Page 113 of The Ninth Element

Lirael’s voice cuts through the intoxicating haze like a jarring intrusion. I blink, forcing myself to focus and return to the present. She’s watching me with an intense gaze. Her hand is outstretched toward me, and a silent demand is dancing in her eyes.

SHE WANTS ME TO RETURN IT?

Does this wench truly think I would surrender this newfound power?! The mere thought sparks a fierce, visceral hatred that I have never felt before. Does this lowly woman, this worthless dimwit, actually believe I’d willingly surrender this power? The audacity of it is breathtaking.

But her gaze doesn’t waver. She’s deadly serious. A wave of hot and potent fury washes over me. With this power, I can crush her. Shatter her bones, one by one, and erase that smugness off of her face. My fingers twitch with an all-consuming yearning to do just that and worse.

“You’re still in the competition,” Lirael says calmly. “With that band on your wrist, you can’t harm me or any Martysh member. And if you rip it off, you’d black out instantly. And I would simply retrieve the fragment.”

Her calmness, her certainty, fuels the fire of my rage, but it also forces acold, calculating clarity.

She’s right.

A faint echo of self-preservation cuts through my rage. If I ran, she would certainly try to stop me, forcing me to use my sorcery on her. And gods, how I yearn to unleash it. I can feel the power thrumming through my veins, my fingers tingling with the urge to wield this strength. It is a waste to keep it dormant.

But escape is impossible. She must have anticipated my reaction. The doors are undoubtedly guarded. Any attempt to use force against her would be self-destructive. I’d lose the trial. And my senses with it.

I will lose access to this power. The best thing that has ever happened to me.

And that is unacceptable. This feeling of finally, finally, having the power to shape my own destiny, to rule over those who underestimated me, after a lifetime of powerlessness—I won’t give it up. Not now. Not ever.

A cold and ruthless plan forms in my mind.

Play the long game.

I will bide my time. Learn. Become stronger. And then… then Lirael will pay. I will make her pay. I can secretly kill her and steal the fragment from her useless body. But for that, I need to stay in Jahanwatch. I can’t bring myself to fall unconscious and get kicked out of this place.

I meet Lirael’s gaze, letting her see the hatred burning in my eyes.

This isn’t over. This is just the beginning.

With a deep, shuddering breath, I place my hand on my chest, drawing the warmth back to the surface, feeling it pool in my palm. Lirael snatches the fragment back immediately, and the instant it leaves my hand, the world lurches.

A bone-deep chill, the complete opposite of the power I just held, seeps into me, and my knees buckle. The room shrinks, closing in and suffocating me. Dark fingers tighten around my lungs, squeezing the breath from me. My vision blurs and black spots dance at the edges, and I throw up the little food that I ate not long ago.

My whole body is shaking, urging me to heave more, but there’s no food or water in my body. So I remain on all fours, gasping and shaking—utterlyhumiliated.

It takes a long time for my body to stop trembling. Slowly, I push myself up with a groan, wiping my mouth and sweat clinging to my skin.

Lirael helps me back to the chair with a surprisingly gentle touch and offers me a glass of water. My mind swirls in a chaotic mess of dark thoughts as I sip, recalling the power I once held, the rage that consumed me.

Those feelings weren’t just the fragment’s influence. They were my own—my suppressed anger, my resentment, my hatred. I had all of that inside me, and it was all unleashed. The realization is terrifying. I lower my gaze, unable to meet her eyes, as shame burns in my throat.

Lirael’s voice, surprisingly kind and reassuring, breaks the heavy silence. “The ninth element. Some say it’s the soul. Ahiras believe it’s sorcery. But perhaps those two are two sides of the same coin. Everyone possesses both. In most, sorcery lies dormant while the soul takes over. In a few, it’s strong enough to be wielded. There’s a relationship between sorcerous power and emotional capacity. The stronger the sorcerer, the less emotional they tend to be. Logic and reason prevail over kindness. You see it in Firelands, and even more starkly among the sorcerous Daevas. By some unknown sorcery, they have amplified their powers through alteration, sacrificing compassion and empathy, becoming ruthless, driven solely by power.” She pauses. “Don’t be ashamed of what you felt. It was just a glimpse, a warning.”

She is consoling me after I wanted to hurt her just moments before. I look up at her. “How… how do you control it?”

A sad smile touches her lips. “It’s a constant battle. It took me six years to level my head and get used to its effect. It’s about self-preservation, ultimately. And we have… certain ways to ensure that. That’s why, Arien, only Martysh can be trusted with the remaining fragments. Imagine that power in the hands of an Ahira, someone far stronger than you and far more ruthless… "

Shivers crawl down my body. She doesn’t need to elaborate. The destruction and chaos a Firelander could wreak with that kind of power would be unimaginable—worse than the Daevas.

“Your purpose, if you choose to accept it, will be to find those fragments and prevent them from falling into the wrong hands. It was a choice I wanted to offer you to choose willingly.”

She smiles, a genuine and almost hopeful smile this time. “You’re not asking why you can wield the power when so many others have failed.”

I don’t need to. The answer is clear. The reason she tracked Zanyar and me, why Emmengar wanted me out of Martysh’s grasp, the reason three who could wield the fragment’s power were Jiva, Lirael, and me—it’s the one thing that connects us, the one thing that sets us apart.

We’re sorceresses.

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