Ilona hesitantly. He leans toward her, whispering something in her ear, and she blushes before shooting him a shy smile. She nods, then rushes past me.

“See you later, A. Be safe,” she says on her way by. She spares Zale another small smile before disappearing up the stairs.

I wish Ilona could stay, but she’s a liability. Thanks to my erratic powers, I’m connected to her in ways that are dangerous for us both. When she’s around, I’m distracted by her, and I need all of my focus on keeping my own volatile emotions bottled up as we find Mother. I can’t worry about Ilona right now on top of that.

Thanks to their abilities, being around the Vannyks is quiet, bearable. I’m not assaulted by thoughts that aren’t my own—only their emotions, which are tolerable considering we all feel exactly the same right now.

Nobody here invades my mind in a distracting—wait.

“Where’s the prisoner?” I ask, realizing I haven’t heard or felt anything from him.

“Growing fond of me?” the prisoner asks, and I whirl around to find him seated casually on the floor in the corner of the padded room.

Exhaustion etches his face, and in the bright light of the training room, the piercing green hue of his eyes is even more vibrant.

I hold his gaze, and I swear there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

“No,” I snap. “Absolutely not.” I wince at my rudeness; he hasn’t done anything to warrant that attitude. Maybe the reason I can’t feel or hear him is because of how weak he is. I hesitate before asking, “Are you all right?”

Dash sidles up beside me protectively, as if he’s afraid the man might set me off.

“Best I’ve ever been,” the prisoner says sarcastically. His miniscule smile disappears as his eyes wander over to where Dash’s arm lies around my shoulders.

“Here,” Zale says, stepping up next to him. He snags a discarded bag from the ground and yanks it open. A muffin wrapped in paper tumbles out, and he scoops it up, tossing it toward the stranger. “It’s your lucky day, friend. Someone left their belongings. And can you please, for the love of the goddess, go freshen up? You smell like a pig’s ass.” He points to a small door beneath the stairs. “Sinks are through there.”

The prisoner eats the muffin in three ravenous bites and leaves to wash up, giving Zale a once-over as he passes.

“What?” Zale asks when he catches me shaking my head at him. “The man smells, and I can’t tolerate it any longer.”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes.

It’s almost comical how irritable Zale is. I’d say he’s not thrilled about whatever his family’s plans are. But he still cares enough to feed the prisoner, even if his approach is a bit harsh.

I wonder what kind of ruler he’ll be; clearly not the actionable kind like his father. He’ll probably be the kind to throw stuffy balls and diplomatic luncheons. He’ll sit on a throne in a pristine suit while others do his bidding.

He’ll probably have Dash getting his hands dirty for him.

I snort at the conjured image.

Emman turns to me, clearing his throat and fixing his sleeves. “Once your mother’s hold is broken on the Hakranians and she is imprisoned, you should gain the backing to take your throne.” I missed whatever he said before that, but I nod anyway, understanding enough now to trust the Vannyks and aid them with their plan.

Or perhaps I simply despise Mother so much I’d partner with anyone if it meant taking her down and regaining my life.

I never intended to rule, but I know I will do all I can to keep my people safe.

The prisoner returns, seeming more alert and awake now. I’m concerned about my inability to hear his thoughts or feel his emotions. When his eyes meet my own, I’m momentarily sucked in by the depth I find there—the pure, unadulterated hurt and anger.

It’s like looking in a mirror, and it’s entirely unsettling.

Dash must not be able to hear the man’s thoughts either, because he slowly runs a hand over his mouth, glancing between the two of us, jaw clenched. Finally, the stranger breaks eye contact, but Dash continues to stare at him like a predator stalking his prey.

“We should move out,” Emman orders. “Fatima can’t keep the storm going forever. If we miss our chance, we might not get another one.” He turns, beckoning to the rest of us as he treads up the stairs. Joccelyn follows, then Zale, the stranger, and finally Dash and me.

Putting a bit of space between us and the strange prisoner, Dash whispers in my ear, “I can’t hear him. I don’t trust him.”

“Yeah, but I don’t trust Mother either, and she’s the one who put him down there,” I whisper back.

“Just stick by me. Stay alert.”

I salute him mockingly, and he kisses my forehead and grips my hand tightly.

We burst onto the main level, and I’m greeted by the whistle of a strong wind rushing through the grounds outside.

