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I drew up, considering the possibility. Had Garret escaped after all?

“It’s possible,” I said neutrally.

When Lye went to fill a glass of iced tea, I followed, lowering my voice. “Do you know if there’s a prisoner in the Capewells’ hold?”

He glanced down at me, then looked at Valeria and Keil, who were in conversation behind us. “My contact didn’t say,” he said, matching my volume. “Are you looking for anyone in particular?”

I hesitated, not only because I didn’t want to ask after a Hunter with Valeria nearby, but because if the hold was empty, then Garret either had escaped, or Briar had killed him. And without knowing which option was true, I would have to carry relief and grief in equal measure.

Losing my nerve, I said, “Tari Dehrin. And Amarie, my house manager. Can your contact check on them?”

Lye studied me a moment longer before he nodded. “Sure, Lockpicker.” He smirked and said playfully, “I’ll add it to your tab.”

I smothered my thoughts of Garret just in time for training.

The first step toward regaining control, Goren had explained during our first proper session, is engaging with the portion of your specter you’ve never explored. The best way to do that is by guiding your power, in its entirety, through a predetermined path.

I’d nodded. Like the eye of a needle.

Goren released a sardonic laugh. Think bigger.

Then he produced a range of metal hoops that Wielder children apparently used in school, each with a handle attached.

This is insulting, I grumbled when he handed me a hoop large enough to twirl around my waist in dance.

As it turned out, hoop-dancing would’ve been a more fruitful endeavor, because the first time I tried to grasp hold of my power, it slopped out like water. The second time, the hoop blasted across the room.

Goren rolled his eyes but didn’t mention my abysmal performance to the others—a kindness I hadn’t expected nor appreciated, because it meant he pitied me enough to withhold his disapproval.

But many attempts and muttered curses later, I was finally guiding my specter through that first hoop in a continuous, seemingly never-ending stream. And I realized that, although I struggled, there was no longer an ache associated with Wielding, as there had been all my life. There was only the wild flow of power, and the mental fortitude required to guide it in the right direction.

With each training hoop I conquered, the flow of my specter grew narrower, and I experienced a warm sense of accomplishment. Because it meant that I was beginning to form those coveted tendrils once again.

“Nicely done,” Goren said one afternoon. Shocked, I turned to make sure he wasn’t in fact having a conversation with his dagger-throwing arm.

“Are you talking to me?” I asked, breathless from exertion.

“Do you see anyone else here? Now stay focused, or I’ll add five minutes to the session.”

At his arrogant command, my specter flared and clogged through the hoop. I hissed, and Goren said absently, “Ten minutes now.”

“What?” My grip tightened around the hoop’s handle. “Why?”

“Because I irritated you.”

“You always irritate me. Are you going to take away my desserts whenever I admit it?”

He threw his dagger into the bull’s-eye, unaffected. “In life-and-death situations, you can’t let external factors interrupt your Wielding. Your emotion can be an advantage, but only if you’re consciously channeling it. The moment emotion dictates the flow of your power, you become an easy target.”

I stifled my retort, because he was right. Losing control on Banarrat wouldn’t just mean losing my chance at retrieving the Unbreakable Blade. It would mean alerting General Holden to the fact that I was not Erik’s Wholeborn bride, sent to foster goodwill between our nations. I would be endangering our entire group.

So, I did as Goren said and concentrated.

But my concentration stuttered the next day when I found Keil and Dashiel sparring in the outbuilding. Keil was shirtless, his powerful muscles glistening, and my mind returned to the night his strong, gentle hands had settled me into his lap.

He noticed me watching, and while he was distracted, Dashiel pinned him.

The golden image of him still shimmered in my mind later in the kitchen, when I was struggling to reach for an apple in an unreasonably high fruit basket.