Page 73 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

Pettiness. Entitlement. The casual cruelty of people who had never considered that the hand saving them might one day close into a fist from constant abuse.

They looked at me and saw clean bandages and a body they could barge in on and demand favors from in the darkest hour of the night. But they didn’t see that the same hands that knew how to coax a failing heart back into rhythm also knew exactly how to shut it off.

For one terrible second, I imagined doing the unforgivable. The thought should’ve made me want to turn and run from myself. Instead, some ugly, growling thing inside me lifted its head and whispered, Finally.

I shook myself to snap out of it. But I refused to apologize for it.

“Only one section was disturbed,” I said evenly. My voice sounded distant to my own ears as I fought to keep my rising anger from flaring. “And that was recharged. The soldiers—your countrymen, by the way—were here to collect my patient.”

If any of you had ever talked to me, you might’ve known.

Part of me wanted to snarl it, but I was so tired.

“Elbort told us about him,” Lana said, narrowing her eyes slightly.

The other women surveyed the cabin, their faces a mixture of curiosity and thinly veiled covetousness. I knew what they were looking for when their eyes froze on the pouch of coins still sitting on the table. I’d peeked into it last night. Every coin was gold—a sum scandalous enough to keep the village talking about what I’d done for it for the next decade.

I’d let myself be crowded in my own home, be talked down to by people who barely cared if I stopped breathing. These women hadn’t come to ask for protection. They’d come to ensure their favorite tool was still useful. And the ultimate reward at the end was discovering what I’d gotten from my bargain with a demon.

Only heartache.

That was the last straw. My patience finally snapped. There was no satisfaction in it—just the heavy, final slam of a door I’d spent years trying to hold open.

“I held your hands while each of you gave birth. Then I stopped the bleeding, so you’d be there when that baby needed her mama.” The pressure of so much rejection and scorn inside me had become unbearable to contain. I had to release it. “Yet you treat me like this? You don’t care about me. You only want what I can do! You’ve mistaken my kindness for weakness for years. That mistake ends today.”

I’d thought the anger would feel foolish once voiced, like a tantrum I would regret once it passed. But this was my first deep breath after years of struggling through a dirty cloth.

“Out,” I snarled, the words hissing between clenched teeth. “Get out before I make you.”

My hands were already burning with magic, hot and ready to stream out of me. If I were Owain, the room would’ve been filled with oppressive darkness.

The three women stared at my trembling hands, speechless, unable to comprehend the feral creature standing before them where the gentle lamb they were accustomed to had been.

It would take so little effort to become exactly what they feared—they just didn’t understand it yet.

Still, they didn’t move. From shock or disbelief, I didn’t know. All I cared about was not seeing their faces until they had something to offer me other than complaints and ungrateful demands.

The heat started in my sternum—not the familiar warmth of healing, but something rawer, older, like something that had been banked for years and finally found enough air to catch. By the time I registered it, fire was already wreathing my hand as I raised it to point to the door.

This was my mother’s fire, and my grandmother’s before her—from the line of women who’d chosen to grant this village mercy over resentment year after year. But without them here, this place was starting to feel less and less like home. It was past time to set boundaries they could no longer cross.

“Out,” I said once more, this time with deadly calm in my voice. “And never forget that you’re safe in Selmont because of me, because of my family. ”

Three pairs of eyes flicked to my hand. Then, three sets of feet shuffled backward.

I had to hold myself in place, heart pounding, to stop myself from going after them like a madwoman. I’d said my piece, and the only thing that had shattered was the illusion I’d been clinging to.

Lana shut the door slowly—a good thing because my hands were still wreathed in fire and I had no interest in burning my own house down to do it myself. It was a miracle my dress hadn’t scorched from the heat.

I waited for shame to arrive. It slipped in after every sharp word or selfish thought, every moment I failed to be gracious enough for people who had never once been gentle with me. But the shame never came. Only the terrible realization that I hadn’t destroyed anything worth keeping came to me.

The flickering light glinted off the ancient polished plate I’d hung on the wall like a mirror, catching my attention. My reflection stared back at me—hollow-eyed, hair unbound, mouth set in an angry line.

The villagers didn’t see a woman. Not quite a person either.

The face staring back at me was a thing to them—a tool to be used until it broke. They saw something that had learned to make itself inconspicuous and negligible. Something that had forgotten it ever knew how to be anything else.

But as I stared at myself, I understood why they feared her. She was done being small.