29. The Implosion of Magic
The Implosion of Magic
Boots thud along the tiles behind me. I already know it’s Drake. I keep my eyes focused on Cosmer. Grip the tips of his fingers tighter.
“Free huff,” Drake mutters. “You must have been thrilled.”
I whip my head around to him. “Shut up,” I say, with such force that it startles me.
It seems to startle him. He winces.
But then, in a different voice, tamer, he says, “We should go. Let him sleep it off.” He places a hand on my shoulder.
“No,” I say. “I want to stay.”
I turn back to Cosmer. He’s no longer looking at me. His eyes are on Drake’s hand, still cupping me near my neck. I glance down at it myself. It looks settled. Like it belongs there.
No.
I wrench up my shoulder to force Drake off me.
But it’s too late.
“Ara. What’s happening?” Cosmer asks, squinting like he’s seeing through steam. “Why is Drake here?”
“He helped me,” I say, keeping my voice low and steady. “No one else would, and I couldn’t have got in on my own.”
Cosmer looks past me, to the guard across the room, who is watching us with interest – but not like he thinks we’re a threat.
“He helped you,” Cosmer murmurs, words elongated, “With the talent you share.”
I don’t need to say yes or no. It wasn’t a question.
This was a mistake.
He sits back, hunching over so I can’t see his face anymore.
“I hate it,” he whispers. “I hate it.” He scrubs both hands repeatedly through his hair, as though wishing he could wipe every thought he’s thinking from his brain.
I wish I could do that for him. Bring him peace.
“I know,” I say, pained. “I just wanted to see you. I couldn’t think of another way.”
Cosmer’s voice, when it comes again, is harsh. Louder. Full of accusation I can’t bear to hear. “I’ve been in here five minutes, Ara.” He glares at Drake. “Why is he touching you? All the time?” He aims his next sentence at Drake like a knife. “She’s my girlfriend.”
“Is she?” is Drake’s calm reply. It’s said with what sounds like genuine curiosity.
“Yes,” Cosmer says, hiking his shoulders while the muscles in his chest tighten. “So, you can stop rubbing your hands with glee that I’m in here now, out of the way. And just leave her alone.” He looks murderous, like maybe he could bend our will, if he wanted to.
Then he throws his head back laughing, as if he’s now found the funny side of the whole thing.
Somehow, it’s worse than his rage.
I stand up.
Out of the corner of my mouth, I say to Drake, in Rhavnan, “Let’s get him out. Right now.”
I even go to take Drake’s hand.
But he lifts it out of my reach.
He says, resolutely, in Rhavnan, “That won’t be possible. Look at him. Look at the other prisoners, who are spectating us.”
Cosmer has stopped laughing. The sudden silence is deafening.
I look down at him.
“No,” is all he says to me, face straight.
“No, what?”
Cosmer staggers to his feet, grasping the grate to support himself.
“I know what you’re planning to do,” he mutters, voice wavering. “And the answer is no. Don’t risk yourself for me. I’m staying right here. On this ship. Where I can be near you. Even if it means being in here longer.”
Cosmer’s moment of lucidness has passed. He sways on the spot, then turns away. I get the feeling he no longer even knows I’m here. I watch him climb back onto the poor excuse for a bed.
My brow furrows. “Cosmer—” I say.
“Let’s go,” Drake says, already moving.
And I realise.
“You made him go to sleep.” I sound calm for someone in shock.
“Because we need to leave,” Drake replies. “Right now.”
I want to scream at him.
But maybe he’s right. I take a step after him.
I stop.
I turn back to Cosmer. Tell the bony back of him, with resolve, “I’m going to fix this.”
Because maybe I can.
I step up to the grate again. Clutch it once more.
Shutting my eyes, I find the light in me. Draw it into my body. My head hums pleasantly as I think of him. How strong he is. How much he loves me. How much I love him.
I think of him then, as a boy. I think of him now, as a man. The cheekbones and crooked smile he’s had in every version of him, that I could kiss forever.
I gather those thoughts like welcoming an embrace. Then – slowly, as if I could move them the way a gust of wind ushers the clouds – I push the thoughts through the grate, into his cell, and over to his own mind.
I hold them out for him like an offering of love. Like flowers.
An offering of peace. Like a white flag.
In my mind’s eye, I say to him, I want you to fight the osimidite.
Drake’s voice is sharp. Distracting.
“What are you doing?”
The magic is vibrating, like a ship about to take off. Or shatter.
I want you to feel completely sober when you inhale it. Wherever, and however, you do.
Drake’s hands are on my shoulders. I still don’t open my eyes. Try to stay here, in this moment – even though there are waves churning in my ears, and my head is a pounding, heavy weight.
“Ara. Whatever you are doing, stop. It is failing.”
