Page 7 of The Incendiary

I tossed Simeon’s next note in the fire without a glance at his reply. I’d had enough of him today.

“Proud of you,” muttered Damond.

I gave an acknowledging grunt and turned toward my bedroom, snapping my fingers twice so Shera knew to follow. I eyed my breakfast plate in passing, and my stomach growled again. “I’m bathing and coming back. Please don’t eat my food.”

“You’re dripping all over the floor, Your Highness,” Damond called playfully. “You and your wild puss.”

“Call me that again, and I’ll break your nose,” I threatened. “Call her that again, and I’ll set your precious hair on fire.”

I slammed my bedroom door, hearing him chuckling on the other side.

He knew I didn’t mean it. Some days I was so angry that I took it out on him just to keep the blackness at bay. He weathered it. Provoked me, sometimes, just to get me talking, but never retaliated. Pitied me when he saw the tears of fury brimming in my eyes. Tears were better than nothing at all, he said. I recalled how numb I was while alone in Warrich, and I knew he was right.

I bathed for an hour and thought about which of my gods’ powers to practice in the afternoon. I had a decent grasp on everything elemental: fire, light, wind, ice, water, and earth. The way I summoned each elemental power was the same. I reached into my wheel and gripped the proper spoke, then it flowed through my body and out of my hand like a river. I could control the strength of the flow for a few moments, but not enough to reliably wield around anyone or inside the house.

The power of the goddess Floris unsettled me the most. I could extend and control tree branches and vines like they were my extra limbs. Damond often watched in awe from a distance. He’d become like family to me, but I often wished Gemma, Caz, Finn, and Ezra were here to see me thriving, too.

At least I knew they were alive and well. Damond had contacts at the Winterton Caves, and soon after we’d arrived here, he’d received word that my friends were safe. Caz had lost his leg, but a physician was working on a false one that might allow him to walk again.

Later, he had written to Gemma and received a letter in return. Gemma wrote that there were sinister reports of my brutal death south of Brinnea. One of Elias’s spies had seen what unfolded from afar. They assumed I was dead and that the Butcher disposed of my body.

I forbade Damond from telling her anything in his letters other than that I was alive and that no one should know besides Finn and Caz. Ezra was unwaveringly loyal to Elias, and I didn’t know how to handle my betrothed. I chose to leave Ezra in the dark and prayed he’d forgive me for it someday.

It had been nearly five months since Gavin Smyth had forced his way into my life and taught me to fight for myself. Some of his methods were questionable, but the more I recalled our time together, the more sense his actions made. He knew I liked tea with honey instead of coffee. My middle name. My real mother, Christabel Whitlock, and her love of blue jays. He knew more about me than I knew about myself.

He should have told me everything, but regardless I had loved him recklessly and impulsively enough to give up my life for his happiness. And yet, what I felt for him was only a fraction of how he loved me. His love had withstood four centuries of death and torment. He hadn’t shown up in Warrich that day to retrieve the queen. There was no mysterious prophecy he’d been trying to fulfill. He hadn’t been following the orders of either power-hungry sorcerer. He had simply come for his long-lost wife.

After four hundred years of waiting, he was still willing to give me up if it made me happy.

I was still angry and terrified that he was who he was. I couldn’t imagine how many people he’d killed or the horrendous things he’d done and seen, and I kept reminding myself of this.

He’s not good.

He lied.

He’s the enemy’s son.

He didn’t tell you who he was.

He didn’t tell you who you were to him.

It should have been enough to make me hate him, but it wasn’t. Gods, I tried, but stronger than the urge to hate him was the desire to see him, and most crippling was the fear that I never would again. I knew that everything he’d done, he’d done thinking of me.

Gavin Smyth had burrowed himself so deeply into my soul, not even all twelve gods could tear him out.

After the first month of healing, I’d let myself think of him. His strength and protection wrapped around me was my favorite memory, and I held it close to my heart like it was a sacred secret. Despite everything, I stopped trying to deny that in his arms was the best place I’d been since waking up ten months ago.

By the time I started breakfast, Damond was in the garden. He insisted I focus on training, not chores, and that menial tasks were “no longer my responsibility.”

When I needed to offload my feelings, I talked to Shera. I knew she would never tell my secrets. I’d gotten quite good at one-sided conversations. If she understood my words, she also knew way too much about me. I knew Gavin gave her to me not just for protection, but as a companion. She loved me with or without a crown.

I looked outside to see the morning sun fighting to break through the clouds. Ice and wind magic would be my focus today. After lunch, hopefully Damond would spar with me.

While tightening my boot laces, I caught a glimpse of the calendar nailed to the wall and ignored the pit in my stomach. I didn’t need a reminder of the day that was coming. I’d picked it myself.

I planned to travel southwest into Avendrel, to the Barracks just north of the Caves, where Elias would be training this year’s group of new fighters. I wanted to participate, not only to prove myself to Elias, but to assess for myself what kind of people I was about to commit my life and loyalty to.

Gavin had left me with Damond after my death in Brinnea. He also left books with pages upon pages of drawings of strikes, stances, and more fighting techniques than I dreamt existed. For the past four months, I’d studied them religiously.