A Curse of Blood & Stone (Fate & Flame 2)

That he is vulnerable to her is what she’s really saying.

Her, or any other mortal willing to give him their vein, but I don’t point that out. “Know that you can say no at any time—to any of it.”

She inhales deeply, and when she releases the lungs’ worth of air, there’s no missing the shake in the sound. Of relief or excitement, I can’t be sure. “Thank you, Your Highness, for your understanding and kindness.”

The jury’s out on whether anyone can call sitting back and watching her make this mistake a kindness. But how else does anyone learn their most valuable life lessons?

“Go and eat before it gets cold.”

Setting the tongs on the brazier, she scrambles to her feet and moves for the flap, but stalls. “I will bring you a bowl—”

“I’ll get my own. I need to find out what Gesine wants first.”

With a curtsy, she rushes out.

I tug on my cloak and venture into the night after her, squinting against the drizzle. The camp is quiet, most having ducked into the shelter of tents and wagons, save for the sentries who stand guard around the perimeter, their backs rigid and gazes keen.

My urge is to search for Zander—or Abarrane, who is never far from him—but the solitary figure standing nearby, facing the east, draws my attention.

“Jarek said you wanted to see me?”

Gesine peers from beneath the cowl of her cloak. “I wasn’t sure if he would pass along that message.”

“Not without complaint. Did you need something?”

“Yes.” She gestures in front of her. “I need you to practice.”

“Practice what?”

“Whatever you wish.” She glances over her shoulder. “There is plenty to work with here, and no one to question anything. Remove your ring.”

I slip off the chunky gold band and tuck it into my pocket. After a few breaths, the buzz dissipates, collecting within my chest.

“It has become easy to center yourself, hasn’t it? Remember how it wasn’t, not that long ago?” I can barely make out the shape of her features in the dark, but I hear the smile in her voice. “Soon, it will be as natural to you as breathing.”

“If only everything else would be this easy to pick up.”

“It will be. One day, it will be as if your instinct has figured out what this body of yours can do, and it will not forget how to find its way to that place again.”

“I already brought down a cave. How do I do that again?” I joke.

“What did you feel when it happened?”

“Other than the man’s bones crumbling in my palm?” I pull the cowl of my cloak to shelter my face. “Terror.” The memory is still so fresh—of Pan sprawled on his knees, of the bandit hoisting the sword, vengeance twisting his face. “And rage.”

“And what did you feel inside? What did that rush of air feel like?”

“Like that. Air. Or wind. A gust, rising up and out of me.” Flowing through my limbs, shooting out to assault that man.

“That was you channeling Vin’nyla’s element. They all come as surges of power, but each has its own signature and feels slightly different. Aminadav’s is like a deep rumble—”

“I felt that too. Right after, when the ground was shaking and then the cave collapsed.”

“See? And Aoife’s is cool, like fresh water. I do not believe you have found that one yet. And I have never experienced Malachi’s, but from what I have heard, a burst of searing heat will hit you.”

“Makes sense. Fire.”

“It does. Eventually, you will be able to beckon the one you need as easily as your brain tells your arm to lift or your mouth to open, and then you can wield it as a formidable weapon. But for now, you must teach your brain to recognize each one, and for that, we must figure out how best to coax them out of you.”