Page 129 of Where Darkness Falls

Though my body aches, I rise from the ground—determination lining my features. While I took my training seriously before, now it feels like there might actually be a purpose beyond the pain. I’ll succeed for them, but I will find the strength for myself.

Even if I must shatter to obtain it.

“You have to concentrate,”Virgil says to Maeva.

“Intriguing,” she bites back. “Why didn’t I think of that for the last seven weeks?”

We have one more week remaining in our training sessions before we embark to find the Crógemma. Maeva’s hand-to-hand combat is improving daily, and she no longer curses my existence for attending the morning runs. In fact, I’d venture to say she enjoys them now that her body is accustomed to the breathing patterns. However, even as she improves in some areas of training, the ability to summon her starlight hasn’t been quite as fruitful.

“Perhaps you could try closing your eyes and envisioning what you wish the plants to do?” Riordan pipes in with less gusto than usual. He’s probably still sulking from his loss in the practice dual this morning.

While she hasn’t yet bested me, she did disarm Riordan in their sparring session. I found the whole affair quite entertaining. After all, it’s not every day that one witnesses a fearsome member of the Cadre sulking over a loss. Virgil and Laisren have taunted Riordan incessantly over such a defeat. However, Riordan claims it’s merely his sweaty hand that caused the blade to slip free.

“Ingenious, Riordan. Truly,” she snaps.

He throws up his hands in surrender, backing away from the woman who very much resembles an angry pixie. Maeva’s determination is written all over her face as she stares at yet another hedge in another courtyard. This routine tends to go the same way every day:

She focuses on the plants. Her eyes squint ever so slightly as she extends her hand to summon her ability. Then, after three hours without success, her anger flares, and the starlight illuminates her body, but anything she touches at that point only wilts further or shrivels into dust. Once that occurs, she stomps off, muttering under her breath until she’s back in her chambers once more.

This courtyard is the only one we’ve yet to practice in, and so far, this time is like the others.

“Perhaps you need to look at this from a different angle,” Virgil says.

Maeva sucks in a sharp breath before turning her fiery gaze on him, and I swear the bloody atmosphere chills. There’s the slightest twitch of her nose as it scrunches—a sure sign that she’s irritated. “Which angle might that be, Virgil?” she retorts, gesturing to the courtyard around us.

“Perhaps your ability isn’t manifesting because you haven’t had the proper motivation,” he replies, ignoring the scorn in her voice.

The muscles around her eyes spasm as she clenches and unclenches her fists. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’s contemplating driving one of those beautiful fists into the side of his face. Since Virgil has a death wish today, he draws out one of the short knives from his boot. Then the dimwit points the blade right at Maeva.

“For all the love of bloody Celestae,” I murmur. “Everyone just calm down.”

“We’re supposed to help her learn how to heal, not destroy, Virgil,” Laisren warns.

Virgil’s mouth quirks. “Exactly,” he replies. Then he slides the blade down his forearm, creating a deep, oozing gash—dripping with blood. He hisses as he drops the weapon back into his boot.

The irritation carved into Maeva’s features just moments ago dissolves as she rushes to him, a flicker of her starlight dancing in her hands. Her eyes track the blood flowing in rivulets down to his fingertips. “Why would you do that, you fool?” she hisses.

“Have you lost your bloody mind, mate?” Riordan asks, incredulous.

Maeva reaches for his arm, but Virgil steps out of her grasp. “No,” he says softly.

“No?” Maeva asks. “You’re hurt. I need to help you.”

“Not with your touch,” he replies, nodding down to the starlight that lingers softly in her hands. “Use your ability.”

Maeva looks from her hands back to his crimson-streaked arm in contemplation. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she weighs out her options. Her breathing shallows as she shakes her head. “What if I hurt you?” she whispers.

Virgil smiles at the trembling woman. “You won’t,” he says. “You can do this, Little Star.”

Maeva worries her lip as indecision paralyzes her.

Little Star?

There’s something in their connection—their closeness—that rattles me. My chest tightens, as a sharp tug in my mind calls to me. It feels like a warning to be cautious, yet I can’t help but wonder once again:Why are they so close?

I understand my connection with Maeva, but her attachment to him is… different. I sense it, but from the first moment we met Maeva, there’s always been a level of comfort between them. She’s never attempted to get as close with Laisren and Riordan, so perhaps that’s why it bothers me so much?

However, as my fourth commander watches the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, there’s something there that can’t be mistaken: love.

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