“No. We definitely aren’t.”
“I guess every version of the world is flawed somehow,” he said equitably. “Nothing’s perfect.”
Lily walked beside Rowan for a while, wondering if she agreed with him. If there were an infinite number of universes, didn’t that mean that one of them had to be perfect? And if one of them was a paradise, then did that mean that another one had to be hell? Lily wondered how many versions of the world were better than this. And how many were worse.
“Teach me something,” Lily asked, breaking herself out of her circular thoughts.
One corner of his mouth tipped up in a quizzical smile. “Like what?” he replied.
“Teach me how to control my reactions,” Lily asked excitedly.
“That’s going to take more than one lesson. But we can start if you’d like.”
Rowan spent the next few hours showing Lily how to discharge unnecessary energy before it became a runaway reaction. Lily saw little sparks of energy flying off her skin, like glitter. It was pretty, but it required so much focus. Rowan said that a willstone would change the energy effortlessly, and without making her look so sparkly. They worked their way up from bark dust, and after a few tries, she was able to manage her reaction to a nettle scratch without Rowan’s fingers on her wrist.
“It’s not puffing up too horribly,” she said, peering at the angry red line that traced an inch across her forearm. Lily sniffed. Her head was starting to get congested.
“You mostly did it,” he said encouragingly. He reached out and pressed his fingertips to her pulse point. The red line disappeared, and her stuffy nose cleared. He grinned at her.
“Why can’t I do it like that?” Lily asked with a pout
. “What I need is a willstone.”
Rowan’s smile faded. He looked at the ground as they walked, his lips pursed together.
“What? Don’t you want me to have one?” she asked.
“It’s got nothing to do with what I want,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“If you get a willstone, you’ll have to be trained. You’d be a menace if you weren’t.” He pulled his lower lip through his teeth.
“So train me,” Lily said. His head snapped around and he stopped walking.
“Why?” he asked, suddenly angry. “Why do you want to be trained?”
“So I can control my reactions.”
“You’re lying,” he said dismissively.
“I’m not.”
“You’re not telling me the whole truth, Lily. I can hear it in your voice.”
“I want to control my reactions, and I want to go home!” she shouted. “Do you have any idea how I can do that? Do you know how to send me back to my universe?”
His eyes narrowed, warning her against using too much sarcasm. “It’s never been done by anyone but Lillian.”
“That means I have two options. I can beg Lillian to send me back—which I know she won’t—or I can learn how to do it myself. If she figured it out, why can’t I?”
“It’s not that simple, Lily. You seem to have all her potential, but crucibles start their training when they’re six years old. You have no idea how much you’ll need to learn to get to the point she’s at right now.”
“I don’t care what I have to do. Please, Rowan, I need to go back. My mother—”
Lily broke off, a wave of fear making her voice weak. She’d been so concerned with keeping herself alive the past few days she hadn’t had any worry left in her to spare for her mother. The worry came back as Rowan searched her eyes. Lily got that feeling again—the feeling that there was a secret language the two of them spoke that she’d forgotten.
“And if I train you,” he said softly. “How do I know you won’t end up exactly like her?”