Nym's Arc

Chapter 26 of 41

The next morning Nym rose with the sun. Warm light lay across her face. She stretched and laced her boots. She had held the white light once, but only by drowning in grief. That path scared her. Grief let it loose, but grief also loosened her grip on it. Without a teacher, each try could burn out of control. A knock at the door startled her. She opened it slow and steady. A young man stood there. His clothes were dark green trimmed in gold. In his hands he cradled a small cat with fern-green fur and ivy trailing down its legs. "I got back late last night from my travels," he said. "Mother and father told me about our guests. I'm Titus. I wanted to meet you myself." So this was the prince, the son of King Thomas and Queen Tess. Nym felt suddenly shy. She looked at the little green cat instead of his face. "It found me on the road," Titus said. He set the cat down. It padded straight to Nym and pressed its head to her ankle. "It doesn't take to strangers. It likes you." Nym knelt and touched the moss along its back. As her hand met the fur, warmth spread up her arm. The runes beneath her skin glowed faint gold. The cat purred, and the white light rose from her palm on its own. It hung there, small and steady. No grief. No pushing. Just calm. Nym gasped. She braced for the light to flare and spill, the way it always did. It did not. The cat leaned into her hand, and the light stayed the size of a coin. She turned her wrist. The light turned with her. "You're a witch," Titus said. He did not step back. He crouched beside her. "That light. What is it?" "White light," Nym said. "I can only reach it through sorrow. Until now." She looked at the cat. "It's the creature. It steadies me." She tried again to be sure. She thought of nothing sad. She rested her palm on the cat's spine and felt for what the light wanted. Love, her mother had said. The animal's small trust was enough. The light bloomed cold and bright, then shrank at her breath. She held it for a slow count of ten. She let it die on purpose, then called it back. It came. "I can hold it," Nym whispered. "Not through grief. Through this." She had found her anchor. She no longer needed to break her own heart to reach the power. The cat blinked up at her, calm and green. But steadiness was only the start. Holding the light was not the same as commanding what it could do, and the book said she must learn to unmake and remake. For that, she still had no teacher. She stood, the cat in her arms, and turned to Titus. "Take me to your father," she said. "I have more to ask."