No.
It has to work. I can do this.
I know I can do this.
I take advantage of the fact Drake has touched me, and channel his power too. Work it up through him, into me.
He cries out and tries to let go of me. But I keep him connected with me with a single command. Stay. It adds another strand to the magic, which is already fraying.
“Let me go,” he says, into my ear. “I will not help you with this. It is a waste of magic.”
A new voice, accompanied by footsteps.
“Is everything all right over here?”
The guard. I should have known we would attract his attention.
My teeth are scraping against each other so hard they might break. I can feel every muscle in my body.
I just need more time.
“Ara,” Drake stresses, his voice cracking – or maybe that’s my magic. “You cannot stop something like an addiction – that is what you are trying to do, isn’t it? It won’t work. It is too engrained.”
I don’t acknowledge him. His fear.
Simply continue to use him – his power – through me.
After all. Everyone always seems to use me.
I say my final command.
Cosmer. I want you to never let it hook you again.
The magic implodes. I am thrashing, living pain.
My eyelids are white.
The world puckers like it could kiss me. I open my mouth to let it in.
But instead, something leaks out of me.
I’m lying still. No longer in spasm.
I don’t know how much time has passed.
All I can see is the smoky world I recognise as the one in my mind. A carousel is turning in the distance. A jaunty song plays. Maybe something I heard performed by the morale boosters. The air is humid, like a fire could catch if I moved the wrong way.
“Let me radio the infirmary,” a voice is saying. But by the time it reaches me, it’s an echo, as if I’m hearing it from a shell.
“That won’t be necessary.” Drake’s voice. Also on the outside. “She fainted – and I don’t blame her, what with the temperature in here. She will recover momentarily.”
How do I get to him?
Wake up, I will myself.
Nothing happens.
I feel arms sliding around me. Pulling me gently up. It must be happening to me, my real body. Because in here, I’m still alone.
“It’s no trouble. They will send over a medic quickly.”
“I will take her back to her keeper now, who can make that decision.”
Drake guides me, one arm around my waist, the other by my neck.
My head rolls onto his shoulder. I can smell the familiar soapy, musky scent of him.
There’s another scent deep in him I hadn’t noticed before.
Something sweet yet tangy, like citrus fruits.
It reminds me of the Palace. I think it’s magic.
I feel so comforted I almost lie down.
But I know that would be idiotic. I start walking circles, trying to find a way out of here. Because I know I need to get out. Get back to him.
I yell with everything I have. “Drake? Drake, can you hear me?”
“Did you say your keepers were speaking to Mel? They’re taking a long time.”
I feel tightening on the other side of my mind, as though rubber is being stretched. Drake’s emotions, I realise. He’s panicking.
No.
“Drake!” I shriek.
“Thank you,” he says, thinly. “We have completed our business—”
But he’s interrupted by a jeering, unfamiliar voice from further away. “They’re playing you, Zander. The dirty Rhavnans are up to something. There is blood magic afoot.”
“Yes!” someone else shouts, voice echoing from the opposite direction. “Show us this letter from the Captain that condones a prisoner and officer relationship.”
The rubber-like tension that is Drake’s magic, or his emotions, or both, stretches further.
And I’m panicking now, too.
Please don’t snap. I need you to stay calm.
Why am I still here? Why can’t I wake up?
I’m running now. Desperate.
I shout his name at the air, but no one in the world hears.
“The Captain’s letter,” the guard, Zander, is saying. “I was satisfied by that, wasn’t I?”
Sisters. It’s wearing off. It’s actually wearing off.
I turn a full circle on the spot, dragging my hands down my face.
Wake up! I scream at myself. Wake up!
No light or warmth has gathered around me.
I’m going to get Drake killed.
I collapse on the ground. The insects are surrounding me, as if panicking with me.
But there’s no magic around me. No magic at all.
I’m sobbing. Because it’s no use. He’ll be shot any minute and I’ll have to sit here listening to it.
His death will be on my hands.
I’m so sorry, Drake. I can’t get to you. I’ve tried everything.
It’s like I’m already mourning him. I feel emptier than my magic.
“You were satisfied.”
“I am really not sure—”
I hear new sounds. Light footsteps. A female voice, low and drawling.
“What the hell is wrong with her?”
Instantly, the tension releases. The band goes slack.
I stop my sobs. Listen harder.
“Meg. We were just talking about you. We need to get Ara back to your cabin—”
“Meg. I mean this with all due respect, but I hadn’t realised a Rhavnan would be placed in—”
“Zander. Please step aside so I can get to my charge.”
“I— ”
“And why is your vest off?”
“It’s… hot.”
“UI. One strike – for now. I hope you haven’t had any others this week. A stint in the brig for you would be rather ironic, wouldn’t it?”