The Heart of a Wielder (Book One of The Wielders Trilogy) ✔️

Chapter Two

The Green Suite was appropriately named. The wallpaper was green, the carpets were green, the upholstery, the bedclothes, the curtains, even the towels in the washroom—were all various shades of green. The effect was rather like being in a forest during summer, but inside. It wasn't unpleasant, although Maren didn't think it was a style she would have chosen.

Maren stood silently while Mrs. Whitley showed her the rooms. They were large, and she could tell the decor was expensive. She could summon a servant from switches in both the sitting room and the bedroom, which was lavish. There was even an entirely separate switch just to summon someone from the kitchens. Off the bedroom, there was a whole separate space just for dressing, with a full-length mirror and a large vanity. The washroom alone probably had more marble than she had ever seen in one room; it covered the floors and walls. Mrs. Whitley informed her there was even a separate hot water heater just for her suite.

Maren was aware her upbringing was quite privileged. The family estate had been fully electric with hot running water since she was very young. By comparison, most of the families in the area could only power a few lamps or an oven, and hot running water was rare. Even still, she was taken aback at the level of luxury to be found in what were obviously seldom-used guest quarters at the palace.

Maren was doing her best to maintain an air of calm while Mrs. Whitley was there, but was very much looking forward to being alone. She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw things. She wanted to use her powers to blast a hole in the wall of the palace and run away.

But instead, she stood quietly, pretending to pay attention and not be terrified.

"Are you all right, my lady?" Mrs. Whitley asked, her brow furrowed.

Apparently, Maren was not doing an impressive job of pretending not to be terrified.

Maren gave the most convincing nod she could, but was unsure it was effective. She did not trust herself to speak.

"If I may, my lady, put your mind at ease. His Highness has...well, he has a temper, but in all my years with him—and mind you that's more than ten—I have never seen him harm anyone. He is a very honorable man," the older woman said.

It was kind of her to say, and she sounded completely genuine, but it did very little to make Maren feel better.

"Thank you," she breathed with her best imitation of a smile.

Mrs. Whitley nodded at her and said, "If you'll excuse me, my lady," and then left.

As soon as the door closed, Maren rushed into the washroom and was immediately sick. When she had finished, she washed her face with cold water and dried it with one of the green towels. Then she slid down the wall to the floor, uncertain she ever wanted to leave. She was so scared and so very, very alone.

She was crying, grief and terror flowing out of her. It was the second time her life had been completely turned upside down, and she liked it no better than the first.

—

On her thirteenth birthday, Maren nearly burned the house down. Well, perhaps not the whole house, but certainly the family dining room. She was having breakfast with her parents that morning, absentmindedly tapping her fingers on the tablecloth as she stared out the window. The spring sun was shining on the mountains in the distance, and it was so bright and beautiful. She kept staring at the bright light, it was so very lovely shining on the snow on the mountain tops, it sparkled and twinkled in the impossibly bright sunshine —

And then the tablecloth caught on fire.

Maren yelped and leapt back from the table, shocked. Fortunately, the fire was small, and her mother had the presence of mind to put it out with a napkin. Her father was still holding the newspaper he had been reading and was blinking at the scene.