Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
MAIA
Maia was shocked by how good it had felt to just let loose. But the moment the angry words had crossed her lips, she had frozen, waiting for him to shoot back angry barbs. Surely he would make her feel awful about herself. He’d spit words that would remind her how she was beneath him, and everyone else.
But those words hadn’t come. Ragnar might’ve been a terrifying man with far more power than he deserved to have in just his pinky, but he wasn’t her father. He wasn’t like the man who had beaten her down into a mere smudge on the floor compared to what she wanted to be. Even in death, the man who’d raised her still lived inside her head. He still whispered in her mind that she should know her place, and that had kept her exactly where he had wanted her for years.
It would take more time to feel confident and able to say whatever was on her mind, but... Damn. It had felt good.
It was for that reason that she could look at the hovel rising out of the ground before her and not be afraid. Or perhaps not as afraid as she might have been if she wasn’t fueled by her anger. There was still an air of warning about the mist that flowed out from the door that swung open on its own. And from the house itself.
As they walked toward it, she stared up at the greenery that covered the roof. Sprigs of grass poked through the emerald blanket of moss that covered it, though some of it was flopping over the side as though they were lacking in water.
Something twisted inside Maia’s chest. Plants had always called out to her when they were in need. She could feel their pain in her chest. As Ragnar walked through the doorway, she reached above her head for a split second and let her fingers brush through the strands. The grass sent a pulse of happiness through her skin and she felt them wake with the slightest amount of magic she poured into them.
It wasn’t much. Not even enough to really be called magic. But it was a bit more than what they currently had, and they were grateful for her intervention.
Breathing out the tension that had knotted in her, she walked into the darkness after the troll.
The interior of the home was barely lit. There was a small fire in the far back, but even that wasn’t casting light the way it should. She could hear dirt crunching underneath her feet when she walked. There was no floor in this place. Only earth. The air was filled with smoke, but not from the fire. As she breathed in, she recognized the scent of burning pine, sap, and something similar to rosemary, but she wasn’t sure why that would be burning.
Turning her gaze toward the massive shadow to her right, she assumed it was Ragnar. He blended into the darkness of this place, but why wouldn’t he? The trolls were made for the dark. They all lived underground, just like this woman did.
Blood witch , the words echoed in her mind.
What did that entail? What would a blood witch see that no one else had already?
Nerves spun in her belly, twisting and curving throughout her guts until she wondered if she might throw up. The bravery she had clawed and scraped to get disappeared the moment something else shifted in the darkness.
Her nerves were a warning. Out of the shadows, an ancient troll uncoiled herself. Her back was bent in on herself, but worse were the scars. She was decorated in them. The moment her face turned toward the light, they looked like worms dug underneath her skin. Each scar was so raised, Maia thought perhaps they were the thickness of a fingertip. They cast shadows on the troll’s face, more markings and scars that were even more intimidating than before.
Sucking in a deep breath, she found herself frozen as the witch reached for a small glass orb beside her and lifted it to her mouth. Blowing into the glass bubble, she awakened a wisp that apparently was trapped inside. But that white glow illuminating everything made this place seem all the worse.
The blood witch was covered in tattered garments, little more than strips of fabric that were all woven around her form and sticking out in all directions. The dirty brown fabric clung to her rail thin form. All the other trolls Maia had seen were healthy. They were muscular and thick legged, some of them with rounded bellies from the comfortable life they led. This troll was anything but that.
Her bones were painfully visible through the thinness of her pale yellow skin. Sickly. Maia could see her ribs expanding as she breathed in and out. Her collarbones were so prominent that Maia feared only a single touch would shatter them. As the blood witch reached for Ragnar, she swallowed hard. She could see the two individual bones in the woman’s arm. Like there wasn’t even muscle there at all, just bones.
Ragnar leaned down to catch Maia’s attention. “The blood witch does not speak the common tongue. I will do my best to translate for you.”
“Oh,” was all she managed before they spoke in the black tongue.
It was hard to focus on anything but the state of the woman before them. Even though Ragnar drew her toward a table in the center of the room, all she could think was that someone needed to help this witch. Clearly, they were mistreating her. Clearly, someone needed to get some food into her, perhaps some water, and a blanket would go a long way as well.
“Maia,” Ragnar said, his voice hardened with emotion. “Stop staring at her.”
“Is she all right?”
Her gaze flicked to his, and she saw something shift in him. Like he’d thought she was judging this witch for her state, not worrying about her well-being. His expression softened. And there was the slightest feeling in her chest like she’d done something right for once.
“Ah,” he said, his voice pitched low. “She’s fine. Blood witches create their magic through pain. She has dedicated herself to a life of suffering so that she can see the magic inside people.”
“The what?”
He placed his hand on the table and nodded toward the blood witch. “She will look into my magic now. Watch, fire hair, and perhaps you will understand better than my words can explain.”
She wasn’t all that certain anything would make sense. But she kept her mouth shut and watched as the witch lunged for Ragnar’s hand. Her fingers and claws scraped down the thick base of his thumb, and then she traced the wrinkled lines across his palms all the way to his fingers.
Her voice rose and fell like the cresting of a wave. And though Maia didn’t understand a word, Ragnar was quick to speak the words for her to understand.
“A strong hand. The hand of a man who has worked all his life and will continue to do so. This is not the soft palm of a troll who has known an easy path. Instead, it is the hand of a man who will walk the hardest path by choice.” He winced. “It is the truth, unfortunately.”
“The last bit was your own commentary, I assume?” She tried very hard not to smile at him, because she understood this was a very serious matter.
Ragnar’s expression turned grave. “Don’t try to make me like you, human. It won’t work.”
And still, she had a feeling he was lying. That new, brave version of her whispered, “Are you sure?”
