Free Radiant: Towers Trilogy Book One by Karina Sumner-Smith

“No,” Xhea whispered, choking on the word, blinking back a sudden stinging in her eyes like too-cold tears.
    Within her, the dark energy began once more to rise, flooding through her body, drawn after the ghost. She clutched her stomach, as if hands alone could hold back the force. Her lips burned with it, and her ears buzzed, as if the magic were trying to be heard, saying: Set me free .
    Oh, how she wanted to. She remembered the high she’d felt upon releasing the darkness that morning; she’d never felt that right, that strong, that whole . It was a part of her, she knew, the part that she had always been missing—and she knew, just as clearly, that once freed it would work far beyond her control. Hurricanes and earthquakes, tidal waves and tornadoes: great forces pressed against the boundaries of her flesh and will, begging for release. Wanting to follow Shai.
    That morning she had reached for the ghost—had seen Shai in her mind’s eye and willed her to return—and that was all she’d needed to send the black energy pouring from her, vomit and sweat and tears. Now she tried to think of nothing but the asphalt before her strewn with bits of plastic and shards of broken glass, the narrow shoots of new weeds and the dried stems of last year’s plants dried to nothing.
    Nothing , she told herself. She felt nothing. For the strength the dark magic gave her, the beautiful peace, was a lie; only the pain was real, the hurt in her hands and knees and chest.
    And still it rose.
    “ No ,” she said, not pleading—commanding. Slowly she dragged herself back, scraped palms and bruised knees against the rubble-strewn ground as she moved away from where Shai had been, away from the tether’s pull and Tower that waited on the other end of the line. As if mere body lengths could make a difference. But the boundaries of her skin were far too small to contain such power. Tears ran, cold against her cheeks before rising in dark, languid spirals. She felt the magic in her throat pressing into her mouth, and could not restrain it.
    No , she thought again, and made a choice. Not vomit, but breath: she exhaled, and a thick coil of dark rose from between her opened lips. Years of smoking made the gesture seem not frightening, but familiar. Known. Or almost so. Oh, Xhea thought, the lies one tells out of desperation. She released a shuddering breath stained dark, and didn’t know if the sound she choked back was hysterical laughter or a sob.
    She watched the darkness curl and coil as it made its way upward, moving to the dictates of a wind she could not feel. Moving, she realized, to coil around the thinned tether, rising as the tether rose—but not invisible and near-impossible to trace, but like an arrow formed of smoke, pointing to Shai’s Tower.
    Xhea pushed herself to her feet. She exhaled again and thought of Shai; felt the magic turn and almost pull her forward, as if the smoke of her magic rising were another arm, another hand, reaching. Up the darkness pointed, upward and onward toward the City’s far fringes. Over the far ruins, toward the badlands. To know more, she’d have to get closer.
    Harnessing the fear that set her heart to pounding, Xhea ran.

    Beyond the Lower City core, the city that had come before showed its true age, the houses and shops and gas stations reduced to mounds of rubble. Though streets remained like arrow-straight corridors through the overgrowth, many were blocked with fallen buildings, had become sluggish rivers, or had suffered the collapse of the sewers beneath. Even the best made for difficult travel.
    Xhea knew she should tread carefully, but there was no time. Running, she could do little more than avoid the biggest obstacles—a fallen bridge, the gaping hole of a basement—and pray that any accident was no worse than a turned ankle.
    Yes , the magic seemed to say, rushing through her, drawing her on. She pushed herself too far, too fast, but felt no pain; only the joy of power let