I fade back in.

My consciousness slowly returns to me. I couldn’t have been out for more than half a minute.

When the wind dies down, there’s a soft, sweet aroma wafting in the air. It makes me relax, soothing my tight muscles, easing the pain in my wounds, making me want to go back to sleep.

If I tried hard enough, I can hear dad humming.

Obviously reality hasn’t completely returned to me yet.

“Awsten.” Zephen’s voice rings out. Zephen? Who is Zephen?

A crash sounds before someone groans. I’m almost conscious now, managing to crack open my eyes a little, trying to adjust to the light.

My head hammers.

“Zephen!” A man I assume is Awsten cries in glee, smiling wide as he opens his arms for a hug. “How rare of you to come visit me!”

“Yes, yes.” Zephen brushes past him impatiently, setting me gently down on the single bed placed against the inner wall of the room. “Pleasantries aside, please help me heal her.”

“My.” Awsten inspects my injuries with furrowed brows. “What happened to her?”

Zephen finds it hard to explain, instead sighing tiredly. “Please, just heal her.”

Awsten doesn’t push for answers. He simply stands, rummaging the shelves and tabletops that are covered with different sized bottles with different colored liquid swirling within, and all kinds of plants in glass containers.

He mumbles quietly to himself as he searches for the correct bottle. “Ah, found it!”

He comes back to my side, pouring some violet liquid onto a rather large leaf, wrapping it around the wounds on my arms.

I wiggle, still not fully awake, feeling my arms tingle and itch from the most uncomfortable feeling of skin knitting together.

Soon, the pain is gone and my skin is smooth again, not a scar found.

Next, he dabs some aqua-blue liquid onto my swollen wrist, immediately reducing the swelling and bruising until it’s good as new.

“That should do it for the external injuries.” He uncorks another thin bottle, this time with pale-yellow liquid. He squishes my cheeks together to open my mouth, pouring it down my throat.

I cough, choking, feeling the odd-tasting liquid slide down my throat.

It tastes like flowers—a little bitter, a little sweet and a little tangy of something I can’t quite place my finger on.

“How do you feel, miss?” I blink, my vision clearing considerably and the aching in my body disappears rapidly.

I focus on a small man, hair grayed with round spectacles slipping off his nose. For some reason he reminds me of dad.

“Better.” I croak, letting out another fit of coughs. I feel strength slowly come back to me, the pain almost nonexistent now, merely sore.

“I healed your wounds and replenished some of your energy, but you’re still quite weak. Shaken up, I bet.” I nod as Awsten speaks.

I suppose he’s the Faery equivalent of a doctor. I glance over to Zephen, who hangs behind Awsten, his face blank. 

I scowl, pressing my knees against my chest protectively as I back away on the bed, the memories of the attack still fresh on my mind. Seeing his face infuriates me.

Awsten chuckles. “It looks like you scared her, Zephen.”

“I was hoping she would show her magic.” Zephen explains, sighing, his tone laced with the slightest hint of guilt—I’m surprised he can even feel such emotion—but mostly disappointment.

“You can’t force magic out of someone.” Awsten says.

“No,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I suppose I can’t.”

“Here.” Awsten hands Zephen another vial of the same pale-yellow liquid he made me drink. “Have her drink this again before she sleeps to fully recover.”

“Thank you.” Zephen gives him a grateful nod.

“Don’t thank me.” Awsten lets out a low chuckle. “That’s what I’m here for.” Much to my dismay, Awsten shuffles away, arranging other potion vials and humming lightly to himself.

Is he giving us space? Oh, please come back.

I’m left alone with Zephen, and it’s stifling. I still refuse to meet his eyes even though I feel them drilling holes through my head.

I wait for his apology. If he apologized, maybe I would consider forgiving him.

The silence is suffocating. I wait and wait.

But he doesn’t apologize.

I mentally scoff. Of course not, what was I expecting? To him, this is necessary, right? To him this is the only way I can survive the war and protect myself and blah blah blah.

Surely there could’ve been a better alternative than literally beating me half to death. No excuses will justify that. I’m tired of hearing his reasons, excuses, logic.

No matter how hard I try, I will never be able to understand the Fay. I still can’t accept that I’m half Faery.

They’re completely alien to me—their ways, their thinking, their culture.

I clench my fists tighter, anger burning inside of me again. How dare he put an entire class of Faeries against me? How could he do this to me?

His job is to protect me, not kill me! At this rate, I’ll be dead before the war even starts.

He extends his hand, wanting to touch me, giving me the intense burning want to slap it away. I don’t, though. I just sit there, seething and rigid and wondering if he’s really that stupid. He isn’t, as his hand falls back to his side. 

He sighs. “Let’s go home.”

He brings me back with a soft spiraling breeze. I find myself sitting on the couch, Zephen standing in front of me, still staring at me.

Finally, he speaks. “I’m sorry.”

I snap my head up at him, glaring pointedly.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats, his eyes avoiding mine. “For letting you get hurt. But I’m not sorry for doing it.”

Wow, he just had to go and ruin it. Now I’m way beyond forgiving. I’m going to take this anger to my grave.

I didn’t come to a whole different world with a Fay stranger and transfer to a Faery school only to get savagely attacked by a bunch of Faeries.

This is not what I was promised. I grit my teeth, standing, finding a wave of strength within me.

I glare at him, feeling the temperature rise in the house, my anger getting the best of my as I snap, “Magic. Cannot. Be. Rushed.”

“It was worth a shot.” His eyes narrow, becoming a shade darker, a murky color of rage. His voice raises with emotion, something I’ve never heard from him before—and frankly, I’m a bit terrified. “I couldn’t just do nothing.”

“So you made the entire class fight me?” I throw up my arms in disbelief. He actually thinks he’s doing the right thing! I would have laughed if I wasn’t so ready to wring his head off. “What if I died?”

He scoffs, turning away. “As if I would let that happen.”

“So what?” I find myself screaming. “So what if I don’t die? What about my feelings? What about the trauma? Do I not matter? Does nothing other than my safety matter to you, Guardian?” I spit out, wishing my words could somehow hurt him.

My voice cracks slightly as I feel another wave of emotions crash into me.

Realization. Sorrow.

My arms fall limp to my side as I stare at him. “You never cared.”

“My job is to protect you.” He says simply, looking at me blankly.

“I thought I could trust you.”

His jaw twitches. “You can.” He sounds exasperated, confused, ruining his hair again by raking his hands through it, then running his hands over his face, eyes squeezed closed.

“I’m trying so hard to protect you.” He opens his eyes, blinking in surprise.

I know that tears are streaming down my face, though I make no sound.

I’m clenching my fists so tight, my nails have pierced through the skin of my palm.

He looks genuinely dumbfounded, speechless as he watches me.

“I thought,” my voice is oddly steady when I speak, filled with the hurt and betrayal I feel, “you were the only one I could trust not to hurt me.”

I brush past him, heading straight to my room. I slam the door behind me, letting myself bask in my loneliness.

Ember squawks, delighted to see me. I vaguely remember keeping Ember in my room, since I didn’t want her gaining any unnecessary attention at school.

Well, I’m just glad to have something to comfort me. I wipe roughly at my tears, feeling myself crack.

It hurts to trust.