Chapter 39 #2
Brain damage. It was the only explanation.
Satisfied that he was no longer coated in gore, I extended my palm once more.
Scowling, he settled his broken hand atop mine.
My nose scrunched at the sight. The swelling had spread beyond his knuckles and across the back of his hand.
His fingers remained curled at an awkward angle, refusing to fully straighten, and although he did his best to hide it, I could see the effort it took simply to rest his hand there without aggravating the injury.
My magic stirred back to life. The moment our skin touched, I felt it turn hastily toward him, as though it couldn't help itself.
Immediately I reached for it. Immediately it slipped away.
I tried again. Nothing. The power retreated from my grasp, refusing to be caught, shaped, or commanded. I gritted my teeth.
Across from me, Rìan remained infuriatingly silent.
I pressed my lips together. Gods, I hated this. I hated needing his help. I hated that he knew I needed it.
For several long seconds neither of us spoke. Then, because pride unfortunately did not appear capable of healing broken bones, I exhaled sharply. "Could you—" I never finished the sentence.
Silver flared softly through his eyes. A thin thread of magic unfurled from him, released with such careful control that I felt every inch of its approach. It didn't touch me. Didn't pry. Didn't press. It simply hovered nearby, close enough to make my skin tingle and my breath catch.
Immediately my magic came to greet it, racing toward his power with startling enthusiasm. This time, when I reached for it, it didn't evade me.
Instead, the familiar resistance dissolved beneath my touch and magic flooded my veins.
It whirled through me in brilliant light, spreading through every corner of my body until it felt as though radiance had seeped into my bones, my blood, my very marrow, filling hollows that had ached for so long I'd forgotten what it was like to feel whole.
The sensation was almost overwhelming in its sweetness—so familiar, so deeply right—that for a moment I simply surrendered to it, letting the rush of power sweep through me.
With a single thought, I directed it downward into Rìan's hand.
The power flowed happily from me, brushing lightly against his skin before sinking deeper, and immediately I became aware of the damage hidden beneath the surface.
Fractures spiderwebbed through the bones of his hand, inflammation radiated through the surrounding tissue, and one knuckle had shattered so thoroughly that I found myself grimacing at the feel of it.
Gods. How had he been using it at all?
A sudden grunt escaped him as the bones shifted beneath my touch, grinding painfully back into alignment—but the low, involuntary moan that followed tore straight through me.
His hand slowly began to uncurl until his palm lay flat against mine.
It dwarfed my own, warm and worn with calluses, yet there was something unexpectedly fascinating about the feel of it. His fingers were long, solid and strong… Were they capable of gentleness? I wondered what it would feel like to lace my fingers through his.
I snatched my hand back as though I'd been burned.
Immediately his magic vanished. Mine followed a heartbeat later, withdrawing with palpable resentment, like a brooding animal denied something it desperately wanted. The ghost of his touch still lingered against my skin.
“Did it work?” I asked, a little too breathlessly.
He made a fist, then opened it, spreading his fingers and rolling his wrist. “Yes.”
Not even a thank you. I should’ve known better.
He turned the spit one final time before pulling the rabbit from the fire and, to my surprise, holding the skewer out to me. “Eat.”
I caught it just before he thrust it into my lap and scowled as hot grease spattered my trousers. He placed the second rabbit on the coals, and my gaze dropped to the one in my hands.
A body sprawled across a fallen log. The startling white ridges of a spine. So much blood…
My stomach roiled unpleasantly but I forced a tentative bite. The meat was like ash in my mouth.
Rìan reached for a stick and stirred the coals. They flared brighter for a moment, glowing red as sparks spiraled upward into the morning air. “That was your worst memory,” he said suddenly. “At the well.”
The memory opened inside me all over again, bringing with it the same sick weight in my chest. He nodded slowly, as though my silence told him everything he needed to know.
“Mine too,” he said. “Levinica…” His voice trailed off for a moment, as though her very name stole the strength from him. He drew a breath, straightened almost imperceptibly, and continued. “That was the worst moment of my life.”
He looked up at me and every thought died in my head. His eyes were dark depths of sorrow so profound they swallowed every trace of silver that usually burned there. I knew that grief. It was the same one I'd carried since my father's death.
“Why?” I asked, my voice no more than a shredded whisper. “Why would the well bring those to the surface?”
“I think…” he said slowly, staring into the fire as though the answer might be hidden somewhere within the flames. “I think the Gates of Othyr test the strength of the bond.”
“With memories?”
“With intimacy.”
The word fell between us like a stone.
“Intimacy?” I said, aghast.
A corner of his mouth twitched.
“Drink, once you have been judged thrice—Past and longing claim their price,” he recited grimly.
“We each witnessed the other's worst memory, the defining moment in our past that left us most vulnerable. You saw my greatest pain. I saw yours. Few things are more intimate than allowing someone to witness the wounds that will never truly heal.”
I frowned down at the rabbit in my hands, picking another piece of meat from the bone. “So you're saying...” I began carefully. My mouth went dry.
“I’m saying the Gate showed us these things for a reason. The bond is considered sacred. Breaking it is sacrilege. Perhaps this is its safeguard—to force us to truly see one another before we make a choice that can never be undone. A chance to reconsider.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“No,” he agreed tightly. “It’s not. But at least now we can prepare for what the final two Gates might demand of us.” He held my gaze. “You may learn things about me you’d rather not know.”
A strange thrill coursed through me, and I buried it at once. I shrugged. “Perhaps it’ll show me something useful instead,” I challenged. “Something I can use against you when all this is over.”
The corner of his mouth curved ever so slightly. I swallowed hard at the sight of it. I hurriedly returned my attention to the rabbit in my lap, tearing away strips of meat and forcing myself to chew.
He leaned back against the log. “It’s already shown me something useful about you.”
His words caught me off guard.
I glared at him suspiciously. “Oh?”
“Your skills with a bow.” He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “I would hate to be your target.”
Something unexpected stirred inside me at the compliment. “You already are my target.”
He shrugged. “Then today I learned to stay just beyond your firing range. An advantage, if we ever meet on the battlefield.”
“When we meet on the battlefield,” I corrected.
As he turned the rabbit again, his face broke into a grin.
It transformed him so completely that for a heartbeat I could only stare. The corners of his eyes creased, sunlight catching in the silver embers there, while a smile curved his mouth and revealed a flash of even white teeth.
My pulse faltered.
The smile didn't diminish him. It didn't soften the hard lines of his face or lessen the danger that seemed woven into every part of him. Instead it sharpened them, revealing something keen and wolfish that made him look devastatingly alive…
His smile widened, and a dimple appeared in one cheek. My stomach promptly dropped somewhere near my boots.
“You’re a good shot,” he admitted.