Chapter 7 Nes
Nes
Nes’s eyes were shut, but she could see clearly.
A young boy with brown hair stood in a field of wildflowers. Beyond the small curves of his shoulders, snowcapped mountains peaked. Around him colors flowed like water over a creek bed. Blues and yellows and pinks and reds. The whole field in full bloom.
It was the boy’s brown hair that told Nes this was not her memory. If it were, the boy would have had hair as black and deep as the mane of a wild Barren stallion and eyes like ocean storm clouds. The boy before her had neither of those features.
Words fell from Nes’s lips, but she could not hear them. The boy could. And the boy laughed, his eyes squinting against the pure joy bursting from him like one might squint against the might of the sun.
The scene froze on the boy’s laugh, and Nes felt the world rising back up to meet her. Felt the cobblestones beneath her harden, heard the screams of onlookers and the crackle of flames.
When she opened her eyes, her head felt lighter, but her body felt heavy. The taste of fire had retreated to cowering ashes on her tongue.
The sun was still high in the sky, but a shadow blocked out the light. The shadow grunted, groaning with a pain of its own. It lifted, and a face stared down at her.
“Are you okay?” the lone guard asked.
His face hovered close to her own. She’d felt the rough scrape of the little hairs jutting from his chin and jawline against her neck. The stubble accentuated his lips, which competed with his eyes as his most appealing feature.
His lids were cloaked under the shadows of thick brows, but the color surrounding his pupils was pure enough to challenge the Goddess’s most devout follower. The color akin to a perfect brown eggshell—somehow both light and deep.
She blinked again, at last recognizing the restraining weight for what it was. The guard was on top of her. He’d thrown them both from the platform then shielded her with his body.
“Fine,” she whispered.
He still didn’t move, staring at her like she’d put on a spectacular show. She stared right back. Her heart beat faster.
She squirmed beneath him, and he startled, as if he’d forgotten he lay over her. He jumped to his feet, apologies dribbling from his lips like the juices of a ripe peach. He held a hand out, and she took it.
The air around them was thick with smoke.
She moved through it as the sky began to drink it in, the wind calling the smoke away with one sharp whistle.
Fire crackled, snapping at the air and biting hungrily into the remains of the wooden planks.
But even as she watched, she realized the flames couldn’t hold on; a few flickered out.
It was just fire now—the magic had already slithered away. And with it, so had the person who’d wielded it.
Nes stared at the destruction. Wielded. She hadn’t thought such a thing was possible. Magic was unpredictable. Uncontrollable. But somehow the magic and the person who’d brought it into the square had been aligned in their intentions. Both had wanted to see the platform burn.
The bodies of the guards who’d drowned Marnie were broken and split, fragments of who they once were strewn across the area like dead leaves in the forest. White bones glittered beside dark splinters, and fresh blood reflected in the light of the dying flames.
In the center of it all, only the well remained.
Without the platform around it, the Witch’s Well loomed above them, unreachable and daunting in a way that made chills wrap around her spine even as heat licked at her feet.
Nes took a step toward the dead, but a hand halted her where she stood.
“Wait,” the lone guard said.
She stumbled into his arm, fingers gripping his tense muscles to steady herself. He crouched down in front of the bodies and pulled a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket. Nes watched him slip the gloves over strong hands.
He pointed to a spot on the ground. “Do you see that?”
She bent down to see a circle on the ground, unmarred by the explosion. In the center was a symbol she didn’t recognize. And yet the slope of the lines sparked something in the back of her mind.
“Impossible,” another guard behind her said. A group was beginning to form around the symbol.
She edged closer to the circle, her toe hitting a bit of metal on the ground. She picked it up, recognition sparking. Another coin like the one she’d found beside Mikaud’s body. And the lines on the ground—they could be the same as the bloodstains on the back of Mikaud’s neck.
Nes straightened, shoving the coin in her pocket.
“Not impossible,” the lone guard said. He was still crouched by the symbol, running a soft finger over its elegant lines. “Not for the Witch.”
More guards gathered around the remains of the platform.
She should leave. It wouldn’t do well to draw the attention of the guards. If any of them learned she could smell magic—was attuned to magic’s every move—it would not take them long to throw her down the well.
She took advantage of the confusion to slip away, resisting the urge to glance back at the guard who’d saved her.
Her steps were quick and even as she headed beyond the blast zone.
She unconsciously checked her flask, tapping a finger on the metal, listening to the hollowness inside.
She needed to get out of this wretched Drowning Square and—
A shadow crept over her own and she whipped around.
It was the lone guard again.
She had the sudden urge to see him smile, sure his face would be even more beautiful when he did. But he didn’t smile at her. His pure eyes were hard when they met hers.
“You should have run,” he said, his words leaving no room for argument.
She glared up at him, letting her pride roar to life. “If I had, you’d be dead.”
The guard looked like he wanted to say something more, but he pressed his lips tight. A second passed before he said, “You’re hurt.” He reached up and pressed his fingers to the side of her neck.
Heat surged through her at his touch. She replaced his fingers with her own, finding the stickiness of coagulating blood. The guard pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to her.
Nes had seen a lot of guards, but she was sure she’d never seen him before.
And recognizing faces was her specialty.
Show her a freckle on a cheek or an eyebrow or even a nostril, and she could place it.
She liked to think that even the shape-shifting Xell couldn’t fool her—the immortals of legend had sparked many stories of people being impersonated.
Loved ones, nobility, even farm animals were replaced by Xell with no one the wiser.
But since the Xell had been wiped from existence hundreds of years before her birth, she’d never get to truly test her ability on them.
“What is your name?” the lone guard asked.
She said the first fake name that came to mind. “Invy Grastol.”
“Thank you, Miss Grastol,” he said, “for the warning.”
She swallowed hard, unable to look away. “Thanks,” she found herself saying, “for pushing me off the platform.”
He nodded and turned, heading back to rejoin his fellow guards in the square. She watched him walk away.
At the edge of the destruction, he stopped and turned back, giving her a small nod. Still, she watched him, their gazes locked until the remaining crowd filled in the space between them and blocked her view.
She had a funny feeling that come tomorrow, she wouldn’t be thankful at all.
It didn’t take until tomorrow. The second she stepped out of the Drowning Square, someone grabbed her from behind and slapped a hand over her mouth.