I’ve become used to the way he calls me by my full name. It was annoying at first, but now it feels an inside joke—a reverse nickname. One I don’t really like but don’t resent enough to fight with him about stopping. Now that I think about it, though, I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard Raze use my chosen name.

“I have everything under control,” I whine, even though I’m already standing, brushing invisible dust off my rust-orange skirt.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Olani says through a mouthful of rice, watching me smugly from her comfortable spot by the fire.

“You’re a terrible person,” I shoot back, grinning.

Isolde snorts. “She’s not wrong, Seelie. You were always getting us in trouble.”

“You? In trouble?” Raze meets me halfway, pointing out the spot where he wants me to stand to take aim at the bottle. “Now, that I find hard to believe.” He folds his arms. “So what’ll it be?”

I stand at his mark in an imitation of the fighting stance Isolde taught me, hands reaching in front of me, palms-out. “I told you,” I say. “I’m not doing lightning. Not unless I have to. It’s too dangerous.” A cold breeze snakes over my exposed skin, chilling the branched, pink scars and raising goose bumps, as if to prove my point. “And I don’t see why we have to do this at all. Once we find the Mortal’s Keep, I’m never going to need to use magic again.”

“Never took you for an optimist,” Olani says.

Isolde sighs, launching into the same speech I’ve already memorized. “We don’t know what we’re going to find in there, and we need to be prepared. And if Leira’s people catch up with us—”

I can’t even entertain that thought without getting light-headed. “That’s not going to happen. And besides, Raze, you can’t do any of this stuff, and you’re fine. Why should I?”

He scowls, mouth opening to offer a vicious retort. Then he pauses, and his face changes. “Excellent attempt to change the subject. You almost had me there. Go ahead, then, and remember what we talked about.”

What we talked about, I repeat silently, face scrunching in disgust. Raze had gone on and on about how he manages to coax magic to flow to him, but that isn’t my problem. I wish I had a hard time tapping into my power.

The real problem is that it’s overeager, and I overcompensate for that by shoving it down, and when the magic finally does boil over into the Mortal Realm, it’s already beyond my control. It works better when I’m fighting, but I have to find some way to control it before it’ll be remotely safe for anyone to even attempt sparring with me.

I take a deep, slow breath, letting my world narrow to the bottle several paces away. Smudged green glass, bouncing an emerald-colored shadow onto the rock beneath. Unsurprisingly, it makes me feel nothing.

It’s harder to sense my magic when I’m not emotional. I reach blindly, hoping I won’t pull too deep and release a flood of enchantment.