Brianna had woken early, anxious to finish repairing connections in the men. She’d set to work on Ellin’s right away, despite the woman’s still-healing injuries and need for sleep, because even with those concerns, she had a fair deal of strength and talent. And Brianna had wanted to ask her about the dark-haired man.
As they walked the corridor, part of Brianna regretted the decision. “She said she could feel the air change around him,” Brianna explained. “Like he was gathering power.”
Logan kept pace beside her, listening as she talked through her thoughts. He’d not gone into the room with Ellin, but Brianna wasn’t sure whether it was out of respect for the woman’s condition or because he trusted her implicitly.
“He didn’t try and sway her to tell him.” Brianna’s brow was drawn down, her gaze focused on the door at the end of the hallway. “She and Brendan could have been made to speak, to do any single thing he asked of them, and he didn’t.” She looked at the man beside her. “He didn’t turn them, Logan. He tortured them for so long, and he didn’t use his power.”
“He used his power,” Logan corrected. “Just not that one.”
Brianna chewed her lip. “So he didn’t truly want the answer?” She paused outside the library, their meeting point for Wesley. “Because he doesn’t want them to find out.”
Logan stared down at her. “Because he doesn’t want them to know he can.”
They were two real possibilities, but the distinction was severe.
Brianna and Logan had spent many hours in the Council libraries when he’d become her protector, so as they stepped into the space, it was the first thing that came to mind. The room felt comforting to her now, not simply for those memories, but because most of her life had been spent surrounded by books, immersed in learning and the ancient languages. She was surprised Wesley would be spending his time there, but found him in a dimly lit corner beside a pile of leather-bound records.
“Brianna,” he said, standing to meet them.
His dark red hair was backlit by the high windows, the tips hinting at curls that would run feral if allowed their freedom. Wesley reached out, grasping Logan’s forearm in the typical Council manner, then brushing Brianna’s.
“You look well,” she said.
He reached up, scratching self-consciously at the faint pink lines marking his neck, the last remaining token of the attack on Council. “Yeah, it’s pretty amazing.”
Some of the men were healing quicker than others, a proficiency for the gift or their strength giving them the advantage, but none faster than Aern and Logan.
“Aern told me what you’d been able to do,” Wesley said, gesturing toward the books in the corner. “So I’ve been searching the records for something we might have missed.”
“That’s excellent,” Brianna answered. She’d been through the records herself, as had many of the others, but they were void of anything specific about the power or the way it had changed. Almost suspiciously so. “Have you had any luck?”
“No, not here anyway.” His expression lifted, suddenly eager to share his discovery. “I’d been thinking all this time that you were special.” Brianna noticed Logan’s mouth twitch at the boy’s enthusiasm, but she managed to keep a straight face as Wesley’s hands became animated. “There was something about your power that I could feel, whatever you did to protect me from Morgan, from the sway—” He shook his head, struggling to get the explanation out clearly. “I thought it was you, that I had some sort of connection to your power. And then this morning, I saw Emily in the lobby. She’s down there making a terrible mess, you know. There’s water and metal everywhere, and she took this jar of marbles and…”
Brianna raised her brow and Wesley remembered his point. “It was when I saw her that I realized it’s not just you, Brianna. Whatever this is, the way I can feel the power, it’s with everyone. I guess I didn’t realize because the soldiers weren’t really using their sway. Just Morgan. And it wasn’t very strong, it only felt a little bit…”
He trailed off, trying to think of a word to describe the feeling, and Logan said, “That’s how you were blocking it?”
One side of Wesley’s face scrunched up. “More like avoiding it. I could feel it, kind of a pulse through the air, and then I could just… not be where it was.”