Page 81 of Sharpest Court

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I stumbled back, my knees trembling. I swallowed drily and tasted the stench.

There was talking over my head—laughing, joking—but I was breathing too fast to respond, each in and out breath pushing my specter farther from my bones.

Pushing it toward the surface.

“Excuse me,” I mumbled and turned, staggering out alone.

My vision tunneled as I stormed through the crowd. Silks and elbows brushed against me; music flared over the roaring in my ears. I was holding on to my power as though holding the last bit of air in my lungs, spearing toward the surface of an ocean before I drowned.

I didn’t know how I made it into one of the dim, black-curtained alcoves. But the moment I crossed the threshold, I choked on a ragged exhale.

And my power surged out.

It spilled hot and violent, like boiling water from a smashed bowl. The curtain flapped out from the impact; the bronze flower vases clanged to the floor. The commotion must not have sounded too out of place here, because nobody came to investigate.

There was only me, heart slamming, standing in the center of my rolling power. Panting so heavily into its throbbing waves that the ripples parted under the sharp streams of my breath.

I squeezed my eyes shut, lashes wet, trying to grasp hold of my power as Goren had been teaching me. But the more I attempted to fold the ripples back inside myself, the more they rebelled. Because the stench of roses didn’t just carry me to the Opal anymore.

They carried me straight to Erik.

To the memory of his sultry mouth quirking into a cruel smile. To the rose-sweet scent of his hair after bathing. To that dungeon, with the rattling chains and the endless darkness. My stomach roiled again, and I couldn’t breathe through the layers of my power—

“My lady?” Keil’s soft voice cut through the ringing in my head.

My eyes flew open as the curtain shifted. “Don’t come in,” I blurted, my voice fraying. I didn’t want him to see me like this. Struggling. Out of control.

Keil halted, the shape of his hand imprinting the black curtain. “Are you decent?”

I tipped my head back against the wall, breathless. “Yes.”

“Are you injured?”

“No.”

My pain must have laced the words anyway, because Keil’s voice gentled as he asked, “But are you hurting?”

I gulped, unable to answer.

The fabric shifted once more, slowly, giving me time to refuse him. But I remained silent and trembling as Keil entered the alcove, the curtain falling shut behind him.

His eyes devoured me in a heartbeat—rapid, clinical, full of worry—before they widened with understanding. He extended a hand, seeming to know what he would find: my specter, rippling uncontrollably in the air.

Without hesitation, he stepped straight into my spectral fog. The power was fluid enough that he glided through the waves unobstructed.

“I’m fine,” I croaked, my breath catching as my specter remolded around him. “I—I can do this.”

“I know you can,” he said steadily, stopping before me. His warm hands cupped my face and tilted it upward, until my gaze settled on his. “But in the meantime,” he murmured, “I want you to look at me. Choose something to focus on. Something very specific.”

My breaths were rushing out hot and fast, my specter hazing the space around us, but I obeyed, narrowing my attention on his right eye.

“Are you focusing?” he asked, and I nodded. “Good. Then I’m going to do the same.” His fingers speared up through my hair, thumbs brushing softly against my temples. “I’m going to focus on the faint little freckle on the bridge of your nose—the one that disappears into a crease whenever you frown.”

“You’ve noticed that?” I asked, my voice airy and thin.

“It’s hard to miss.” Keil’s mouth quirked up. “You frown at me very often.”