Page 82 of She Who Holds My Wrath

“Fuck you,” I pant.

“Later.” He winks. Despite myself, a breath of laughter escapes me. The asshole always knows how to pull a laugh from me in the most ridiculous situations.

Above us, the balconies that look out over the training ring hums with quiet activity—a few guards pretending they aren’t watching the queen get her ass handed to her by the Shadowtongue.

I spot a flash of white and gold—Elyistria and Sariya conferring at the far end, their heads bent together. They’ve been almost inseparable since this all began, only leaving each other’s sides to return to their own realms to ensure everything is running smoothly. It’s clear they’re in a heated discussion about what’s to come. War. Always war.

Maelkar flicks his sword, drawing my attention back. “Again.”

We go for another round. My arms burn, my knees ache, and my magic is churning under my skin, restless and desperate for release. We focus more on sword work than power since I’ve almost got that under control now. It occasionally bursts from me when I’m having bad dreams, but now, when I call for my flame, it listens. When I direct it, it follows. Swords however… still not my strongest point. And I need to be strong in all aspects of war. Because if my power reserve runs low, I need a backup.

Just as I go to swing my sword, Maelkar’s shadow lashes out faster than I can track in a violent strike, aimed directly at me. Instinct takes over and my power surges, white fire erupting from my palm in a sharp, blinding flare as I slam it into the strike. The impact jolts up my arm, heat and force colliding as I knock his shadows aside before they can wrap around me.

“What the hell?” I mutter, lowering my sword just enough to glare at him. He literally said we’re focusing on swords, yet here he is flinging shadows at me like we’re in a fucking magical death match.

“Good girl,” Maelkar purrs when I deflect three shadow-lashes in a row, his voice dripping in approval in a way that makes my stomach flip. “You’re finally starting to think and act like a weapon.”

“I thought it was swords only,” I pant, dragging my arm cross my brow to wipe away the sweat dripping into my eyes. And I thought you didn’t want me to fall apart?”

“Always gotta have the element of surprise,” he says simply, as if he didn’t just try to decapitate me with his sentient darkness. “And I don’t want you to fall apart. I want you honed, there’s a difference.”

Honed. Right. Because nothing says self-improvement like near-death experiences every five seconds.

We break apart, both breathing hard now. Sweat clings to every inch of my skin, my grip on the sword just a little less steady than I want it to be. Everything aches and my legs are threatening to stop working altogether.

I’m about to place my training sword back in the rack—finally, sweet relief within reach— when he smirks. Oh no. No, no no⁠—

“Again.”

I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of my skull. Of course he fucking says that. Why would I ever get a break? I go to move when the world shifts. It’s subtle at first. A strange, hollow tug in my chest, right behind my sternum. Like someone plucked an invisible string inside me. I freeze, goosebumps erupting all over my body as every nerve lights up at once.

Maelkar notices instantly. Because of course he does. “Daisy?”

I swallow, my sword dipping a fraction. There it is again. A pulse. It’s deep and familiar, hitting somewhere deep beneath my ribs. My breath catches, my vision blurring for a heartbeat. No. It’s not. It can’t be.

I shove it down. Absolutely not. Whatever it is, whatever my broken brain is trying to make me feel, I crush it. I can’t do this right now. Not in the middle of training with Maelkar while he’s actively trying to turn me into a weapon.

I raise my sword again, forcing my grip to be steady, and roll my aching shoulders. “I’m fine. Keep going.”

Maelkar’s eyes narrow. “You just went pale.”

“I always look pale. I’m half dead,” I snap, rolling my eyes and leaning into the sarcasm because it’s apparently my go-to these days. Because if I joke about it, it’s not a problem.

“Mhm, true.” He smiles, but there’s a questioning, searching look in his gaze now. “Alright then, sunshine, hit me.”

Sunshine. I would set him on fire for that alone if I had the energy in me. We clash again, steel ringing out across the room. The pulse returns on the next swing, stronger this time. It travels along my ribs like a shockwave, making my fingers tingle. It distracts me enough that my next block is too slow. Maelkar’s blade slams into mine and sends it flying from my hand. It skids across the floor before clattering loudly against the far wall.

“Fuck,” I snarl, more at myself than anything else, frustration burning in my chest.

He doesn’t press the advantage. Instead, he lowers his sword, his shadows tightening restlessly at his feet. “Something’s wrong.”

“I’m fine,” I say again, harsher this time. “Keep. Going.”

He stares at me like he can see right through my skull. “Daisy⁠—”

The air changes. The torches that line the walls gutter all at once, flames shrinking down to thin, shivering threads. The hairs on my arms rise and the magic surrounding the room goes… weird. It feels like a pressure system shifting before a storm—only instead of building, everything around me is being pulled. Like the magic itself is holding its breath.

A cold silence drops over the room and my heartbeat slams into my throat. “Maelkar?”