“It really does sound like a wild magic storm,” I say. I open the small wooden servants’ door to peek outside and instantly regret the decision.

The winds are brutal. Trees sway like drunkards as rain pounds down. Flashes of blue and white zigzag across the sky in the distance. I almost lose my hold on the door, but Zale reaches out right before my grip gives, helping me pull it shut.

“Goddess have mercy,” Joccelyn says quietly at my side. “That looks ferocious.”

“It’s coming from the east,” I murmur.

“That’s a good thing, right?” Zale says.

“You said Fatima was on South Sands?” I ask. I try to ignore the irrational jealousy that spikes when I speak her name, at the thought that she was in Dash’s room. With my Dash.

And why hasn’t he told me about her before now?

I take a few deep breaths to clear the jealousy away, but it’s much harder to do without the silenxstone keeping me in check. This negativity spirals quickly. I need to do my best to remain in complete control if we’re going to survive whatever comes next.

“Yes,” Dash says, snapping me back to reality.

“Shit,” I whisper as they put it together. These winds are coming from the east, whereas Fatima’s storm should be blowing from the south. This is a real wild magic storm.

“How bad is it?” Zale asks.

“The beaches can flood in the blink of an eye, and the winds can down trees. Expect it to start hailing soon. When it does, going outside will be an impossibility. Lightning and fire strikes are rarer, but when they happen, the damage is immense.”

“At least everyone is already sheltered,” Joccelyn says. I have to agree with that sentiment. I only hope Fatima didn’t make the storm more powerful than it’d be on its own. Hopefully she’s wise enough to have called her magic off.

“What about the villagers in town?” Zale asks, concerned.

“The village is to the east, at the foot of the mountain. Because they’re at sea level in the valley, the risk of flooding is higher. Many of our guards and palace aethyns are under strict orders to assist them and use their abilities to help minimize damage.”

“And I thought Enira didn’t care,” Zale says sarcastically.

“She does, but it’s entirely selfish,” I say, thinking about it in a new light. “If her villagers perish, so will her source of power.” Five sets of eyes swing my way, and my cheeks heat with embarrassment. Even if no one is admitting it aloud, it’s clear that on some subconscious level, they blame me for sourcing her magic.

The bacchanals, the transferences, they’re the reason why Enira is so powerful.

It sickens me, and I fight the tears welling in my eyes.

It’s not my fault!I want to yell.

Dash reaches out, stroking my hand with his thumb, already in tune with my mood swings.

Joccelyn glances around nervously, hesitating before she speaks up. “What of the others around the island?” She must be worried about her patrolling Stellari guards.

“There are emergency shelters built into the cliffs and caves around the island. Many villagers will barricade themselves inside until the storm lets up. The storms are certainly harsh. They come quickly”—I shoot Dash a warning glare, anticipating a bawdy comment, but he grins back innocently with only a wink—“but they rarely last more than a night or two.”

“The storm may still work in our favor,” King Emman says contemplatively.

“Let’s go round up whichever guards are left behind and get to work then,” Zale says. He raises a sharp brow, as if asking what we’re waiting for.

The Vannyks stride through the corridor toward the main wing, talking animatedly with Dash. I pause a few paces behind them with the stranger, curiosity getting the better of me.

There was something in his expression earlier, something that called to me. A recognition of sorts. I’ve never met this man before, yet there’s an ominous familiarity between us.

“Why did Queen Enira imprison you?” I ask, leveling an intense stare at him.

“Out of fear,” he says, matter-of-factly.

“Fear?”

“She has her reasons, just as I had my reasons for coming here.” When I don’t reply, he continues. “She has something that belongs to me. Something I came to retrieve.” Pain flickers across his face, but he doesn’t try to hide it. It’s as if he wants me to see it, hoping I’ll understand.

“What’s your name?”

“Lex,” he says. His eyes roam my face, as if he’s searching for a reaction from me. The name doesn’t mean anything to me though.

Nodding, I reach out and grab his hand. It’s hard for me to witness someone suffering so harshly because of Mother, especially when it is my fault she’s so powerful. I have more than enough life force coursing through me right now; I might as well use it for something good.

“I’m going to help you recover faster,” I say. I’m not a healer, not like Cedrik, but maybe some extra life force will give him a much needed boost. Gianna and Chancy didn’t die in vain, not if they can help someone else find their strength again.

Though Lex is not on the verge of dying, he’s clearly unwell. A little life force could be exactly what he needs to make it through this war and get home, wherever that may be.

