The sky? It didn’t dare thunder without my permission now. Lightning danced above me like a crown. Rain started to fall—soft at first, then heavier, cold and cleansing.
“They’re retreating,” Alaric said.
“Let them,” I answered. “Tell them the girl in the silk nightgown isn’t scared of thunder.”
And then I turned to face the trees, raised my hand, and let the sky scream for me one last time.
By the time the fight ended, three rebels were captured, two fled into the woods, and one mage was vaporized into sparkly ash courtesy of my wrath. The sky was still glowing from residual lightning. The camp smelled like burnt pine and ego. I stood in the center of it all—disheveled, barefoot, hair wild and nightgown definitely scandalous.
And yet? Everyone stared at me like I was the reincarnation
