Chapter 20
TWENTY
CALLISTA LED THE WAY THROUGH THE CROWDED STREETS. PERHAPS people knew the face of the Silver Sorceress, perhaps it was the sparkle of her stunning gown, but a path parted in front of them, and they were able to move quickly. Even so, it was well into the afternoon by the time they reached the barn.
Thia knocked once to warn Dess of their arrival, then slid the door open.
He raised his head as they entered, whatever warm greeting he was poised to offer Thia disappearing as he took in Callista.
She was striking, even beyond the clothes, with her long blonde hair perfectly waved, her metallic silver eyes both dangerous and alluring.
“This is—” Thia started.
“The Silver Sorceress,” Dess guessed. He hastened to his feet and bowed.
“You’ve heard of me,” Callista said with a shake of her curls, evidently pleased.
Behind Dess, Oskaren was motionless, her skin gray. New since Thia’s departure was the strangeness of the girl’s veins, blue-black and spidering out across her skin.
Thia sucked in a breath. “Is she—”
Dess shook his head. “Still breathing.”
Thia reached for Callista’s arm. “Can you help her?”
But the sorceress was already moving, walking toward Oskaren with a look of immense sadness and anger Thia didn’t understand.
But then it was gone, replaced by a cool mask of efficiency. “Of course,” the sorceress said. She bent over Oskaren’s motionless body, peeling back the layers of her singed breeches.
The leg beneath was a gruesome mess, the flesh charred and gray, white bone peeking through. New veins dripped over the opening, thick navy strings that had wormed through the cauterization, spreading along with the infection. Dess covered his mouth, and Thia clutched his shoulder.
“Where’s Mavrel?” she asked, scanning the rafters.
Dess tore his face away from Oskaren. “I sent him after you this morning. I was worried when you didn’t return.”
“Let’s hope he finds Thran.”
“Or not,” Dess mumbled, and Thia turned to protest.
But then Callista spread her hands above Oskaren’s wound and began chanting. “Fosvera fasmora.” Her hands glowed with white light.
Oskaren’s eyes shot open. Her pupils were enormous, devouring the dark brown of her irises in pools of onyx. Her sclera was marked with the same blue-black veins, and her mouth hung open in a silent scream.
“Hold her down,” Callista demanded.
Thia lunged forward, falling on Oskaren’s good leg, as Dess took the girl’s shoulders just in time for her to start thrashing. “What’s happening?” Thia gasped, Oskaren’s knee slamming into her thigh.
“I’m burning the dark magic from her veins,” Callista said. “It’s lucky I found you when I did, or she would be dead.” The sorceress winced, the light from her palms flickering. “Now, keep quiet. I must focus.”
Thia shut her mouth. She clutched Oskaren’s leg, forcing it against the ground as Callista continued to pour currents of magic into the girl’s body. Oskaren bucked and screamed, her eyes bulging.
Then it was over.
Callista sagged visibly, the light from her hands fading. Oskaren was still, peaceful almost, veins red again, the wound closed, covered by a shiny, silver scar. She let out a sigh, rolling onto her side, asleep.
Thia watched her for a few minutes while the sorceress recovered her breath. “She’ll be alright?”
Callista nodded. “I imagine she’ll rest for a few hours, but she will live and live well.”
Thia expelled a breath. “Thank you. So much.”
Callista considered her. “It seems your journey has been eventful in more ways than one.” Thia assumed the sorceress referred to her injured wrist and moved to present it, but her next words knocked Thia off course. “How marvelous to have found love in such perilous times.”
Thia blinked. “Love?” Even Dess raised his eyebrows in surprise.
Callista’s voice was low. “Do you not love her?”
Thia frowned. “Oskaren? Of course not. I barely know her. But her mother was kind to me. I promised to watch out for her.”
“Sorscha loves her still?” The sorceress examined Oskaren, face unreadable.
“Do you know her?”
Callista didn’t seem to hear her. “And does she love her mother?”
Thia fingered the hem of her shirt. “You’ve heard…. You know she’s cursed, right?”
Callista’s gaze jumped to Thia’s. “Of course. Forgive me.”
Thia studied her, trying to understand the woman’s strange expression.
Dess cleared his throat. He was studying Oskaren’s sleeping form, seeming relieved in a way that made Thia’s heart crack a bit. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, brushing some of his chaotic hair off a sticky brow. She nodded, and he exited, leaving her alone with the sorceress again.
She was also watching Oskaren, though her face was unreadable. Sensing Thia’s attention, she blew out a breath and stood. “I should go also.”
“Wait,” Thia said. “What about—how do I get an audience with the Mage King?”
Callista smoothed the folds of her dress. “Ah,” she said. “An impossibility. He will not see you.”
Thia’s lips parted. “But you said—”
Callista held up her hands, and Thia quieted. “He will never see Thia Sanbrooke, a common girl begging a favor. But he would see the Storm Crow.”
Thia’s blood went cold. “You know I’m not the Storm Crow.” She chewed her lip. “Why did you lie to the people of Haven? Why send me here if that was your aim? If I tell him I’m the Storm Crow, he’ll kill me.” She looked at the sorceress for confirmation.
The woman was unbothered. “Most likely.”
