"But the—the bowls." The word slid through her lips slick with disdain.
A bit of air escaped his lips, sounding suspiciously like a laugh. "Yes, the bowls. Your greatest enemy."
He wasn't wrong. Inside the arena, her magic was starting to become second nature—with her adrenaline pumping, with her heart in her throat, with her instincts leading the way and her mind finally silenced. But in the quiet hours of the night, as she stared at those bowls beneath Malek's probing gaze, her thoughts raged like a mighty storm, sweeping her magic into pure chaos.
"The lesson of the bowls is tame compared to some of the feats I've seen you manage these past few days. It's your mind that betrays you, not your magic. You need to learn how to focus without death staring you in the face."
"I know."
"You need to separate your spirit from your heart, to build a wall between your emotions and your magic so they won't consume you."
"I know."
"Lyana," he murmured, somehow the chiding tutor and the understanding confidant all at once. The shuffle of fabric was the only sound in the room as he brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek, leaving a tingling trail in their wake. "I, of all people, know the burdens you carry, and I don't want them to bury you. You might not think it, but I've been overwhelmed by our destiny too. There are choices we must make that no one else will ever understand, and they can undo you if you let them. So don't. Control your heart. Don't let it control you. Discipline is the only way to keep the world from crushing you."
For just a moment, she leaned into his touch.
Then she turned away, staring at the wall but seeing something more.
The truth was she couldn’t compartmentalize her actions—she couldn't simply remove her emotions from the equation, and she didn’t understand how he could. She couldn't feel the pain of his people without also yearning to heal them, and she couldn't concentrate on sealing a rift, on saving the world, without also feeling guilty for all the destruction that so-called rescue would bring. Most of her life had been spent testing limits, not caring about consequences, but lately the repercussions were all she could think about.
"What do you think will happen?" she asked softly. "Once it's closed. The rift, I mean. When we've won, what do you think will happen?"
The question had been on her mind more and more. The longer she was away from home, it seemed, the more she ached to protect it—the isles, the houses, their way of living. She'd spent so much of her life desperate to get away, to explore. She hadn't appreciated the beauty of her own world until now, knowing that any day it could be gone.
"The dragons will be trapped in their own world, and we'll be free of them."
"I'm not talking about the dragons, Malek. I'm talking about the people. What will happen to them? Your people have never known the sky. Mine have never known the sea. Yours depend on magic to survive. Mine curse the very thought. And what of the god stones? When the rift is sealed and the spell is broken, what will happen to their magic? Without Aethios, without the stones, who will give wings to the next generation?"
"You."
Her eyes snapped back to his. "What?"
"You, Lyana. You'll give the next generation wings."
"I don't—"
"What did I tell you before? The stones are made of magic. Your god Aethios, he's nothing but concentrated spirit magic. Everything he provides through the priests and priestesses, through whatever mechanism the spell designed, you can deliver tenfold. Spirit joining is similar to healing magic, but instead of restoring a single soul, you're weaving two souls into one. Aethi'kine power gave your people wings long before the isles were lifted into the sky, and you can keep your kind alive long after they're returned to sea."
Lyana stared at her hands as though seeing them anew, the golden aura shimmering like a halo of sun in a dark sky. Malek might not believe in her gods, but she did. If this was Aethios's power, then he'd chosen her. He'd seen something in her the moment she was born—something great, something worthy. Maybe if he were there with her, she'd see it too. As it was…
She dropped her palms back onto her lap.
"Is that what's been holding you back?" Malek asked, dipping his chin until he caught her gaze and not letting go. As always, he looked not into her eyes, but through them, to all the secrets she was trying to hide. "Fear of what will be? You can't think like that. There is no use worrying about the future until we know for certain there will even be one. First we must seal the rift. Everything else will be dealt with as it comes."
"I can't shut it off, Malek."
"You can. Bury it away. Lock it behind a door. Toss it over a wall. Do whatever you have to do, but living in hypotheticals solves nothing."
"That's easy for you to say."
"Why?"
"Because—" Lyana broke off, taking a deep breath. This wasn't how she'd wanted to have a conversation she'd been thinking about during all the hours alone in her room staring at the fathomless mist. Malek was stubborn, perhaps even more stubborn than her. If she didn't say it right, he'd just shut her down. But she was tired of biting her tongue. "Because your people have nothing to lose."
He froze with his fingers on her thigh. The magic still sinking into her skin was the only part of him that moved. His throat bobbed as he slowly swallowed. "They're your people too."
"I know." She covered his hand with hers, willing him to look at her. He wouldn't. "And I want to end their suffering, but I can't abandon my home. When the rift closes, your people will get the sun and the sky. The mist will clear and with their magic, the possibilities will be endless. But my people? They'll lose everything. Their gods. Their homes. They'll find themselves in a world full of magic, a world they don't understand, a world they've spent their entire lives dreading. Unless they have some warning, some way to prepare, there'll be war, and—"
"No."
"Please, just—"
He dropped her hand and stood. "I know what you're asking, and the answer is no."
"Malek—"
"If there is war, so be it." The coldness in the words hit her like a winter storm, stealing the breath from her lungs, leaving a burning ache behind. "The rift is all that matters."
Not to me.
She could already see it—ferro'kine magic slashing swords at their throats and pyro'kine fire burning their wings. The people of her world were afraid of magic, and after living in the mist, she realized they had a right to be. If it came to war, they'd lose. But Malek's people didn't want more suffering. They wanted salvation. If she could keep her people from attacking first, if they had some warning, if she could show them there was nothing to fear, maybe the worst could be prevented. To Lyana, it was worth trying, at the very least.
But Malek would crush those arguments in his clenched fist until they came out as nothing more than dust to be discarded on the wind.
Instead, she said, "I thought you wanted a queen."
"I do." His brows squeezed together as he took a breath. She could almost see his wall lower then go back up, blocking the light from his eyes. "In all decisions except for this."