Page 257 of Elemental Becoming

“This is my fault. And for that, I’m sorry.”

He pauses, his jaw tightening briefly before he continues. It’s a reaction I rarely, if ever, see from him.

“A part of your training should have included space to rest your mind, not just your body. To be, not always become. I should have made room for that. Please forgive me.”

I reach for him and take his hands in mine.

“Valen, it’s okay,” I say gently. “There’s a war. There’s been so much to do. So much you’ve had to teach me.”

But he shakes his head, cutting me off before I can say more.

“No,” he says firmly. “Part of your trainingshouldinclude things that have nothing to do with war. Or survival.”

His gaze holds mine, unflinching.

“They have to do withliving.”

Living.

The word echoes through me.

I think of the quiet moments that used to make up a life before everything fractured. My mother knitting by the fire, humming softly to herself. My father playing music on his old fiddle, an indulgence gifted to him after years of service to the realm. There was no urgency in those nights. No looming threat. Just warmth. Laughter. The kind of peace I never thought to cherish until it was gone.

Yes, I have love. I have Thane. And I have my friends—people who would fight for me, die for me. But what do I have that’s just mine? What piece of my life isn’t tied to duty or destiny or someone else’s needs?

I search for the answer. And come up empty.

Valen must see it on my face, the way the realization settles behind my eyes. When he speaks again, his voice is gentler.

“Amara . . . when was the last time you truly enjoyed a moment of quiet?” he asks. “Not because you were exhausted. Not because you had to. Because you wanted to. What were you doing?”

I release his hands and close my eyes.

“My hands in the dirt,” I whisper. “Working the fields with my family. Growing things. Tending them.”

The memory rises, tender and sharp all at once.

“That was the last time I felt peace.” I swallow hard. “It wasthe morning before the attack at my village.”

Valen places a hand on my shoulder.

I open my eyes.

His voice is soft when he speaks. “Would you like a garden here at the capital?”

I blink, not quite sure I heard him correctly.

“So you can grow things. Tend to them. Put your hands in the dirt again.”

He pauses, searching my face.

“I think we’re going to be here for a while,” he adds. “You might as well have something that’s yours.”

I look away, shaking my head.

“No, Valen. That’s too indulgent,” I say, the words sharper than I intend. “There’s a war at hand. I can’t just play in the dirt planting things like none of this is happening.”

Valen’s expression doesn’t change, but I have the distinct feeling he expected this response.