Chapter 36 #2
How much more will the world hate me if we leave a trail of bodies in our wake? These people searching for me might not have done anything worse than believing what the Order said—which wasn’t entirely a lie—and wanting to protect their country.
The magic that’s made me a target squirms in my chest and shoots out through my limbs.
It could cloak us from view completely like it did so many times when we were chasing the Order’s army weeks ago.
It could send the hunters riding off in the opposite direction absolutely sure of their new destination.
It could erase them from existence so there were no bodies to be found at all. Like the guards at the palace in Regica. Like Lothar wanted me to do to the king and queen, to Petra and her siblings.
My hands clench against the boards beneath me at the memory.
I have to keep us safe to serve Petra now. But if I turn to my riven power for this, then what? More imaginary voices in my head, more delusions that even my allies are out to hurt me?
The mental effects of all the magic I expended earlier in our various journeys have faded as I’ve refused to use more, but I remember the viciousness of the worst panic with nerve-shuddering clarity. I need to save all the sanity I have left for our greatest challenge tomorrow.
I wind my imagined vine tight around me, holding my power in.
Casimir is urging the horses around the patch of trees. Soon the trunks will hide us from the road. As long as the hunters don’t spot the cart’s tracks and come over to investigate, we’ll be fine.
My breaths remain shallow as the courtesan brings the cart to a halt. Rheave stays poised with his bow even though we can barely make out the road from here, let alone get a clear shot.
Stavros unsheathes his sword. He shoots me a glance as if to reassure me that they’re prepared to defend me, whatever it takes.
As if the thought of my lovers getting hurt on my behalf makes me feel any better.
The hunters have stopped talking, but the hooves of their horses drum ever louder. It seems like no time at all before I catch a glimpse of the three of them cresting the hill.
It’s hard to focus on them when seeing them only through the tiny gaps between the trees. I make out one head of dark hair and another covered by a bright blue cap, cloaks wrapped around them in varying shades of brown, a speckled gray horse, one dark bay, and the third ruddy chestnut.
From what I can tell, their clothes and mounts are of good quality and in good condition. Not extravagant, but I’d guess they’re middle-class types, maybe merchants or craftsmen, taking a break from their regular work to chase the possible reward.
As we wait, crouched and silent, they continue by. Then the one on the bay draws his horse to a slower walk.
My heart skips a beat, and my magic flings itself at the barriers I’ve constructed against it.
They’re going to find us—I have to act now—I can picture them charging toward our hiding spot—
I squeeze my jaw and my hands tight, resisting the wrenching of my power’s demands with all my will.
Whatever the man slowed to look at, it hasn’t caught his attention for long. He kicks his steed back to a trot, and he and his companions ride off down the road.
I have only a matter of seconds for relief to trickle into me before a spear of pain stabs through my middle.
I manage to clamp my lips against a gasp, but a faint whine seeps from my throat. I wrap my arm around my gut as if the external pressure can offset the agony inside.
My magic sears through me from chest to gut, sending a familiar series of jabs into my lungs and stomach. It’s pissed off at me, all right—getting impatient that I won’t let it loose like I’ve been willing to so recently.
It took a lot more time before it hurt me this badly in the past… but that was before it had a real taste of freedom. That was before I’d already pushed it to the brink of its patience.
I sag to the side. Alek darts across the cart to catch me before I slump right onto the floor.
A ragged breath catches in my throat. I muffle a sputter of a cough as well as I can—and stare at the red flecks that dabble my palm.
Oh. So we’re all the way back to this point, are we?
My power is literally tearing into my flesh.
Alek’s arm squeezes around me. As the pain finally ebbs, I become aware of Rheave staring over at us, his face taut with worry, his knuckles white where he’s gripping his bow.
His voice comes out in a strained whisper. “Did they do something to her?”
Alek shakes his head and helps me sit back up. “That looked like the fits she used to have at the college…” He peers into my eyes. “Your magic attacked you again?”
I nod, taking a moment before I’m sure I can speak steadily.
I can barely hear the retreating hoofbeats now, but I keep my voice low to be safe.
“It really wanted to protect us from those hunters. It’s lashed out a couple of times recently, but not this badly.
