Page 81 of Daughter of No Worlds

“You say this now,” I retorted, twisting air between my hands. “But what will you ever do when I’m gone?”

I meant it as a preening joke. But as soon as the words left my mouth, they landed like a thrown brick, striking us both with a blunt, unforgiving impact.

Max’s grin had stilled and wilted. One wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. We stared at each other in startled silence, something palpable and indescribable thickening in the inches between us as realization careened through us both.

We had carved out these small, intimate spaces for each other in our lives, and by some miracle of human denial, neither of us had thought about what that would inevitably mean. Now, for the first time, I realized the breadth of the gaping absence we would leave in each other.

That, at least, he would leave in me.

“I suppose,” he said at last, nudging a crawling vine with his toe, “I’ll finally get this garden back under control.”

I shut my mouth and feigned sudden interest in something on the ground, fighting an odd emptiness that suddenly caved in my chest. I had been so singularly focused on where I was going that I hadn’t stopped to think about what I would be leaving behind. The thought of it filled me with words I wasn’t ready to say.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Abead of sweat dangled at the tip of my nose, refusing to fall.

Max circled me, eyes razor sharp with militant focus as he barked command after command. My palms were open, juggling with air and water and sparks and illusions and, of course, those silver butterflies, leaping into the air in great desperate bursts.

Start. Stop. Hover. Higher, faster, smaller, slower — control!

I anticipated each word before it was out of his mouth, yanking illusions closer or pushing them further, sculpting water into perfectly formed likenesses.

“What’s this?” Max barked, wiggling my loose, dangling elbow.

“Intentional,” I gasped, between clenched teeth.

“Good. Trick question. Don’t lock up. Show me those butterflies.” And then, before I could move, “Seamless, please. Control.”

The ball of water hovering between my hands was a perfect sphere — completely circular, without a drop escaping from its form, even as keeping it there took complete concentration. The water rushed in a circular motion, flowing within that sphere even as it never broke its bounds. With perfect fluidity, I peeled the butterflies from it — one first, then two, then five, then the sphere broke and gave way to a pack of them. First wet, flapping things, then shifting into blue, translucent light that rose into the sky.

“Call them back.”

I did, yanking the butterflies back to my palms, circling them around my body. My hair rose with the breeze that swirled around my face, obscuring my vision. Still, that damn drop of sweat didn’t fall.

“Back to your hands.”

They gathered in my palms, cupped between my hands, pressing together.

“Now surprise me.”

I smiled. Closed my fingers. When I opened them, the handful of butterflies were cast in glittering metal.

Max peered into my hands, a smile twitching at one side of his mouth. “What is that, steel?”

“Yes.”

“Stronger than glass. Very poetic.”

I shrugged, holding back my own smug smirk. I thought so too.

But Max straightened, that echo of a smile gone beneath layers of stone, his hands clasped behind his back. He regarded me with hawk-eyed intensity that seemed so unlike him that it might have made me laugh if I wasn’t so focused. This, I thought, is what Max the soldier must have been like — this straight-backed, sharp-tongued, stone-faced captain.

Seconds passed. My stomach tightened.

And then, just as I was getting nervous, his face split into a grin. “Perfect.” He raised his hands, palms open, as if bestowing a blessing. “Tisaanah, you are ready.”

Nervousness quivered beneath my skin. My ensuing smile was short lived. “Even without—”

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