As I press our hands together, interlacing our fingers, I brace for the pain I associate with transference, knowing it’ll come. But when I focus on relinquishing some of the life force, something unexpected happens.

It’s…strange.

My hand shimmers with a golden hue—like it does during absorption—and the energy flows between us without resistance. And it feels…good. Almost pleasurable, as it does with absorption.

It’s incredibly effortless.

Gasping, I break the hold sooner than I intended.

“What the hell was that?” I demand. My eyes widen in disbelief as I stare at my hand. Even with the slight boost to his life force, my other magic doesn’t work on him. I was able to transfer to him, but I still can’t read his emotions.

This man is an enigma.

It concerns me greatly. The transference was easy…too easy. Warning signals flare to life inside me. I glance down the corridor, grateful Dash and his family have rounded a corner and are out of sight. I can’t imagine it would bode well for Lex if they learn what just happened.

There’s no reason I should want to keep this a secret, to protect this enigmatic stranger, but something urges me to keep quiet for now.

I’m about to tell him to keep his mouth shut about it when a gust of wind rolls through the door behind me, slamming it all the way open. Turning, I watch as Lex bolts out into the storm.

“What the hell!” I yell after him just as Zale and Dash stomp their way back into sight. They hurry over, helping me pull the door back into place. Within seconds we’re soaked to the bone with icy water.

“The prisoner?” Dash asks, pointing a thumb at the door.

“He just…bolted!” I say, my mouth wide with disbelief. I leave out the part about the strange transference, not seeing the point of getting into that right now.

“Rat!” Zale yells, shaking a fist in the direction of the door. “He knows too much.”

“Clearly he has a death wish,” Dash says, wrapping his strong arms around me as I shiver. “We can’t go after him in this. Let him go.”

Glancing one last time toward the exit, I furrow my brow as I try to make sense of why he’d run like that. He had no reason. Nothing about him makes sense.

I begin to worry that perhaps Mother did have him locked away for a reason. I hope my compassion toward him wasn’t a mistake.

Dash and Zale’s boots clack down the corridor as they lead me away, the whistling of the wind swallowing our steps.

We move through the corridors toward the main wing and quickly arrive in the foyer outside the throne room. The grounds beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows are dark, with only an occasional flash of blue and green lightning slicing through the sky. The rains have extinguished all the lights in the courtyard.

“Whoa,” Zale says. “I’ve never seen lightning that color.”

“Like I said, it’s a true magicked storm,” I say.

“We have nothing like it in Stellaris.”

“The storms tend to die out before hitting the land west of here. The magic sinks back into the waters.”

“Can you harness the magic?” Dash asks curiously.

“It’s not the same magic that runs in our veins,” I tell him. “It’s too rogue to harness, hence why we call it wild. It doesn’t respond to anyone. It’s like trying to tame a serpent. In theory, you could, but the chances of being killed by its deadliness are high.”

“So it’s basically just extra energy rushing over the seas and through the island?” Dash asks.

“Precisely.”

“How often does this happen?”

“A few times a year. The worst are during storm season.”

“So, now?”

“Yes.”

The windows rattle with a gust of strong wind. The rain pounding against the glass turns vicious—threatening to break through.

“Hail,” I say. “We need to go. Now!”

Hail slams into the building, growing louder, mixing with the claps of thunder overhead. The glass in the windows is a few inches thick and infused with ice. This serves to keep the palace cool and provide a layer of extra protection from the storms. But despite the protections in place, sometimes the worst of the wind and hail can break through.

As we burst into the throne room, dozens of eyes swing our way: guards, servants, and anyone caught on the grounds during the storm.

Dash’s parents, who arrived a few moments before we did, are speaking in hushed tones near the door, and I catch bits and pieces of their plan to spread out and cast their shields over my people to break Mother’s hold.

“It’ll erase any hold she has, but it won’t protect them from falling under her influence again once they’re out of our proximity,” Emman tells me.

“Maybe we can convince them to stay here while we split up and go for Enira,” his wife replies, but I can barely hear them over the tsunami of thoughts attacking my mind.

That’s the princess…

…the Stellari king and queen…

I hope Henryn is all right out…

Thank the goddess we stayed in…

…the village. The poor villagers…

This is the worst storm in…

Is the princess okay?

What’s wrong with her?