I was hoping I’d have more time before I got to this point. ”
A shadow has crossed Stavros’s face. “You’ll have even more reason to worry about protecting us—and Petra—during the trials. It could hurt you worse then if it gets riled up when you don’t need to step in.”
A flare of rebellion sparks in my chest in spite of everything. “If you’re trying to tell me I should hang back out of the way and not even—”
He holds up his hand in surrender, an echo of our earlier conversation lingering in his solemn tone. “I know you wouldn’t accept that. But you could end up more vulnerable if your magic is attacking you right in the midst of the danger.”
Casimir has swiveled in his seat to join the conversation. “Isn’t that part of what your training with Sulla was about? Finding ways to avoid the backlash from holding the magic in?”
The thought of those early days, back before I’d experienced the other types of harm my magic could inflict on me, sends a pang like homesickness through my chest. “Yes. But the idea was that we extend just a little magic here and there to appease it, not enough that the madness would start to take hold. I’m past that point. ”
Alek strokes his hand over my hair. “You’ve turned to it a couple of times since then for something small, and it doesn’t seem to have affected you too badly. If you followed the typical regimen, it might still work to keep you at status quo. No worse than otherwise, and without it lashing out.”
I wet my lips. “I guess I should probably give it a shot. At least to take the edge off before the trials.”
Petra needs me tomorrow. If I’m ever going to use my magic again in a major way, it’ll be to see her through our final stand against the scourge sorcerers. I can’t risk being incapacitated when it’s time to act.
It’s the only way I can prove to all the allies who’ve watched me with trepidation and fear whose side I’m really on. The only way I can make up for the damage I’ve done to her reputation.
The best way I can possibly serve her, whatever it does to me.
But as I look down at myself and around the cart, every part of my body balks. I’ve spent so long tamping down on my power, and I have even more reason to fear it now than I did before.
No possibility that flits through my mind feels right. All I’m left with is a knot in my gut.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admit quietly. “I don’t know what would be too much.”
Stavros’s expression softens. He takes one more glance over his shoulder toward the long-gone hunters and sheathes his sword before shifting closer to me.
When I raise an eyebrow at him in question, he rubs the scruff on his cheek with his hooked prosthetic. “I’ve been neglecting the razor since we changed accommodations. Removing a little hair seems like an awfully small act. You could give me a shave.”
I stare at him for a second, my thoughts whirling.
He’s accepted me as I am, he’s accepted my magic enough to let me bring him back from the edge of death, but somehow this small offer cracks open something inside me.
“Are—are you sure?” I have to ask.
The former general gives me his usual cocky grin. “I’m trusting that you like my face enough to avoid wrecking it.”
I can’t suppress a snort, even as my stomach twists tighter. But somehow having his permission—his request, even—makes the decision easier.
I scoot closer and rest my hand on the side of his face. The bristles of a few days’ growth of beard prickle against my palm.
Stavros watches me without a hint of hesitation or regret over his offer.
My gaze slides beyond the cart to the nearby trees and then the stretch of grassy field on the other side.
That should do. Take a fraction of an inch of growth from his face, send a patch of grass a fraction taller at the same time. A simple trade.
Inhaling deeply, I concentrate on both sides of the equation. I picture the tiny hairs shrinking down to his skin as the blades poke a little higher from the soil, gradually across his entire face.
When I lower my hand, Stavros’s jaw gleams clean-shaven. He touches it with his own fingers, and his grin returns.
“I don’t know why I ever bothered with a blade,” he says teasingly.
His casual warmth relaxes me even more. I crack a smile of my own and consider the simmer of magic inside me. “I think that should be enough.”
Casimir climbs into the base of the cart and sits next to me. “We should be sure, so you’ll be completely safe tomorrow.” He rests his hands gently on my lap, palms up. “The reins have left a little grit on my hands, and I’ve got nothing to wash it off with.”
A laugh tumbles out of me. It’s the tiniest of efforts he’s requesting. If he wants to be a part of protecting me too, I don’t see how it can hurt to humor him.
With a moment of concentration, I flick the dirt that’s dug into his palms with a whiff of breeze that’s echoed by an opposite puff up in the tree branches.