Page 52 of The Daughter of the Scarred Elf

“It’s because your control is lacking. You’re not efficient enough at mana manipulation to use less mana to yield the same results. Try again.”

Kolfinna didn’t want to try anymore and would’ve rather gone to her room to retire for the evening, but giving up wasn’t an option. Not until Joran said it was.

While she tried expending less mana on the rock, Joran spoke again. “So … Blár Vilulf is back.”

Kolfinna’s stomach flipped at the sound of his name; she had been avoiding him all week. She woke up earlier than before to make sure she didn’t see him in the dining hall. She went todinner only after Herja returned to their room—because Herja made sure she went to dinner on time to catch Blár, so Kolfinna’s best bet to avoid him during dinnertime was to watch Herja’s schedule.

“I read the reports, you know.” He picked up a rock and began whittling at it with his magic distractedly. “I know he hurt you.”

She didn’t like thinking about that fateful summer day over a year and a half ago, when Blár had faced her and attacked her with his ice magic. When his ice had shattered her leg and ankle in multiple places to the point that she had a permanent limp—until Revna had healed her. She didn’t like thinking back to those days when she only saw him as a nightmare.

The past Kolfinna would be shocked that her present self didn’t see him that way anymore and that her thoughts strayed to a more dangerous realm than nightmares.

“He hurt?—”

“I know,” she said quickly.

She couldn’t pinpoint what emotion was playing on his face, but it was a mixture of guilt and pity and sadness and maybe even anger.

“I’m friends with him.” Kolfinna focused on the rock and raised it up. “We have had our differences, but we’ve also worked together a few times and I guess we got over it.”

“But he tried tokillyou.”

“I’m aware,” she said dryly.

“And you forgave him?”

“Joran, it’s not that simple.”

“But …” He sighed loudly, tossed the carving of a miniature tree he had made in the rock, and raked a dusty hand through his golden hair. Debris from the stone colored his burnt golden hair in a pale powdery beige color. The image of him frazzled momentarily paused her from her training. It was strange tosee him look anything but small, quiet, and docile. “Hehurtyou, Kolfinna. And you can just … forgive him? Why? I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand.” She turned away from him and the rock fell, joining her other failed attempts. She tried to focus on all the imperfect rocks surrounding her and tried to raise another one, but her mind was too jumbled. “It really isn’t your business.”

Joran was quiet for a few seconds. “Why are you able to forgive him but not me?”

“Excuse me?” She spun to face him.

“Yes?”

They stared at each other for several seconds. Kolfinna finally sputtered, “Forgive you for what?”

“Why don’t you tell me that? Because, clearly, I’ve done something wrong for you to hate me.” Joran brought his knees to his chest and watched her with intense, green eyes. Against the backdrop of monotonous, earthy, reddish-brown rocks, his eyes appeared vivid. “Is it because I saw you that day? In my room? I’m really sorry about that. I just left to grab an extra uniform for you because I figured you wouldn’t want to wear your sweaty, dirtied clothes. I truly had no intention?—”

“That’s not why.” Her face flamed and she brushed off the dust from her hands to keep them busy. She didn’t want to think of that day.

“Is it because of what happened in Lieutenant Bernsten’s office? I’m just as bound to listen to him?—”

“Joran.” Kolfinna bunched her hands together. “Look, it really doesn’t matter?—”

“It does.” He rose to his feet. “It matters to me.”

She blinked. She didn’t like the way he was staring at her. The expectations on his suddenly determined face. “Why? Whydo you care what I think about you? We don’t even know each other?—”

“You’re the first fae I’ve met in a long, long time. I want to be friends. I want to …” Joran stared down at his scuffed boots. “Connect with someone who knows therealme.”

Everyone knew him as the white-ranked soldier, but no one knew the fae Joran. Except her.

“You could tell everyone—” she started.

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