Page 13 of Between Fear and Favor

“Papa?”

“Absolutely not.” The name I’d called Faxon? The man who raised me until he hated me? I would never utter that word again. I wondered if I’d hate hearing my future children say it. Whoever I chose to be their father would deserve the title, so perhaps I wouldn’t mind it. I shook my head, not wanting to think of a far-off future. “How is this relevant to my training?”

“It isn’t,” Shivani agreed. “I was just curious.” She paced down the cobblestone path, mumbling to herself. “Strong emotions?”

I blew out a breath, relieved she was focusing once more on my divinity. During his attack on Astana, I’d siphoned all of Declan’s shadows from him—or at least enough that whatever he had left was negligible—and I was able to kill him. I hadn’t been able to use my divinity to that degree again. Perhaps she was on the right track about my emotions. I’d been very upset when I’d been able to weaponize his shadows against him.

Sometimes it disturbed me how easy it was to not care that I’d murdered a man. But then I remembered all the horrific things he did to people I cared about, and the discomfort always promptly faded. Maybe something was wrong with me.

I said nothing, just watched her from where I stood in the courtyard. Every time I’d attempted to siphon Cy’s shadows away from her, I’d only been able to create the faintest wisps of reaching darkness. Did I need to be afraid in order to do it? She didn’t need to experience a strong emotion to use her divinity. But she had been using it for centuries. Maybe it was hard for her when she was my age too.

Or maybe it was because my grandmother always possessed strong emotions. She felt things almost as forcefully as I did—she was just much better at hiding it. It was no wonder Mama didn’t like her much. My mother had worn her heart on her sleeve my entire life—unless she was hiding something to spare me. I thought perhaps if Shivani didn’t try to stifle every single feeling, she’d be far happier. It was my goal to get her to relax during our time of confinement.

“How are you feeling today, Elora?” She still paced around the courtyard, and I let my gaze linger on the blooming crocuses behind her as I frowned.

“Fine,” I said.

“Angry at your mother still?”

I crossed my arms. “Yes.”

“Why exactly are you angry with her?”

“I’ve told you this?—”

“Tell me again.”

Scoffing, I shifted my weight in irritation. “She let my best friend die in order to save her friend.”

Theo was only in Astana because ofme. He kissed me and he left his family to be nearer to me, and he was the first person I’d ever cared for who wasn’t Mama or Faxon. And now he was dead. My dearest friend, my first friend, my most loyal friend—gone.

“You said he was grievously wounded.”

“And Mamabrought me back to life. If anyone could have healed him, it was her.” I leveled a glare at my grandmother.

“You think she did it on purpose,” Shivani said, tapping her fingertip to her chin. It made me frown. “You were relying too heavily on the boy and not enough on her. It’s what I would do. Make you depend on me once more.”

“Excuse me?”

“You wanted space from her, did you not?”

“Yes, but?—”

“You think your mother is a bad person, don’t you? She took her time saving the duke, knowing if she waited long enough, Theo would die. You said it yourself. She should have been able to bring him back, should she not?”

“I never said she was a bad person,” I argued. “Or that she did it on purpose.” Growing more angry by the second, I glared at Shivani. My heartbreak and fury for my mother was more than enough without Shivani egging it on. What was she seeking to do? Sour me against Mama? “This isn’t any of your business.”

“What if it was you that was hurt instead of Theo? Do you think she would have picked the duke over you?”

Heat climbed up my throat, and my words were flickering flames as I walked toward my grandmother. “No. Stop this. I know you dislike her, but?—”

“I’m not the one who burns her letters.”

I clenched my fists, and Shivani’s face lit up, as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud. But the tension in my head told me it was my own divine light. My eyes were glowing, lit with a frustration I couldn’t quite understand. I was angry at my mother, but it was my right to feel that way. What she had done—allowing Theo to die—was between me and Mama. Her actions didn’t affect my grandmother at all. Shivani was forcing me to speak up for the last person I wanted to defend at the moment, and I hated her for it.

“You don’t get to?—”

She released Cyran’s shadows upon me, binding my wrists together, and my fury only grew. Stomping toward her, I grabbed her arm and wrested control of his stolen divinity. Would siphoning ever feel normal? Would it always feel fuzzy and strange? Cyran’s divinity felt cool where my own felt like sparkling heat, but it was moldable in my grasp.

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