Power gathered at her fingertips. Felix seemed to hesitate for a split second, but then his expression hardened.
“At least I’m not so desperate that I can’t make a single decision without someone holding my hand!”
She wasn’t prepared for the way his words hurt. It made her recoil as if he had slapped her. A flicker of guilt flashed across his face, but she did not care anymore.
“So why are you still here?” she snarled. “Just leave! Get out!”
She shouted the last words, her voice high and shrill, and pushed her hands at him. She wanted to hurt him back, hurt him like he had hurt her, but the moment she did, she regretted it.
A wave of force slammed into Felix, throwing him into the wall with a dull thud that made her stomach twist. He slid to the ground with a pained grunt.
She stared at him, wide-eyed, her hands still tingling. That wasn’t… She hadn’t meant to do that. The magic receded slowly, mockingly, leaving her breathless and shaking.
Felix stood up stiffly, not looking at her, his jaw tight with humiliation and fury. Her throat ached. She wanted to say something, to apologise, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Fine,” he spat. “I’ll get out. Have fun with your stories.”
He shoved past Garren, slammed the door behind him, and was gone.
Isolde slowly sat back down, staring at her hands. They were shaking. Her whole body was shaking. A teardrop fell onto her left hand, and until that moment she had not even realised she was crying. She had used her magic on Felix, and wanted to. Wanted to show him, tell him she wasn’t some pushover. But there was no gratification, only guilt.
“I’ll go after him,” Luella said quietly. “Don’t worry. He just needs to cool off.” Isolde didn’t look up as the door opened and closed again.
A chair scraped beside her. Garren sat down, a quiet presence in the middle of her emotional turmoil. He didn’t speak right away, for which she was grateful. It gave her time to scrub her sleeve across her cheeks and take a deep, unsteady breath.
“You should not let him get to you like this,” Garren said at last.
Isolde did not have a reply to that, nothing she would share with Garren anyway, so she huffed out a hollow laugh.
“He is right,” she whispered eventually. “About some of it. I am so desperate for answers. I didn’t want to have to consider that it’s possible there aren’t any. That it’s up to me to figure it out.”
“Even if that is the case,” Garren replied, speaking slowly as if choosing his words carefully, “then you needed this time here to come to that conclusion. That is a valuable lesson to learn.”
“I shouldn’t have hurt him.”
Garren scoffed. “Violence is the only language men like him understand. He’ll be fine.”
Isolde turned her head sharply. “That’s not true. He’s not a bad person.”
“Maybe not. But he is bad for you.” He picked up an apple and started peeling it.
“You don’t trust him.” It wasn’t really a question. She fidgeted with her sleeves.
Garren’s frown deepened. “I trust him in a fight. I trust he will see this journey through to the best of his ability. But his intentions? No. His judgement even less.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “He’s been supportive, and kind. He’s been a friend to me.”
Garren’s scoff was almost a sneer this time. “He doesn’t want to be your friend. All he is interested in is –” He stopped himself, clenching his jaw and staring at the apple as if it had done him great personal insult. “He is just a sellsword, my lady. It would be unwise of you to get attached to this… friendship. When all this is over, he will be gone. Back to his own place in the world.”
The statement hit her like a blow, and she froze. She had only known Felix for such a short time, but it was like he had been in her life forever. The thought of himgonefilled her with a painful sadness that far surpassed what she should feel for a friend. Was she being stupid, allowing herself these feelings at all? Maybe Garren was right.
“All of this is temporary,” Garren continued, oblivious to her sudden stillness. “When we reach the Nexus, the mages’ ritual will lift this condition from you. You’ll be able to go home. To be yourself.”
Isolde blinked. “Myself?” Her voice was small and weak to her own ears.
“A Trevalyan. Scholar, noblewoman. One day you will be the lady of the estate. Someone of influence and status. You’ll be free; you’ll have a proper life, with agood husband from a good family. Someone deserving of you.” He said it gently, encouragingly, but it sounded like he was giving her a jail sentence.
Free? She had never felt more free in her life than she did now. Misguided, perhaps, but there, regardless. It had been scary, and difficult. She had been completely out of her element. But she had also seen so much, learned so much. She’d slept under the stars, experienced wild, untamed nature, witnessed and done things she had only read about in books. It had made her feel alive like nothing else ever had. If that wasn’t proper, then so be it.
