She would not choose. She had been made to choose her whole life. No longer. She had proven to within an inch of her life that she was strong of body, strong of mind, and at long last, strong of heart. Thea gripped the dagger and raised her chin in defiance, ready to meet her fate. ‘Even the smallest blade can make a difference,’ she murmured. She tasted rain in the wind. And then, the air crackled. Thea breathed her first easy breath, recognising the call of the storm, recognising the surge as her own power, of which she had barely scratched the surface. Until now. I am the storm. The words
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