“So then what?” It didn’t make any sense; this entire plan had hinged on Callista solving the problem of gaining audience with the Mage King, and instead she was telling her the same thing everyone else had. And she of all people knew Thia was just a girl.
“There is another way,” Callista said slowly, eyes sparking.
When she didn’t elaborate, Thia felt a flash of irritation. “Tell me.”
“I cannot promise that he’ll help you. But I can get you an audience.” She paused to laugh, a high, tinkling bell. “But only if you ask nicely.”
“Please,” Thia ground out, irked by the sense the sorceress was toying with her. “I’ll do anything.”
The sorceress laughed again. “My, my.” She paused. “I want a favor.”
Thia was in no position to argue, but something about the woman’s tone raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “What do you want?”
Callista tucked one of Thia’s curls behind her ear. “There’s no need to look so pale, dear. I don’t yet know what I want. For now I desire your promise that, should I help you, and the Mage King sends you home, if you ever return to Eldris, you will endeavor to aid me when I ask it of you.”
Thia chewed her lip. She had no intention of coming back. And if the king didn’t send her home, she probably wouldn’t live long enough to fulfill the bargain anyway. “Deal,” she agreed.
Callista held out her hand. “Give me your word.”
She took it. The sorceress’s skin was cool, her fingers smooth and soft. “I promise.” She was about to let go when a sharp prick stung her palm, like she’d caught a spark with her bare hand. She yelped, pulling away, but there was no mark.
“The deal is struck,” Callista said, smiling lightly. She straightened. “Now, I must go. Stay here until I return with news. And when you go to meet the king, leave the girl here.”
“She’s wanted, isn’t she?”
“Indeed,” the sorceress said. “If you do not want her to die—all of you to die—you will leave her behind when you enter the city.”
“Thanks,” Thia said, meaning it.
Callista swept her skirts out behind her as she made for the door. “Do not thank me yet. Nothing is certain.” She stalled at the entrance. “A gift for you. For your loyalty to your companions.” She waved her hand, murmuring, and Thia’s wrist gave a painful crack.
She bent over in agony, but then it was gone just as suddenly.
And so was the fracture. Thia twirled her wrist in a few practice circles, pleased to find the bones fully healed, the swelling gone.
“Thank—” she started to say again, but the sorceress had already departed in a swirl of sparkling pink.
It was a while before Dess returned. Thia stared at the barn door nervously while Oskaren continued to sleep, until the boy entered with an armful of carrots.
“Plucked these from a nearby field,” he said by way of greeting. “Thought you might be hungry.” He frowned, taking in the scene. “Where’d the sorceress go?”
“To gain us an audience with the king,” Thia said. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to stay behind.”
He put the carrots on top of a hay bale and raised his brows incredulously.
“He might recognize you,” Thia continued, and Dess scoffed.
“You said yourself I was a child.”
“But the moment we ask about your memories, he’ll know. Maybe he’ll throw you right back in prison.” Or worse, she didn’t say. “I could ask on your behalf. Find out why you were cursed, if it was an accident, and if it’s safe for you—”
“People don’t get cursed by accident,” Dess interrupted.
“No, but it sounds like he’s cursed a lot of people. Maybe he doesn’t remember you.”
“Then there’s no reason for me to stay away.”
“Dess—”
“Thia. I know what I signed up for.” Twin hazel gazes locked in silent battle, their conversation from Black Forest hanging between them.
Are you going to kill him?
Maybe.
Dess turned away first, and Thia softened. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m already hurt,” he told her.
Her chest panged. She understood that, understood the heartache that came from severed roots. She patted the ground beside her, signaling for him to sit. After a moment of indecision, he did.
“We could say someone else cursed you,” she said after a moment, when his back was comfortable against a bale of hay. “Is that possible?”
Dess shrugged. “I’m no expert, but I don’t see why a magician couldn’t do it, with the right spell.”
“We’ll say that then.” She paused. “Have you ever killed anyone before?”
His lips hardened into a flat line. “No.” He tangled his fingers together. “Do you think I could?”
She studied him, the broad shoulders and kind face, the pain that simmered underneath, the determination in the whiteness of his knuckles where he clutched his hands together. “I think you could,” she said slowly. “But I think the real question is whether you would still be you afterward.”
He blew out a long breath. “You’re right,” he said. “Of course, you’re right.”
She bumped her shoulder companionably against his. “Callista said Oskaren’s wanted,” she commented after a moment. “We should leave her here.”
He leaned his weight into her. “Good luck telling her that.”
“What do you think she did?”
He was silent for a long time, and she thought about changing the subject. But then he said, “I’ve considered it so many times I’ve lost count. I never have an answer, not one that could justify this anyway.”
“Did you—”
He moved away. “If we leave her asleep, she may follow us. We’ll have to tie her up.”
Not for the first time, she wanted to ask about their shared past. But she could see in the curl of his shoulders, the sour pull of his mouth, that he was done discussing it. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
He offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Indeed.”
“We’ll figure it out,” she promised, trying to cheer him with some delusional optimism. “She’ll be agreeable. We’ll go to the king and ask for his help, and he’ll be agreeable too.”
“If he says no, or recognizes me—”
“He won’t.”
Dess gave her a look. “Thia.”
“Fine,” she relented. “Then we run like hell.”
“Like Sothis is crumbling,” he echoed.