…crazy like her moth…

…help her mother…

…doesn’t care to help us…

…where is she when we need…

I wail, dropping to my knees, my hands over my head.

As the Vannyks cast their myndox shields, breaking any hold Mother has, the onslaught of thoughts gets worse. Instead of being confused like I thought they’d be, the people are angry.

Angry at my mother, of course. But also angry at me.

“I didn’t want this!” I yell through my tears. “I didn’t want this.” My eyes swing up to the arching ceilings. I’m afraid to meet anyone’s gaze. Afraid to look at the marble throne that sits atop the dais on the other side of the room—the symbol of these peoples’ oppression.

…someone should murder that whore…

…put us out of our misery…

Thank the goddess for the Stellari…

…please save us…

…wretched witch…

…curse your fake tears…

…cry for herself…

“—cast your own—” Dash says, stepping in front of me. Grabbing my shoulders, he shakes me gently. I can’t make out his words. “—protect your mind. Come on, Astrid.” He frowns, his eyes wide in worry.

“I can’t,” I whisper, but my voice is drowned out by the clapping thunder overhead. The storm is over us now, and despite the stability of the palace, the ground trembles beneath our feet.

The sea of faces stares at me. Some of the people are whispering amongst themselves and pointing in my direction. Many of them look familiar, but the expressions they wear are anything but friendly. Ilona and Marnie cross into my line of sight, making their way toward me. I don’t want them to come over here. Hearing their pity would be worse than hearing the vitriol.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” I scream at the top of my lungs, fisting my hair. Dash kneels beside me, trying to pull me to my feet. I keep screaming until my throat is raw.

She is insane like her mother.

—kill her before she kills us—

—out of control—

We should gut the whore’s daughter.

“I’m trying to save you ungrateful peasants!” I screech, pushing past Dash to stand. “I’m nothing like my mother! I am nothing like her!” The rage wraps its tentacles around my throat, choking me until I can no longer breathe, and in an explosion of turmoil, I reach out, grabbing the hand of the nearest person.

Before I can register what’s happening, my hand begins to glow with a gold shimmer, and I’m drawing out life force energy. There’s a collective gasp through the room, and the thoughts grow in volume, unintentionally urging me to pull harder and faster.

I can’t stop; I can’t anchor myself to reality any further. The torpedo of thoughts and emotions is too much to stop.

I pull, and pull, sucking out all the life force of the person in my grip, until they fall to a heap on the ground. The man whose life I just stole stares up, unblinking, his body shriveled beyond recognition.

“Daddy!” A young girl cries out, her voice cracking. “Daddy! Daddy, NO!” An older girl holds her back, her face contorted with fear and unmistakable hatred.

The crowd takes a few panicked steps back as someone whispers. “She’s the queen’s vessel. She’s the vessel! It’s the princess.” Panicked thoughts ensue, pelting me at a frantic rate and merging with the acid spewing from their mouths.

“Murderer!” someone yells.

I’m delirious, panting for breath, unable to stave off the onslaught.

“Stop!” I plead. “Stop. Please stop.” Dash’s face contorts with anguish as tears fill his eyes. He shakes his head, saying something indecipherable.

Something hard lashes out, striking me in the head before falling to the ground beside me.

A faded shoe.

Someone threw their shoe at me.

Dash tries to cover me with his body, to protect me, but he can’t help me anymore. He can’t save me from this.

I don’t even want him to.

This is his fault, after all. His power sharing is the reason I’m like this. If he had never stolen that kiss from me at the falls, I’d never have lost control of my power. This isn’t fair.

I shove him away, and his face twists with pain, but he refuses to back off, instead, he surges forward to continue shielding me from the people as they chuck objects at me.

I grow lightheaded and sway on my feet, succumbing to the pressure inside my skull. Right as I’m about to collapse, a blast of energy shoots through the room. It’s stronger than the wind outside as it ripples through the air, rustling my hair as it passes. I watch in horror as the people in the room crumple to the ground, like they’re nothing more than puppets whose strings have been cut.

Dash drops, confusion marring his face.

Followed by Ilona, whose curls fan out around her like a puddle of red.

Then Marnie.

Deidra and Lila from the kitchen fall next.

Deidra’s teen daughter.

Then the faceless, nameless guards with head coverings.

And the dozens of other servants from the grounds.

Even the Vannyks tumble onto the floor beside me.

Everyone.

Until I’m the only one in the room left standing.