Page 179 of Elemental Becoming

I trail off, afraid of the answer.

Garrick smiles. “They’re fine. They got out of the ballroom before the fighting got too bad. And before you ask, yes, Jarek and Rian are fine. And Row. And Sera.” He lets out a low whistle. “Considering everything, we were lucky so many channelers and soldiers were at the ball.”

Relief washes over me and a thought occurs to me.

“Garrick, where did everyone get weapons? I thought weapons were not allowed at formal ceremonies, except for the Warlord.”

Garrick looks at me questioning. “Has Valen not taught you about summoning?”

My eyes widen.

“Ah, I see. Future lesson then. Also, we have weapons stashed in secret compartments in every large space in the castle for reasons exactly like tonight.”

But I can’t think about it. Everything aches. My body. My mind.

The magics are still inside me, raw and jagged beneath my skin, curling through my veins like something restless and unfinished. The ache left behind feels vast enough to swallow me whole.

Every step feels harder than the last. My limbs grow heavier beneath me, exhaustion bleeding through my muscles faster than I can fight it. My breathing slows, but my ribs still feel too tight, like my body has forgotten how to fully draw air.

I don’t realize how badly I’m fading until Garrick sighs beside me, long and dramatic.

“You’re moving like an old woman,” he mutters, adjusting his grip on my arm like he’s already preparing to catch me.

I try to glare at him, but the effort barely sticks. “I’d like to see you wield four elements at once and still be standing after.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re terrifying,” Garrick drawls. “Now let’s get you somewhere—”

A door swings open ahead of us.

I barely have time to react before Lyra barrels into me.

“Amara!”

Her arms slam around me hard enough to drive what little breath I have left from my lungs.

Pain flashes through me instantly. Bruised muscles. Frayed magics. Exhaustion woven deep into my bones. I wince before I can stop myself.

“Lyra,” I wheeze.

She pulls back just enough for me to see her face—flushed, streaked with sweat, her emerald dress in tatters, the rich fabric torn and smeared with blood. Dark streaks stain the shredded sleeves, the once-elegant gown ruined by battle.

But her eyes . . .

Gods, her eyes are wide and wild, overflowing with emotion.

“What the fuck was that?” she demands, her voice sharp despite the tremor beneath it. “You didn’t just fight, Amara. You—gods, I don’t even have words for what you did.” Her fingers tighten around my arms to convince herself that I’m still standing. “You didn’t see yourself,” she breathes, shaking her head. “You weren’t fighting. Youwerethe storm.”

Unease curls low in my stomach.

Because I remember how it felt. The pull of it. The raw, unchecked power. The moment it nearly swallowed me whole.

And Lyra saw all of it.

“It wasn’t—” I start, but she cuts me off immediately.

“Don’t you dare say it wasn’t a big deal.” Her grip tightens again. “I saw what it did to you.”

“I won,” I say instead, my voice duller than I intend.