Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
“YOU CAN’T RESIST, CAN YOU?”
Oskaren had stopped near a creek only a few yards into the trees.
Thia, unable to prevent herself from following at the thought of someone, even Oskaren—especially Oskaren—wounded because of her, paused a few feet away.
She stared at the girl’s back while Oskaren undid the buckles of her jerkin, attention on the water.
“You hurt, I heal. You have to let me make sure you’re not going to die.” Especially if it was her fault.
“I can assure you, I am not.” There was something off about her tone. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t even her usual brand of cool. It was flat. Dead.
“Well you sound like you might,” she retorted.
Buckles finished, Oskaren dropped the jerkin to the floor, leaving her in a beige, long-sleeved undershirt that pulled out the warm tones of her brown skin.
“Fitting punishment, I suppose,” Oskaren said, and Thia frowned.
“Punishment. For what?”
Oskaren loosed a small breath. “For thinking I could….It doesn’t matter.”
Thia closed the distance between them, walking around the girl to face her. “Yes, it does.” She looked up, steadily. “You matter, Oskaren.”
Oskaren hissed, tearing her face away. “Don’t say things like that.”
Thia crossed her arms. “Why not?”
Oskaren pressed her lips into a thin line. “It hurts.”
Thia’s lips parted.
Oskaren didn’t seem to realize what she’d said. She was pulling her shirt untucked, trying to see her wound.
“Let me,” Thia said.
Oskaren sighed. “How many times are we going to do this?” But she shifted, making space for Thia to look.
Thia bent closer. She should have been practiced at this, but she still had to will herself not to blush as she gently pressed her fingers to the girl’s skin. Oskaren’s breath was uneven, but Thia presumed it was from the pain.
Oskaren was right—she would live. She wouldn’t even need stitches. Thia had scraped more than stabbed, and the wound was barely a scratch.
“I am sorry,” she said softly. “I was…distracted.” She said it like a question, imbued with implication, if the girl was willing to note it.
“Thia. Don’t.” The word was a growl.
Only when hearing it did she realize how rarely Oskaren used her real name. She straightened. “You’ll be fine.”
Oskaren stepped back, lowering her shirt.
Thia hovered awkwardly, shifting her weight between feet. She didn’t want to leave, but she didn’t know how to stay. Oskaren’s attention was everywhere but on her. “Who taught you to fight?” Thia asked, at last.
Oskaren blinked at her, then away. “Many people. First? My mother.”
Thia’s lips parted. “Sorscha?” She couldn’t imagine the kindly woman fighting anyone, much less with a sword.
Oskaren managed the barest hint of a smile. “She doesn’t enjoy it. But she learned out of necessity and learned well. I pity the person who tries to hurt her loved ones.”
“Someone hurt you.” It slipped out before Thia could stop it.
Oskaren’s mirth disappeared in a flash. “Yes. Well. Mine was a different story.”
“What was it?” Thia asked. “Your story, I mean.” She didn’t answer, so Thia continued in a hurry. “A soldier said you were involved with the Phantom Guard.” There it was. Cards on the table. The question she’d been too afraid to ask since the moment they’d freed Oskaren.
The girl watched her for so long Thia wanted to bury herself in the ground.
“What do you know of the Phantom Guard?” Oskaren asked.
She blushed. “Nothing. Not really. Does that mean you were?”
Oskaren shook her head. “No. But I was a page to the Kingsguard. I heard things.”
“What about the woman who founded the group? Melina?” She reminded herself to breathe.
Oskaren cocked her head. “Melina.” She said the word slowly, like she was trying to taste its meaning. Then her face lit. “You think that Melina is your mother.”
“How many other mage Melinas does this world have?” She didn’t mean to snap. She wasn’t mad—at least not at Oskaren. But she hated that yet another person knew more about her parents than she did.
Oskaren raised a hand toward Thia, then seemed to think the better of it and let it drop. “If I knew something about your mother, Faelyn, I would tell you.”
“You must know something,” Thia insisted, desperate. “What did you hear exactly? Is that why you were cursed? You found out something you shouldn’t?” Now that she’d begun, the questions wouldn’t stop.
Oskaren wasn’t angry, she seemed…sad. The corners of her mouth slipped down, her thick brows pulled together as she examined the ripples of the creek. “I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
Thia stepped forward. “That’s not good enough.”
“I can’t.”
Another step. “Oskaren,” Thia said carefully. They were inches apart. “What is your curse?”
The girl frowned. “You know,” she said. “I have no heart.”
Thia shook her head. “I don’t believe that.”
Oskaren’s gaze flicked to Thia. “Why not?” There was a spark in her eyes. A hint of her old self, drawn out by hope.
Thia wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t fail that part of the girl before her. She put her hand over Oskaren’s chest like she had before. “Heartless people don’t feel. What did you just tell me? It hurts.”
But Oskaren only raised a sardonic brow. “Then tell me. What is my curse?”
She wound her fingers gently into Oskaren’s shirt.
“I think the Mage King made all your good feelings turn bad. If you’re happy enough, you feel physical pain.
So it’s easier for you to lash out than to feel anything pleasant.
” Only after she had voiced what she suspected did she realize how much crueler a curse that was than removing her feelings altogether.
Oskaren stared. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” Thia asked. She moved her hands to the girl’s shoulders. “You can fight it.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Listen,” Thia said. She racked her brain. What would make Oskaren happy? Make her feel something good, after so long alone?
She remembered the girl’s reaction to her nickname.
Hesitantly, she stepped even closer, letting her hands slide from Oskaren’s shoulders to her arms, then finally, her hands. She wound their fingers together. Oskaren closed her eyes, breath uneven.
“Ren,” Thia said slowly. “You are my friend. You do matter, and I care about you. No matter who you think you are.” She watched her closely, studying the girl’s reaction.
There was nothing at first, but then slowly, Oskaren opened her eyes, genuine warmth spreading across her sharp features. She smiled slightly, lips spreading, then parting as she opened her mouth to respond.
But then the pain attacked, as Thia had suspected it would. Oskaren’s pupils dilated, and she cried out. She ripped away from Thia, bending at the waist as she clutched her chest in agony.
She stayed like that, and minutes passed, too many to count. Enough that Thia was tempted to go to her. But she had to see this through. Oskaren breathed deeply, regaining control bit by bit, and Thia let her.
Eventually, she straightened. “You’re right,” she said. There was no joy in it. Just detached resignation.
“Ren,” Thia said. “This is good news. I promise.”
“How?” She said it like it was her duty to ask, not because she cared about the answer.
“The real you is still in there.” She stepped closer and tried to take Oskaren’s hand again, but the girl pushed her gently away.
“An astute observation, Faelyn.” Even knowing what she did, the sarcasm stung. “Please. Just leave me alone.”
“What?”
Oskaren shut her eyes again. “I can’t…I can’t be around you. Please go.”
Thia studied her for a long moment, knowing she should listen, but unable to do so.
Finally, she sighed, her respect for the girl’s choice getting ahold of her.
“Okay,” she agreed. She turned to go. “But, Ren.” She paused.
“You should know. I like the real you.” That girl was kind.
Thoughtful. A sweet voice in a night full of terrors.
She didn’t wait to see the effect of those words, but gave Oskaren space to recover in peace. The first compliment had been a test. The second she’d given purely because she meant it. And that thought was almost as terrifying as the witch that awaited them.