The house was stuffy. The heat, the Curse, the fact that Lord Elan still didn’t even look at her, all weighed her down until she could barely lift her head. Every step felt as if bricks had been tied to her feet. Her stomach churned and the scents from the kitchen made her ill, and she was still breathing around the ember in her chest, smoldering with anger and dread.

Dinner was as quiet as lunch, with only the most polite, quick conversations. When the meal ended, Jae found herself clearing dishes and watching Lord Elan. Part of her hoped desperately he’d call for her, demand that she follow him. He was one of the Highest, after all, and his orders were more important than Rannith’s. If he wanted her to attempt to use her magic again, she’d have to obey, and Rannith could curse himself. But Lord Elan just left the dining room.

Rannith glanced at her, smiled, let his gaze linger. Jae felt as if she’d turned to stone, unable to look away, her hand still clutching the plates she’d gathered. Then Rannith left, too, and she had to get back to work before the Curse forced her.

Dizzy with dread, every step a chore, she willed herself to move. To finish the cleaning from dinner, and then, step after step echoing in her mind, to walk to Rannith’s room. He called for her to enter when she knocked, and she let herself in. Shut the door behind her. Then it was just the two of them.

Her heart beat too fast, her chest aching with the effort of keeping herself under control. She didn’t look up at him, but that didn’t matter. He took her arm, pulled it down from where she’d held it crossed over her chest, and she swallowed and dropped both arms to her sides. He circled her once, then stood in front of her, smiling.

“Well, you aren’t beautiful,” he told her, and reached up to run a thumb across her cheekbone. “You ought to smile more, like your brother.” His hand skimmed lower, fingers brushing her neck. “Smile, Jae.”

The Curse thrummed in her head as she tried. Maybe it was enough—she knew it didn’t look happy, didn’t look beautiful like he wanted. He hummed his approval, pushed the neckline of her dress aside, and traced the U-shape at the base of her collarbone with his thumb. He reached around behind her, nudged her to turn so her back was to him.

Then he undid the lacing at the top of her dress.

She gasped, couldn’t stop the sound from escaping.

“Shhh, shhh,” he murmured, as if he were soothing an infant, as he carefully untied the rest of it. She ground her teeth, keeping her lips shut tight as he worked, but she couldn’t stop herself from trembling. She shut her eyes and told herself to be good—be calm, be obedient—and it would be over soon.

When he pushed the dress from her shoulders, skimmed his hands down to her breasts, she still flinched, then froze, waiting for the order to stand still. It didn’t come, but he stood too close to her, his hands roaming her skin. She clenched her own hands into useless fists, her arms tense as she resisted the urge to stagger away from him. He’d never allow that, and she didn’t want the Curse to take control of her body—but she didn’t want to be in her body, either. Not like this, not with him touching her.

He turned her around again and pressed his lips against hers. They were just as chapped and rough as her own, and the ember of anger in her chest sparked a little.

He stepped back, but only so he could strip off his own clothing. She didn’t watch, didn’t want to see his naked body. She never had, really. He’d ordered her to lie still, but never to look at him. Never to open her eyes.

“There,” he said, as if stripping had been satisfying in and of itself. He took her arm again and tugged her toward the blankets and the mat on the floor.

She followed him, stiff but obedient, and sat on the edge of the blankets, then lay down when he nudged her to. When he didn’t settle on top of her immediately, she made the mistake of opening her eyes to see where he was. He was just looking down at her, smiling. And glowing.

He and the rest of the room were swimming with light, energy. Magic. She’d been forbidden to use it, so the Curse wouldn’t allow her to without Lord Elan there to give permission and supervise. Even so, the way everything gleamed, so bright after the darkness of her closed eyes, was almost comforting. It was there, it was hers, she could do anything with it—if not for the order Lord Elan had given her.

Rannith finally moved toward her, shining with a twisted, horrible aura. She shut her eyes against it as his hand skimmed down her body. She swallowed a whimper, her face hot with humiliation because she didn’t dare resist him. There was nothing she could do, and she felt like nothing, like she was no one—

The ember of anger caught fire, rage burning inside her, overwhelming her. She twisted, trying to shove his hands away from her, to do something. He was stronger than she was, and already on top of her. She couldn’t move far enough or fast enough. His hand seized her wrist, pinned it down on the mat, and he snapped, “Stop that.”

The Curse hit her, a jolt of pain in her skull. Punishment for rebelling, even from unspoken orders; a warning not to do it again. But she couldn’t stop herself, not now. She couldn’t move after being ordered not to, but the pulsing, bright energy called to her. As Rannith reached for her again, she reached for the energy, grasped it with her mind, and pulled.

Suddenly she was outside her body, like she had been the previous night, with the whole estate spread out beneath her. She saw everyone, saw herself and Rannith. Blazing with anger, she ignored the throbbing Curse pain and seized more energy, threw it at him. He fell back, staring around in bewilderment, then reached for her again.

Her body was shaking now. Not with fear but with rage, defiance. The Curse punished her, throbbing pain echoing down her body and pulling her back to it when she’d rather be floating above. Even when she stared up through her own eyes, she could still see and feel the magic. See it, feel it, use it.

She shook, and so did the ground.

The ground shifted, the world trembling as if her nerves had run out of her body, down into the sleeping mat and the floor. Rannith let out a short, startled noise, and now Jae smiled, despite the pain. The Curse raged inside her, tearing, pulling her apart for disobeying Lord Elan’s order—but she was white-hot with anger, and with power. The Wellspring Bloodlines’ power, not just to control the Well but to touch the elements and use their energy. She pulled all the Bloodlines’ power toward her, drinking it in greedily, letting it quench her the way water did. There was so much, the power of dozens of families, hundreds of people, all their magic now at her beck and call. It was so much, enough. It drowned out the pain, boiled inside her, and bled out. The room shook with her rage—the room and all of Aredann. Somewhere outside where she lay trapped, people screamed. Furniture crashed as it toppled over, sand and dust cascaded from the ceiling as the brick walls shook with her anger.