These Twisted Bonds (These Hollow Vows, #2)(36)

I pull at the sadness, little by little.

“Keep pulling,” he says, “until it’s all cupped in the palm of your mind’s eye.”

The sadness detaches from me like a cat retracting its claws from my skin, and my eyes fly open.

“It worked.”

“Close your eyes,” he says. “Finish.”

I do as I’m instructed, pulling at the rest of the sadness as if I’m physically extracting it from my chest. It’s a relief, and also a reminder of how alone I really am. Feeling Sebastian was keeping my loneliness at bay, and now it’s returning like an old, unwelcome housemate. But I continue, doing the same with his worry, that gnawing torment that worry has become for him. This one’s harder, but I keep tugging until, in my mind’s eye, I’m holding the strings in my hands.

“Good,” Misha says, seeming to sense that I’ve reached the end. “Now place them on the other side of the window.” I open my eyes again, but he says, “Stay focused. This is your mind. You decide what gets in and what stays. Place them on the other side of your darkened window where they belong.”

Focusing, I crack the dark window and toss the balls of string through. The second I slam the glass back down, my body feels lighter. My eyes fly open as I smile, but at the same moment, Sebastian’s there again. All his worry and sadness back as powerfully as before.

I shake my head. “It’s not working.”

“You’re not focusing, ” Misha says. “Try again.”

I close my eyes and repeat the steps, visualizing the balls of string and the darkened window. This time when we’re disconnected, I focus on keeping my guard up, but when I open my eyes, Sebastian’s emotions snap back into place with mine.

“You’re trying to make this easy,” Misha says. “Stop thinking of the connection as something malleable and start thinking of it as something unmovable. The bond is there, whether you like it or not. You’re simply pulling a heavy curtain to make it harder to see in and out. Try again.”

I try. Again. And again. I envision a blackened window and it turns to air. Other times the glass cracks under the intensity of my focus.

“What are you darkening your window with?” Misha asks, pacing in front of me. From the look of him, he thought this little training session would be easier than it has been.

I shrug. “I’m painting it black.”

He stops pacing and turns to me, smiling. “Not paint. Night. Place your shadows—the deepest, darkest you have—between you and your prince.”

I’m exhausted, practically shaking from the mental energy required to do this again, but I try. This time when I open my eyes the shield holds. Sebastian’s emotions are still there, but they’re muted.

Distant. I could lift the darkness, open the window, and retrieve them, or I could choose to leave them on the other side.

I draw in a deep, relieved breath. “It’s working.”

“For now,” Misha says, and I scowl. “You’ll need practice if you want any sort of stamina. Be patient with yourself.”

I shrug. “I have nothing but time.”

Misha treats me to a full smile. “Good work, Princess,” he says. “Don’t expect this to ever completely negate your connection. Your shield will get better over time as you become stronger, but it will always be difficult to block the bond during highly emotional, intense, or painful situations.”

I nod. “I understand.” I take a breath. “And will the same technique work for blocking you out?”

He chuckles. “It will. But again, it takes practice. Be patient with yourself, and remember that even when you have me blocked, you can choose to use my creepy talent to communicate with me if you wish.”

“Even if I have you blocked? How?”

He studies the ceiling thoughtfully. “Think of it this way—you and I have connected, and I’ve chosen to keep a bit of my mental energy locked on you. Since I’ve done so, you can tap into it. Try visualizing a thin tunnel of energy between us that will allow me to speak in your mind.”

I focus, visualizing it. Like this? I ask.

He smiles. Exactly like this. Well done. Now shut me off.

I throw up a wall of night in my mind and focus hard.

That’s enough to keep your thoughts from flying at me when I’m minding my own business, but not enough to keep me out.

I growl, and his lips twitch. “Keep working on it,” he says. “It’s a muscle, like anything else.”

“I don’t want just anyone in my mind without my consent.”

“Then practice. Every day. Train your mind as you’d train your body, and you will improve.”

I feel guilty for asking, but . . . “When I get stronger, will this work for when I’m in the settlement as well? When I’m feeling the children’s emotions?”

Misha turns up his palms. “That, I can’t say. I’m not familiar with a gift that allows the bearer to tap into the emotions of an entire court.”

I chew on my bottom lip. When he puts it that way, it sounds too big. Too important. Again I find myself questioning what kind of king Oberon must’ve been. He loved my mother, yes, and at first glance, saving me from certain death sounds like a good and kind choice. But handing his crown and power over to me was reckless and irresponsible. He warned my mother that there would be a cost, but I wonder if either of them knew the cost would be far greater than just his life, that his act of love would threaten his entire kingdom.