The man in violet and black catches my eye. He winks.
The table explodes.
Dangling from the rope in Ayume was nothing, nothing compared to the war waging inside me. My cuffs became shackles of fire around my wrists, damming the magic baying for violence in my blood. Furious tears gathered at the corners of my eyes. Iron filled my mouth as I bit my bottom lip. I wasn’t ready.
I turned my head.
Thousands of Jasadis shadowed the Supreme. Their murky outlines warped, mournful, and folded into the scepter at his side.
My memory had done Supreme Rawain a disservice. Age had laid a conservative touch on his handsome features and powerful build. He was shorter than his son, but taller than me. Gray streaked the hair at his temple.
His eyes. The same unnatural shade that met mine the day I lost everything. The day he stole my world. As unblemished by the trappings of compassion or kindness as they had been at the Summit.
My bedridden state had one advantage; he would not question why I would not kneel, and I didn’t need to explain that I would sever my legs before I knelt to him.
Supreme Rawain strode into the room. Framed in the door, Arin’s indecipherable gaze followed his father.
“Well? How is she doing?” the Supreme asked.
The physician slunk back, clearing his throat. “Superbly, Your Highness. The venom has passed without ill effects, and the worst damage was to her palms.”
Rawain clapped his hands. “Wonderful. You gave us a fright, Sylvia. I’ll admit, I had reservations about Arin’s choice of a Champion, but you have certainly lived up to his vision.” He laughed, the sound sliding like viscous oil over my skin. “My son has been reluctant to introduce us. Worried I would intimidate you.” He raised his brows at an impassive Arin. “See? She’s of hardier stock.”
I shook with the effort of crushing my magic back. It struck over and over, lightning charring its fragile vessel. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I needed to speak. My teeth were stuck together, and I had the most terrible notion that they were protecting me from what might fly out of my mouth if I unhinged my jaw.
Rawain did not seem concerned with my silence or inability to lift my gaze from his chest. “Since you’re feeling better, I insist you join Arin and me for supper this evening.”
“We leave for Omal at dawn,” Arin said, speaking at last. “She should rest.”
“And rest she shall,” Supreme Rawain said. “After supper.”
My cuffs seized, tightening desperately against my magic’s assault. In a flash, Arin was between us. “I will have the guards bring her. We should go; King Murib is expecting us.”
I wanted to shove Arin aside and lunge. Rip out the throat spewing poison, crush the head that molded its crown on the scorched remains of my kingdom. How dare he come in here and speak to me? To praise my efforts for him?
Grief. Rage. Fear. A pit of darkness fed my magic, and it chose which hand to help—and which to ignore. It cared for Jasad and for the ones I loved, but it would happily watch me scream beneath a beast’s gaping maw or Hanim’s whip without once stirring.
No wonder my magic never helped me. It hated me as much as I hated myself.
“Then let us be on our way. I can’t tolerate another tour of his banal little weapons cellar,” the Supreme said. He lifted his chin in disdain. “Who would steal from Orbanian huts and hovels?”
Rawain’s voice moved to the door. I had both hands fisted in the quilt.
“Heal quickly, Sylvia. I look forward to acquainting myself with such a worthy Champion.”
As soon as the door closed behind them, I keeled off the bed. I doubled over, wrapping my arms around my middle. The hurricane of my magic roared. Charring me to ash like the rest of my kingdom.
Isn’t this what you wanted? Niphran’s gentle but stern voice replaced Hanim’s. You wanted to be forgotten. Unknown, unrecognizable. You have succeeded. You are nothing more than Sylvia, Nizahl’s Champion.
“Sylvia?” Sefa laid a tentative hand between my shoulder blades.
“Don’t touch me!” Every inch of my skin pulsed, as though it could shed itself for a new, better me beneath.
Several sets of footsteps approached. The guards’ murmuring washed over me. The physician—or maybe Jeru—reached for me, only to stop short at my shuddering recoil. “I said don’t touch me!”
“Leave her.” Marek.
“Now,” Sefa added.
The noise receded, and the door scraped shut behind them. I tore the wrappings around my hands, revealing perfectly healed palms. I hadn’t needed Arin’s touch to bring my magic to the surface this time.