His lips quirked just the slightest. And then the tail of his brow moved as well. She had to wonder if he was having a hard time keeping his own smile from his face.
But then he hissed out a low breath and Maia’s head whipped back to the blood witch, who had scraped her claws down his hand. Beads of red welled from the wounds that were now deep furrows across his palm. As strange as it was, the first thought in her head was that she hadn’t known trolls would bleed red.
It was eerily human to see that red blood. To see it welling up in the lines of his hand and then dripping down onto the table. The blood witch leaned forward, smearing her hands in the thick liquid and spreading it across the worn wood. It was grotesque to watch, but she couldn’t stop staring, either.
The witch suddenly flattened her hands on the table, sucking in a deep, long breath. Then she looked up at Ragnar and spoke again.
He did not translate this time, but he didn’t have to. Small droplets of blood on the table rolled together and then they lifted into the air. She watched, her lips parting in shock as the blood then drew together, hovering in a ball the size of her fist before, all of a sudden, light bloomed inside of it. White light that was so blinding it was difficult to look at.
Then the witch spoke, and Ragnar translated: “He is powerful in healing magic. There is much inside of him that knows the bodies he touches. A broken bone is not too much to heal, nor is the fragmentation of the mind. He could easily become stronger with the connection of a powerful troll wife. If given a strong wife, then his power will magnify tenfold. He would be able to heal an entire battlefield and prevent death itself should he wish.”
Suddenly, what was happening all barreled toward her.
They weren’t looking into the soul of a person and weighing if she was good enough for him. This troll was revealing how much magic was inside of them. And though her husband had a lot of power, soon enough, he would know she had very little.
She was supposed to be the princess. She was supposed to have more magic than any of the trolls could guess at, because she was supposed to be half elf.
Her time had run out to tell him the truth. If only she had pushed herself harder. If only she’d been brave enough to let it all blurt out of her mouth without wondering if he would kill her for it. If only she wasn’t… Maia.
Because now he would know. He would believe her omission of her true identity was a direct attack against his people. Perhaps he would even believe she had been part of all this. He’d accuse her of working with the king, and maybe he’d drag her before his own. She didn’t want to see the troll king, nor did she want to know what their people did in retribution for those who lied.
Her breath caught in her throat, but then she heard a sound behind her. Turning to look, she saw a wall of multi-colored flesh standing in the doorway. They hadn’t been alone on their walk after all. Nearly all the trolls who were in their war band were waiting on the other side of that door. They were all here to see how much power she had.
She was supposed to bring them safety, she realized. With her tied to Ragnar, somehow, the magic was supposed to give them certainty that they could not lose a battle.
And she’d ruined that.
Maia didn’t even have time to get up and run. The blood witch reached for her hand and drew it onto the table. When she tried to pull away, Ragnar placed his hand on her forearm and held her down.
Eyes wide, knowing that her fear must be visible, she begged. “Please, let me go. I don’t want to do this.”
“It is our way.”
“I have to tell you something beforehand, Ragnar. You have to listen to me this time.” Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She couldn’t breathe, but also knew she had no idea how to say the words. “I’m frightened, Ragnar.”
He sucked in a deep breath, but his hand didn’t move. “Fear is what limits us. You can let it control your life, or you can control it. The choice is up to you.”
She hated how poetic he was. A proverb about fear didn’t help her right now when all the trolls were going to realize that she wasn’t who the king had claimed her to be. She’d tried to tell him, but he hadn’t listened. Or perhaps she just hadn’t found the right words.
Panic made her breaths saw in and out of her lungs. The blood witch trailed those claws down her hand, following the lines of her palm. And as the other woman spoke, Maia stared up at Ragnar as his brows furrowed in confusion. “These are the hands of a woman who has worked hard, as well. A woman who has suffered much at the hands of those who should have cared for her. The death of her family lingers in these palms, not because she is responsible for their loss, but because their souls linger to taint every step she takes. The path she walks will never be easy until she lets those old ghosts go into the underworld where they belong.”
Confusing words for a princess, Maia was certain.
But then sharp spikes of pain stuck through her skin. She let out a little sound of pain as her injured wrist throbbed along with the new aching that joined the bone deep pain that had plagued her since she’d fallen into the stream. Her blood streamed down her wrist onto the table and she saw her entire life flash before her eyes.
The moment the chanting began again, she knew she was done for.
Her blood rose into the air between them, a smaller bead than Ragnar’s. And then a light. A glowing green light that was so dim it was almost hard to see. Just the barest of lights, but it was there.
And for a moment, with the smoke swirling around them and that green light sparkling in her eyes, all her fears filtered away. Instead, there was only the sense of awe.
Maia had spent her entire life knowing there was something inside of her that awakened when plants were around her. She loved them. They loved her. It was the only thing that was constant in her upbringing. The support and undying love of green things growing and it had rooted deep inside of her. Now she was looking at that power. There was so little elven blood in her family that she had thought it was entirely gone. She’d believed she was just making up her power in her head.
But no, it was there. A tiny green light, like the spark of a seed, and that was inside of her. Just waiting to bloom.
The blood witch chanted more, and she seemed to frantically begin moving. There was a sense of urgency as her hands blended the blood together. Moving ever faster, even as Ragnar seemed to freeze beside her.
Until it all came crashing down.
A snarl came first from the doorway. Then another voice muttering, “It cannot be.”
Then Ragnar’s hand tightened on her forearm. His claws scraped the table rather than her flesh, but the sound ripped her from her sense of peace. The blood witch let the spell drop and there was only silence in the room. The silence before a storm that would soon unleash upon her.
“You have no magic,” he spat.
She stared at their blood pooling on the table, mingling into the fair color of ferns. “I do have magic,” she whispered. “Just not as much as her .”