Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(49)

I returned to the apartment and curled up on top of my silky bedspread, the darkness and still air sending me to sleep.

???

Merrick was leaning against a broken fountain near the Forgotten Gardens when I found him the next morning, hauling the two buckets of rocks that he still made me carry every time. It never got easier—he kept adding heavier rocks—but my grip strength had increased dramatically. The predictability of a familiar routine comforted my anxious heart.

“Merry meet,” I said quietly, setting down the buckets. His eyes looked nearly blue in the morning light. His jaw was tight and tense.

He straightened. “Ready to train?”

Panic jolted through my heart. “Did the High Priestess get angry with you? Did she blame you for my loss of control? Because it’s not your fault!”

“What she said or didn’t say isn’t important. This isn’t about me. This is about you dealing with your grief.”

I stared at him in disbelief, unsure of what to say.

“You aren’t angry?”

“Why would I be angry?” he asked. Despite the even tone, he was unable to hide the tension in his white knuckles and tight shoulders. The High Priestess had put pressure on him, I was certain of it. “You defended yourself against a dangerous mob.”

“But I lost control. I haven’t . . . I haven’t figured out how to control the power.”

For the first time since he started teaching me, an exasperated tone crept into his voice.

“You don’t figure grief out, Bianca. You go through it. Grief is a mess that you can’t clean up all at once. It takes time and patience, not logic and fact.”

“But my grief is dangerous,” I said, struggling to keep the tears from filling my eyes. Where had this sudden onslaught of emotion come from? Unable to bear his intense gaze, I looked away. Eye contact was little more than a willing vulnerability. “I’m going to hurt someone if I can’t control it.”

“Then stop trying to control it.”

I paused. “What do you mean?”

He let out a long breath.

“My father died when I was twelve,” he finally said, the muscles of his jaw flexing as he looked out across the Forgotten Gardens to the dark heights of Letum Wood. A few lazy flower petals drifted from the wall behind him, landing on his shoulder.

“Twelve?”

“On my birthday, no less. We were hiking a mountain and a storm came in. I didn’t know how to transport yet so we had to hike back down. The rain moved in so fast we could barely see. When you’re up that high, the hair on your arms stand up before the lightning strikes and the thunder is so loud you can’t even hear yourself think. We started back for home right away, but a flash flood swept through the mountain when we were halfway down. I woke up the next morning, lying on a rock. I couldn’t find my father anywhere. My leg was broken, so I couldn’t move. I sat there on the rock, waiting to be found.”

“How long did you wait?”

He shrugged, the distant quality of his voice receding a little.

“It’s hard to tell. I was in and out of consciousness. I kept waking up to call for my father, trying to let him know where I was. Eventually one of the witches from my village found me. I woke up at home, my leg healing, and my father dead.”

I thought about what he said for several moments, unsure of what to say. It felt best not to say anything.

“I blamed myself,” he said with a shake of his head. “It tore me apart for years. I replayed that day over and over again in my head, wondering what we could have done differently. I thought it was my fault because I didn’t know how to transport. I refused to feel the grief. I worked until I was so tired that my body had no choice but collapse into an exhausted sleep. By the time I turned fifteen, my powers were nearly out of control.”

“What did you finally do?” I asked.

“I got tired of fighting it. I just let it happen.”

“Let what happen? I don’t understand.”

“Eventually you will,” he said. “Until then we’ll continue to focus on our goal of learning swordsmanship.”

“And the goal of controlling the magic?”

He shrugged. “Just let it happen.”

I held my breath. Could it really be that simple?

“Are you sure?”

“Emotions are power,” he said. “The more you fight them, the more they fight back. Take a break today. Think it over. Put the High Priestess and any expectations out of your mind. We’ll start up with training again tomorrow.”

???

The Gatehouse lights burned bright that evening.

I stared out at their long flames from the darkness of the empty apartment high above. The candles waited to be lit, an untouched dinner sat on the table, notes from my friends remained unopened. No doubt they wondered where I’d been all day. I ignored all of it, wanting to be alone. I couldn’t get Merrick or Miss Mabel out of my head.

Emotions are power.

It’s difficult keeping the power under control, isn’t it?

Just let it happen.

No matter how I tried, I couldn’t imagine what Merrick meant when he said let it happen, so I stopped thinking about it. My mind slid to Miss Mabel instead, to the binding, to my seventeenth birthday. The thoughts suffocated me. I had to get out of the room. I needed to do something. I drew in a bolstering breath, struck with sudden inspiration.