A Dawn of Onyx (The Sacred Stones, #1)(50)

“Dagan!” I gasped. “What is your sword made of? Bricks?” I couldn’t hold it even with two hands, let alone wield it expertly with one.

“The sword you’ve been training with is for a child. Five or six years old at best.” My jaw practically unhinged. “You need to grow stronger so that you can use a proper one soon.”

I respected his dedication to my self-defense, but the urgency was unsettling. Did he think I’d be in peril again so soon?

Despite the shudder that ran through me, I was grateful for the reminder not to get too comfortable here—that Onyx was still dangerous.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to complain. I’m just a little tired.”

I had healed two injured soldiers late last night, who had returned from a mission with significant stab wounds, and it had taken nearly everything out of me.

I dropped his sword and leaned back against the marred tree. Dagan stared at me, sympathy and curiosity twisting in his expression.

“Do you get tired when you work in the apothecary?”

I knew confusion was written plainly across my face. “Sometimes the hours are long… why?”

“That’s not what I mean.” Dagan took his sword back, swiping the blade across his palm.

“Dagan! What—” I reached for the sword, but he swatted me away.

“Here, heal this.”

I narrowed my eyes at him but followed his request. Taking his calloused hand in mine, I closed my eyes and felt the familiar tingle in my fingers.

“Now, I want you to try something new. Don’t pull power from within, but try to harness what’s around you instead.”

“What’s around me?” My eyes popped open and I scanned the area. “Like you? My sword?”

“Not exactly. Sometimes it’s water. Sometimes it’s earth. My guess for you is atmosphere. So try to pull the very air around you into my palm, if you can.”

“Dagan,” cautious hope bubbled in my chest. “Do you know what these powers are? I’ve wanted to understand my entire life. If you know something, you have to tell me.” I pleaded at him with my eyes.

Abbington hadn’t had libraries or scholars, so after exhausting all forms of research, I had given up on trying to understand this part of myself. I had even searched the Shadowhold library a few weeks ago to no avail. I had told myself it was better this way—that I preferred not to know.

But Dagan’s eyes only scanned the field around us. “This technique has helped others with their witchcraft. That’s all. I hoped it might be worth a shot.”

I knew he was keeping something from me. He wasn’t as bad of a liar as I was, but it was close. I knew witches never pulled their power from air or water or earth. Mari had made it very clear as she walked me through all of her research on her new skills, that a witch’s power came from her lineage.

However, when he didn’t say more, I caved and gave it a shot. No harm in trying, right? I imagined pulling the very air around me into his palm, sealing up the small river of blood that had spilled out. My fingers twitched and I watched in awe as his hand found its way back together again, without leaving me exhausted or dizzy.

“How…?”

Dagan’s lips pursed in a knowing smile. “Good. That may help, let me know.”

And then he walked back to the castle.

***

I was so sore, I could hardly walk back to my room afterward. I was going to draw myself a piping hot bath and fill it with salts from the apothecary to ease my aching muscles. Another facet of my strange powers was the ability to heal quickly. I was never sick for long, and my cuts became scars sometimes overnight. One long bath and I’d be good as new by tomorrow.

It was an oddly cloudy day despite the crawl toward summer, and my private washroom was dim and quiet. I lit two lanterns and a handful of candles to brighten the space and began boiling the water. The white porcelain of the clawfoot tub was cracked, and it had some rust here and there, but I had fallen a little in love with it. Back in Abbington, we had a communal bathhouse which was almost solely used by teenagers who wanted to screw away from the intrusive eyes of their parents.

I tried to remember the fleeting, foreboding feeling I had when training with Dagan today—a reminder not to let my guard down completely. But my life here in Shadowhold was far more decent than I had ever imagined it could be. I had even caught myself forgetting about plotting or scheming a way to escape, enjoying Mari and Dagan’s company, even Barney when I saw him in the great hall.

I pushed back against the guilt that scratched at my heart.

I was surviving.

That was all I could do. Guilt had also been swimming in my mind ever since we stole Briar’s amulet. I had hoped Kane wouldn’t notice, that he wouldn’t come after Mari for it.

A small part of me hoped he wouldn’t feel betrayed.

The irony was so ridiculous I nearly gave myself a headache.

Once the water was close to scalding, I poured it into the tub and peeled off my sweat-stained, dirt-ridden leathers. I dipped one blistered toe into the steaming water. There wasn’t a single part of me that wasn’t raw and achy from the morning’s exercises.

Dagan was definitely a sadist.

I added the salts and the clear water bloomed white and milky soft, smelling heavenly of eucalyptus and lilies. Lowering myself into the tub inch by inch, at least half the tension left my body like steam off a cup of tea in winter air. I submerged and lifted my feet out, resting them on the lip of the tub in a position fit for a queen.