The unbound book's passages flash through my mind. "Elements exist in all things. Elements draw magical essence. Essence that waits to be commanded, to be controlled."

I drop low, dodging another swing, and press my free hand against the stone of the training yard floor. Concentrate. Feel.

There's earth energy here—cool, solid, steady. I inhale, drawing it up through my fingertips, feeling it flow into me like water soaking into parched earth. The sensation is intoxicating—like the first gulp of air after being underwater too long, like finding something I never knew I was missing.

Strength seeps into my muscles. Not much—just a trickle—but I feel suddenly more grounded, more stable. When Davrin's next blow comes, I parry it aside instead of dodging, the impact vibrating up my arm but not overwhelming me.

His eyes widen in surprise, and I use that moment to strike.

My rapier is a blur, darting in faster than before, landing three swift touches to his chest and arm. Now it's Davrin being driven back, his face twisted in confusion and growing anger.

"What the fuck?" he snarls, swinging wildly.

I duck and turn just in time to see Ambrose using the quarterstaff he chose to parry blow after blow from Krete, a greasy-haired water who wears a permanent scowl and worships the ground Malakai walks on. I try to reach into the air like I did to help Mireen, but there’s none left inside me. The small gust I used to help Mireen must have exhausted my reserves.

Ambrose lands a crushing strike to Krete's outer knee, sending the bigger man to the ground without my help.

I spot Beck easily overwhelming his opponent, landing two-handed strikes with the axe he uses. The blows are so hard that his opponent's swords are knocked from his hands.

And then Davrin is on me again, aiming a diagonal slash that will crack my neck if it lands.

I slip under the blow, touching the ground again as I roll. This time, I deliberately pull more energy—not just strength, but something else.

The stone beneath my fingers seems to ripple for a heartbeat.

Davrin steps forward, ready to bring his blade down on me as I come out of the roll, but his foot catches on a suddenly uneven paving stone. He stumbles, balance lost for a crucial moment.

My rapier finds his throat before he can recover.

For a moment, I think how easy it would be to press it deeper and punch through his throat. To end him. That might send a message to Malakai and his soldiers to leave us the hell alone. The dark thought slithers through my mind like poison, tempting and terrifying all at once.

But it's only a thought. That's not who I am.

That’s the line I can’t cross. The difference between his people and me.

"Yield," I say, voice steady despite my racing heart.