A weapon. That’s what Adora called me.
The most powerful Uathúil is what Eogan said. And now he’s tested me out on something alive and breathing. Nausea churns up my neck. I’ve been shoving it down for weeks—for my whole life for that matter—hoping that with Eogan it’d be different, that I’d be capable of becoming something different.
But I’m not. I’m a monster.
I turn to Eogan. “You set me up.”
“Pardon?”
My legs are shaking. “You set me up to kill him.”
“No, I tested to see what you’d do, and you performed exactly as you should’ve.”
“As I should’ve? I did the same thing to that wolf that Bron is doing to us! You’re not teaching me to defend—you’re training me as your weapon.”
“That’s an absurd comparison. You’re not Bron.”
“It’s a perfect comparison, and you had me do it!”
“Look, I needed to see how far you’d go. Now we know.”
“How far I’d go? For what—some sick practice game?”
His voice drops in irritation. “I tested you because this isn’t a game. And like it or not, killing is one aspect of war. If you can’t kill an animal, Nym, how do you expect to defend Faelen when lives are at stake? Because you will be killing people.”
I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it. The nausea roils in my stomach. “So you’re preparing me to decide between people’s lives—to choose who lives and who dies?” I shake my head and start to walk away. “In that case, I don’t want anything to do with this war—because unlike the rest of you, I can’t justify it.”
“Then those people will die and Faelen will fall.”
I stop. Turn. “Excuse me?”
He stares straight at my face. Unwavering.
The sky growls and anger sparks along my skin, so intense I hear it sizzle. “Faelen will fall? Who are you to put that on me? To put that on Colin?” Blood pounds in my ears as energy snaps. I point at his chest. “When Adora says it, that’s one thing—because she actually believes it. But you? You’re not even sure the world’s worth saving!”
“Nym,” Colin says, and his tone sounds nervous.
“Or does it just make you feel good to have control? To boss us around because all your other Uathúils left you?”
“Nym,” Colin says louder.
Eogan’s gaze flashes above me and his expression is instant caution. His voice softens. “Nym. I understand you’re upset—”
“You think?”
“But right now I need you to calm down.”
“Calm down?” My chest burns, and my vision darkens, and my hands are shaking, and I’m not going to calm down because I hate him. I hate them all. Adora. Myles. I shift my finger to point in his face. “You’re all so disillusioned you’ll have us fight for the sake of killing. And for what? To protect an upper class who kills Elemental babies and enslaves children and sells out their king to the highest bidder! You want me to protect people who cut each other’s throats!”
“Nym!”
“Shut it, Colin!”
“Nym, you—”
“I said shut up, Colin!” But instead of my voice, it’s an explosion. As if the storm leaned down and stole my words and ripped them like thunder across the sky. I look up in shock.
Black clouds rage, tossing static back and forth. What the—?
Abruptly come the echoes—mini thunderous eruptions of my voice across the entire range. So loud the ground shakes. And I know immediately it’ll unsettle that glacier of snow on the mountain next to us.
Eogan must know it, too, because he grabs me and yanks me backward, but I can already hear the sound of the ice breaking.
It matches the sound of my heart, as the snow begins slipping, then sliding down from the neighboring slope above us, moving faster than an ocean wave. It’s headed straight for the town of the little boy whose flowers sit wilted in my pocket. My eyes start to heat and blur. Oh please no.
“Colin, stop it!” he yells.
My body wrenches from Eogan’s grasp, as if energy’s being pulled from my bones, igniting my hands, my chest. I have to stop this.
“Nym, don’t!” Eogan jerks me back. “You’ll only make it worse.” He presses both hands into my skin, willing me his calm.
“Let me go!” I scream, and I’m beating his chest and fighting to push him away even though I know he’s right—no amount of lightning or wind will help. It’ll only build the avalanche faster and destroy the boy and his mum sooner, and I am the cause.
I am useless.
Helpless.
No better than the Bron army.
Oh hulls, what have I done?
The little boy’s face wavers in my gaze.
Suddenly, it’s not only him but every face I’ve ruined, every person I’ve killed, and that lid I’ve been trying to seal over my broken soul for so long comes flinging off, and there’s nothing underneath but death and grief and horror.
And tears.