“Stop!” Excuses. I won’t listen to it. They looked to me to protect them out there, to make decisions, and I failed. That’s the truth of it. And I won’t let him water it down. I’d pace, but my body feels like it’s barely glued together. If I even breathe too hard, I might break. I gaze at his chin on his chest and shame burns my cheeks. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s done nothing but mend me.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter.

His gaze meets mine. “It’s okay. I hate that you even—” His shoulders slump next to me and for a moment I let my head lie on his shoulder.

“My people. They need me,” I breathe, and I’m not even sure Jhamal hears it until he turns to me. Everything kind and warm hangs in his ebony eyes.

“We will not think of these things. Right now, getting you strong is the focus. It has to be.”

My eyes sting. “I’m the only one with magic a-and they’re just out there. Without me.”

“Jelani.” He caresses my jaw with his thumb. But the flutter I feel is buried in memories of Yiyo, Rahk, a battlefield full of blood, until it’s an ember smothered in the ash of my failure.

“You should eat. It usually helps.”

I nod begrudgingly as he sets out the tray. I blow out a breath, trying to keep quiet the panic tugging at me. The angst to feel like not only a prisoner of the Chancellor but a prisoner in my own body. The meal is some sort of oats and purple berries with a peanut-buttery aftertaste. Once we’re done eating, the world is heavy, like I used up every bit of energy I had with anger and have none left for practice. Jhamal warned me of that. But I hold my eyes open as best I can, focusing on Jhamal as he feeds me spells. I repeat and recite until every other syllable is a yawn.

“Sticky spell,” he says, the first one open.

“Surpizah.”

“Fireball.”

“Feey’laska.”

“Cord of light.”

“Prim.”

“You’re remembering so well.”

“I just want to know why I don’t remember.” I touch a spot on my forehead and it’s rough with a scab. “Ow.”

Eyelashes.

“Breathe, it’s going to be okay. Maybe that’s enough for today.” He lays a leg over mine. “What is it you call it, again?”

“Pretzel legs.” A smile tugs at my lips, but the wail of dying people is a ghost in my ears. I untangle my legs from his. Jhamal must sense the question in my pained expression.

“You are remembering, Jelani. That is what matters.”

“How long have we been doing this?”