Page 40 of Of Kings and Thieves

My dreams were far from peaceful. They were filled with images of battles, blood, and destruction. I saw myself fighting alongside Col, Killian, Magnus, and others. And then I saw Laney, tied up as The Harrow’s captive.

I startled awake, fear surging through me, an echo of the dream. Col was staring down at me with concern etched on his rugged features.

“You were thrashing in your sleep,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head. “A nightmare.”

It had been so vivid, so utterly terrifying.

Col tightened his hold on me, pulling me closer. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

I sighed, letting myself relax in his embrace. Despite the fatigue that still lingered in my bones, I felt a sense of contentment being wrapped up in Col’s arms, and as my heartbeat calmed, I sank back into sleep.

* * *

The next night, I watched Magnus spar with Col in practice, their movements fluid and precise. Killian stood at the edge of the clearing, leaning against a tree trunk, his eyes locked on me.

Though quiet for the most part, the mage would occasionally correct my grip on the hilt or the angle of my wrist when thrusting the sword forward. His critiques were short and precise, his eyes always calculating.

Over the course of just three nights, my skills had improved. I could feel the difference in my movements as they became smoother and more controlled. My strikes landed with greater accuracy, and I was able to parry and block more effectively, even as my body protested every thrust and parry.

Even if every time Col goaded me into injuring myself, I wanted to tackle him to the ground.

There could be multiple benefits to that move, I decided.

“Samara,” Killian said, and I wiped the smile off my face, hoping he couldn’t read minds and know the fantasy that had been playing in my head about Col. But if Killian saw my face redden, he didn’t say anything.

“It’s time we address your siren abilities.”

“All right,” I said, unsure of what to expect. “What do you have in mind?”

“Your song has the potential to be a powerful weapon,” Killian explained. “But we must learn to control and optimize its effects. What kind of songs do you usually sing?”

“Anything that comes to mind,” I replied, shrugging. “Mostly sad ones, I guess.”

“Sadness can evoke strong emotions, but it may not be the most effective choice in battle,” Killian said thoughtfully. “Consider anger, determination, or even fear. Those emotions can disrupt an enemy’s focus, giving you the advantage. Have you noticed that the power of your feelings adds strength to your song?”

“Yes.”

“And what feelings are those?”

I swallowed, feeling the weight of Killian’s scrutiny and unsure if I wanted to bare my soul to him.

“This isn’t the time for embarrassment,” he reprimanded softly. “Tell me.”

“Usually anger,” I said, clearing my throat, “and fear.”

Killian nodded. “All powerful feelings. What if you were to channel those into the type of song you sing? In other words, sing songs of fear and anger.”

“Or of defeat?”

“Perhaps. By doing so,” he continued, “you’ll be able to manipulate the emotions of others more effectively, lulling them into a sense of despair or hopelessness. That could make it easier for you to escape or even turn the tide of a battle, even if they never go to sleep.”

“Okay.” I nodded, intrigued. “How do I start?”

“First, concentrate on the emotion you wish to convey,” Killian instructed. “I’m assuming you already know how to focus the magic on your intended target?”

I nodded.

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