No response.
"We had a deal!" He banged his fist against the wood. "We had a deal!"
Silence.
He kicked and shoved and yelled with all his might, but it did nothing to stop the heavy bolt from sliding into place, locking him inside.
36
Lyana
Malek was later than usual that morning. By the time he walked in, Lyana was already seated at her desk with a perfect sphere of water floating in the air before her eyes. Perhaps if she'd been able to do as he'd asked and separate her magic from her mind, to build a wall between her emotions and her power, his sudden appearance wouldn't have bothered her. As it was, the moment he strode through the door she jumped in her seat and the globe of water burst, splashing her in the face.
"Where have you been?" she asked as she wiped the droplets from her cheeks.
"That was good," he said, ignoring her question. "Do it again."
"Malek—"
"After. I promise, I'll explain everything after."
When he approached, she couldn't help but notice his pale skin seemed alive with color, the flush bringing a certain sparkle to his midnight eyes, as if the mist had cleared to reveal a starry sky. His blond hair was in disarray, both falling over his forehead and standing atop his head as though caught in a breeze.
Questions stirred at the back of her throat, but Lyana swallowed them. Later, she thought. I'll ask him later.
With a sweep of his hands, the water splattered across the table lifted in a flash of gold and returned to the bowl. Malek sat, pressed his elbows against the table, rested his chin on his folded hands, and watched her. The look on his face, ripe with so much expectation, made her stomach flutter.
Separate it, she chided herself. Cut off my emotions.
Lyana concentrated on the bowls, closing her eyes and reopening them to welcome her spirit vision, so the world shifted into an array of elemental colors. Then she called on her magic. The power responded immediately, dancing along her fingertips as her awareness extended beyond her. Malek's soul whispered, lonely and aching, yet rigid and strong, pushing her away before she even had a chance to reach out. There wasn't time to linger on why, as the souls outside her window called, yearning for her healing touch.
No. No. No.
The surge broke like a wave crashing over her, but Lyana fought to keep the water back, building a dam inside her mind, cutting off her heart and her soul, focusing only on the magic thrumming beneath her skin and the power alive inside her. The sensation left her cold yet tingling, as though she were back in her homeland high above the clouds, where the air was crisp enough to burn as she drew it into her lungs. She felt just as barren as that tundra, nothing but ice and rock, a proper queen bred of snow, no longer the warm and carefree princess of her youth.
As she stared at the blue spirals of water sitting still inside the bowl, the spirit between gradually came into view, subtle flashes of gold and silver like oscillations of light from the sun and the moon. She grabbed hold and commanded that essence to move. The liquid responded, trapped within the spirit, hers to do with as she willed. Ever so slowly, the water conjoined in a perfect sphere and rose to hover in the space between her and Malek, their eyes meeting briefly over the churning globe.
"Good," he said, no smile, no enthusiasm. "Now the fire, too."
Furrowing her brows, Lyana divided her attention once more, keeping some on the wall around her heart, some on the water, and some on the fire as she reached for that heat and tugged a loose flame into the air, letting it blaze beside the water.
"Now earth."
Again, Lyana stretched her senses, fighting for control as she dipped her power into the green-flecked soil and commanded it to rise. An agro'kine could have touched the seed hidden within and commanded it to grow, but her magic couldn't penetrate the plant itself, just the spirit hidden all around it, so rather than green stalks and leaves, a crumbly circle of dirt joined the other two elements in the space above the table.
"Now air."
Taking a deep breath, Lyana focused on the subtle yellow sheen circulating within the fourth and final bowl. All she had to do was grasp it. She'd done it in the arena so many times, while Viktor stood across from her, the breeze whipping his clothes as his magic-laced gusts raced across the sands. Out there, it took little more than a thought to hold up her hand and halt the wind, to touch the spirit within the gale and command it. In here, a bead of sweat dripped down the side of her face, tickling her skin as it slid past her ear and down her neck, then sank into the collar of her jacket. Her focus split five ways, she reached for the air with one thought, fought the barrage of souls with another, and used still more to keep the earth and fire and water in her grip.
Lyana brushed the spirit of the air and it brushed back, whispering of escape and endless skies and freedom. Her wings rippled as a shiver pulsed down her spine, and just like that, her careful control shattered. The water fell in a glittering cascade as the soil landed with a thunk. The fire burned out to smoke, and the air exploded in a sudden rush that sent both Malek and her careening backward. Their chairs toppled, and they crashed to the ground.
With a groan, Lyana rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Back in Pylaeon, it would have been painted with clouds. Down here, it was nothing but gray stone, as uninspired as the mist always lingering outside her window.
From the other side of the table, Malek murmured, "You lost control."
It took every ounce of effort not to lash him with spirit. "I know."
"Still, that was better."
Was that a compliment? Am I supposed to be grateful? Her patience for Malek was wearing thinner. Nothing had changed since their conversation on the boat, at least nothing she could see. He taught her. He reprimanded her. He doled out criticism far more easily than praise, and he showed no signs of listening to her concerns. The first thing he'd done when he'd walked inside her room that morning was silence her.
No more.
She’d told him she would give him time, but it was running out. Yesterday evening, in the solace of her room, she'd tested her wings and for the first time in weeks she'd flown. Not a subtle lifting of her feet from the ground, but true flight—the sort that sent her racing around the room, feathers ruffling as a grin widened her lips, the sort that made her dove's soul sing. Whether Malek knew it or not, he'd healed her wings. She wasn't his prisoner any longer. But if he showed her even an ounce of trust, she might yet be his queen.
I'll give him one more day.
One.
If he refuses to treat me as his equal, I'll force his hand and leave. If he really wants to save the world—the whole world and all its people—he'll know where to find me.
"Lyana?"
"What?" she grumbled.
Malek was stretched on his side, leaning up on his elbow and watching her with a small grin across his lips. "Are you mad at me?"
"No."
"You are. And I know why. But I thought a lot about what you said, and I've decided to make a change, which is why I was running late this morning. Something happened last night, something I normally would've kept to myself, but I think you'll want to see."
She was on her feet in an instant. "What happened?"