Josephine's voice kills any man who hears it-except for the assassin sent to capture her for the king that's been chasing her all her life...but what happens when he decides he doesn't want to hand her over and keep her for himself instead?
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There was a thick bead of sweat rolling down the side of my forehead as I willed my powers around Oren's body for the tenth—or was it fifteenth—time in a row in order to keep him safe from the flaming mist that tumbled from my mouth as I sang.
A tale I had began to weave into my song around the ancient language that poured from my lips as easily as the mist contained the story of two young girls and the pact they'd made to always protect each other.
Marlisa was heavy on my heart, and I couldn't help but to agonize and wonder where she was, if she'd had her baby yet, how Drevan was doing protecting the three of them from this sick world around us...
If she missed me as much as I missed her.
The song inside me started to wane as the mist coiled around Oren's body but did not strike.
My fingers twitched, and so did the mist.
My eyebrow went up in confusion, but by then my concentration was broken.
As the last note faded from my mouth and the smoke rose up into the air, Oren stood from his spot perched on the sitting chair with the ominous brass collar sitting nearby.
"That's enough. What changed from before when you couldn't control it? You suddenly didn't want me to be hurt?"
"No. I can think of many reasons why I'd want to hurt you, but none of them would get me what I want."
"Which is to be out there, now?"
The sound of an explosion nearby rocked the walls of the small cabin. Screams filled the air. I couldn't tell if they were of anguish or victory.
"Yes," I gritted out through my teeth, the word poison on my tongue as he wrung it from my lips.
Oren took a few meandering steps toward me, as if the chaos outside didn't bother him in the slightest. As if this kind of thing happened every single day in Hefeta.
One more step, then two.
Each thud of his boots on the wooden floor beneath us was like a boom of thunder in the sky.
Lightning arced in a graceful forked tongue outside one of the only windows in Oren's cabin just as something rocked the cabin; I couldn't be sure if it was from the oncoming storm or for the battle raging outside these walls.
"You think going out there to try and save them will help your guilt for what you've done in the past, but it won't. Nothing can allow you to go back and change what's already happened. Nothing will help you forget the guilt, not until you choose to forgive yourself first."
"Forgive myself? And you believe that to be so easy? Who is going to tell Peter's parents that his murderer doesn't still suffer from his death, but that she simply 'forgave herself'? Who would tell my sister that our father's death was inconsequential all because I got to rid myself of guilt by saying, 'oh, it wasn't so bad. It wasn't my fault. I can forgive myself now'? No, Oren. I can't simply 'forgive' myself."
