Chapter 18 #2
“That dead guy is your lineage,” Wrath reminds me. “How about this—you try to open it for today. If you can’t, you can return to your peasant job.”
I seethe at his insult but try not to let it show. My job at the tavern is a peasant job, but he doesn’t know that. He has no right to act all high and mighty just because he’s the king. Those ‘peasants’ are his hardworking subjects, the ones keeping the kingdom alive.
“What do I get out of it?” I counter.
“I’ll let you read what’s on those pages,” he says. “She likely wrote entries about you. Don’t you want to read them? To hear her thoughts?”
“I want money,” I insist. There is a plan I want to try that requires an investment larger than what I make at the tavern.
A tick forms in his jaw, his patience reaching its limits.
Wrath’s hand dives into his pocket, pulling out a small pouch.
He grabs my wrist, turning my palm open and plopping the pouch into my hand with an annoyed sigh.
Coins clink together as I close my fingers around the leather, a sense of satisfaction filling me.
“Okay, I’ll help you.” I slide the pouch into my satchel and step over to the journal.
“Place your palm on the cover.” Wrath stands behind me. His palm moves to cover mine. I pull away, covering the back of my hand instinctively. I don’t want him to touch my scars, let alone see them.
“Do you have to touch me?” I ask, my voice shaky.
His brows lower. “Does the thought of my touch repulse you?”
“No!” I gasp out, realizing my mistake. “I… I have these disgusting scars on my hands.”
“Do you find my scar disgusting?” he asks calmly.
My gaze lowers to his left jaw, trailing down the elongated scar. The longer I look, the more I realize there’s something undeniably magnetic about it. “I do not,” I reply softly.
“I do not see yours that way, either.”
Something stirs in my gut. I push away the sensation as I slowly uncover my hand and lower it to the journal. Wrath’s hand covers mine, eclipsing my scars with his palm. I can feel his breath against my skin as he steps closer. The mark on my arm flares to life as magic flows between us.
“Try to will it to open,” Wrath instructs.
“What do you mean?”
“Close your eyes.” His lips hover above my ear. I do as told. “Breathe.”
Drawing a deep breath, I exhale through my lips, letting the tension in my body ease. It’s hard to focus with Wrath so close. I try to sense the magic around us, searching for something… anything to hold onto, but I only feel the leather under my palm.
“What if I light it on fire?” I whisper.
“Shhh…” Wrath shushes me softly. “What do you feel?”
“Your hand.”
“Obviously, you impudent woman,” he replies. “What else?”
Inhaling another deep breath, I try to find something. Wrath’s magic spreads across my skin like wildfire, igniting every nerve in my body. It takes hold, slowly beckoning me toward a source.
“Power,” I whisper.
“Now harness it.”
I silently will the book open in my mind. Channeling the power I feel in my veins, I push. A white light erupts from my palm, the force so strong it blows me off my feet. I hit the cold and unyielding stone floor with a heavy thump, the air huffing out of my lungs.
“You overcharged,” Wrath says as he shakes out his right hand. Tiny wisps of silver magic flow from his fingertips and dissipate into the air.
“I’m supposed to know what that means?” I grumble in pain.
“If you try to seize too much at once, the magic backfires because of the curse. Instead, you need to focus on drawing it from the earth,” he explains.
“That would have been helpful to know beforehand!” I declare, pushing my palms into the stone as I stand. Adjusting my dress back into place, I try to compose myself.
“I wanted to see if you could do it at all.” Wrath shrugs.
“That was magic?”
“I channeled a significant amount of my power into you. But yes, you can technically use magic,” he replies reluctantly.
My lips quirk up in a slight smile at the realization. I wielded magic… real magic. The thrill of the unknown beckons me. If I stayed in Avelisar, I might never have learned I could do such a thing.
“You seem excited for someone who wants to live as a simple village girl,” he taunts me. My excitement fades faster than a candle snuffed of air. I narrow my eyes at him, and his mouth tilts—not quite a smile, but close enough to make my pulse jump again. “Try again, Princess.”
Walking over to the book, I set my hand on the cover again. Wrath’s rough palm brushes against my skin as he laces his fingers with mine. Closing my eyes, I take steady breaths and strengthen my resolve.
The book will open. It will open. It’s going to open.
I try to source it from the ground this time, but all I feel is Wrath’s aggravating presence. The magic bursts again, sending my body flying back. I twist, attempting to break my fall as I hit the ground.
“You didn’t listen.”
“Of course I listened!” I snap at him, standing upright. It is hard to focus when his magic makes my mark sing for him like a songbird—the traitor.
“I think you can try once more before you reach burnout.”
“What’s burnout?” I ask.
“It’s the amount of magic one can wield before you become drained,” Wrath explains.
“What happens after that?” I keep pushing him for answers, wanting to learn more.
“Most commonly, you’ll fall into a deep slumber for a few days as your body replenishes. In rare cases, death.”
My eyes widen. “You can die?”
“It’s a nasty curse,” Wrath says. “You won’t die, though. I’ll flood you with my magic before that happens.”
“How benevolent of you.” I lighten my tone, almost teasing him. Of course, he needs me alive—for this journal, for the curse. I am a tool for him to get what he wants.
“Careful, that almost sounds like you’re being nice to me,” he warns.
I stifle a laugh. “You’re right. Can’t have you thinking I enjoy your company.”
His lips twist wryly, but Wrath refuses to smile.
I wonder if he thought that was amusing.
Placing my hand back on the book, I try to unlock it one last time.
He places his hand over mine. My mark runs down the length of my arm and into my fingertips to meet his touch, which infuriates me to no end.
I close my eyes and try to draw power from the earth, not Wrath.
I take my time, trying to feel through the shadows for something to come to me rather than trying to seize it.
It lingers in the air around us, the walls, and the stone beneath my feet.
I wait for it, then leverage the power. Something pops under my palm, and my eyes fly open in surprise.
As soon as I look down, I lose focus, and control slips through my fingers.
The magic sends me backward, directly into Wrath’s chest. His hands grasp my shoulders to steady me.
We are a mess of limbs and hands as we clamber to stay upright.
Wrath stabilizes me, and I apprehensively glance over my shoulder at him.
We stare at one another for a tense moment, his hands still clasped around my shoulders.
I jump out of his hold like a cat dropped in water, trying to hide my flustered state.
“Did I do it?” I open the cover of the journal. On the inside, written in a thin script in the top corner, is my mother's name. I try to flip to the next page, but they remain bound together.
“You opened one page.”
“That’s farther than you got,” I point out.
“Yes, congratulations,” Wrath says indifferently. “We’ll try again in four days. Don’t exert yourself too much so the magic can replenish.”
When I gather myself, I feel the wave of exhaustion, but still, I stand an inch taller. I wielded magic and didn’t die, which is a great success in my book. What other things could I learn to use magic for? It’s strange to see myself as one of them after being raised to hate them.
I likely don’t have that much in my veins compared to a full-blooded Elvarran, but it is an interesting prospect. The power I’d been taught to fear tasted nothing like evil as it moved through me. If anything, it felt like possibility. Could I turn it to my advantage?
“Who said ‘we’?” I challenge.
“You did. You asked for money, and I gave it to you. We will continue until the journal is open,” he replies firmly.
“In four days, then.” I accept his challenge, closing the journal's cover.