17. Kira
Chapter 17
Kira
DESOLATION PEAK
M y whole leg throbs, and my teeth are clenched so tightly my jaw aches. Lifting my ankle sends a wave of pain through my body that makes the bacon I had for breakfast flip over in my gut.
“Okay?” he asks, with a frown.
“Sure,” I reply.
He nods. “I have to take your boot off,” he says. “That might be uncomfortable.”
“I bet,” I growl.
Godsdamn it, I’ve had enough with strange men holding my feet. Reznyk is gentler than Zayne, but still, I’m an idiot for letting any of this happen. This is the man who killed the last old god, for fuck’s sake.
Fear curls inside my gut as Reznyk peels back the top of my boot and Zayne’s words come back in a whisper that rattles around inside my skull. You’re lucky he didn’t kill you. The Godkiller frowns at my sock like he’s trying to read something in there, and part of me screams to just tell him to forget it, that there’s nothing he can do here to help me.
But maybe he can. I think of the amulet again, that stolen artifact the Towers are so desperate to recover. If the Towers weren’t enough to awaken whatever magical potential I’ve been hiding all these years, then maybe his amulet is what I need. Maybe I can march back to the Towers with the amulet and some new abilities of my own.
And maybe that will be enough to convince the Exemplars to finally tell me the godsdamned truth about my family.
“Okay,” Reznyk says. “Here goes.”
He tugs on the heel of my boot. For the second time this morning, I scream as a bright bolt of agony sears through my body. Tears sting my eyes, my vision blurs, and I try to swallow the sob that’s battering the inside of my throat.
“Gods, I’m sorry,” Reznyk mutters.
My ankle feels hot, like he’s wrapped it in steamed blankets. Panting, I rub at my eyes. Reznyk stares at my foot with the sort of concentration I associate with tightrope walkers at Crown Day festivals. Both his hands press against my ankle, and I feel?—
I take a breath. The pain recedes slowly, like water trickling down a drain. I blink as the sun breaks through the clouds, flooding the world with light.
“W-What did you do?” I whisper.
He looks up at me. Light plays across his dark hair and full lips. His eyes aren’t black, like I thought in the hunting lodge. No, they’re a deep, rich brown, like a garden just before it’s planted. And then his forehead contracts as he looks away.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I was never very good at healing.”
“You are a healer,” I gasp.
“No.” He shakes his head. “Syrus was the healer. I just—” He shrugs. “I do what I can. But it’s not much.”
I stare at my wool-wrapped ankle cradled in his hands, waiting for it to start throbbing again.
“Syrus Maganti?” I ask as my mind catches up to his words.
It’s a name everyone in Silver City would recognize. The sixth son of the Maganti family, Syrus was the most infamous of the four Elites of the Towers that we’re supposed to pretend never existed.
Reznyk gives a distracted nod, then shifts my ankle to one hand and points with the other.
“I named that mountain after him,” he says, pointing to a row of jagged peaks stretching behind the stone keep. “See the smaller mountain next to it? That’s Veloria. They’re inseparable as always.”
He’s smiling in a way that makes me think whatever he just did to my ankle took more out of him than he wants to admit. I decide not to tell him that Syrus vanished from the Towers a year ago and Veloria remained behind as a Disciple, colder and quieter than ever.
“So what mountain is Aveus?” I ask, using the name Zayne told me, wanting to change the subject.
“Off by himself,” Reznyk replies, pointing to the last peak in the row.
“And which one is you?” I ask.
Reznyk grins at me. “Right behind you.”
I turn to glance over my shoulder, as if I expect the massive peak I’ve been staring at all morning to have moved while Reznyk was doing whatever it was he just did to my body.
“That’s Desolation Peak,” I say.
Reznyk’s smile evaporates. The air feels colder without it.
“Well, that’s fitting,” he says, turning away from the mountain and back to me. “How’s your ankle? Did I make any difference?”
I wiggle my toes as gently as possible, then twist my foot in his hands. It hurts, but the pain is softer than before.
“Better,” I say, although my breath catches in my throat as I speak.
He looks disappointed. I suddenly realize what’s just happened.
“Oh my gods,” I mumble. “You just used magic.”
Numbly, I tug my foot out of his hands. Reznyk lets it go. He looks more tired than he did this morning, when he was waiting for Zayne and me to hobble up the ridge with his arms crossed over his chest. I realize I’m staring at the dark fabric of his shirt, looking for a bulge that might be the amulet he stole from the Towers.
“That’s what I do,” Reznyk says. His voice is colder, just like the wind.
I bend my leg, pull my foot into my lap, and run my fingers across my ankle. Reznyk healed me. He used magic to repair what Zayne just did to my ankle.
And I didn’t feel anything.