36. Regent #2
“It is not a guarantee, but if you choose to, it is something we can conduct in a ceremony with other greers in the camp. Only if they agree, however, the ceremony can take a toll on those involved,” Sheila warns.
I drop my head, no longer able to hide my expression, especially when my beast is so close to the edge of ripping apart this entire fucking tent.
“Is there something I can do that might encourage them to… like me more?” Esther asks, and it fractures me in her desperation to want to please them. A woman as powerful as her should not waver in her tone or let her vulnerability bleed.
“If you can make it rain, that would be great,” Imogine says under her breath as she shakes her head and makes way to grind the herbs.
She still hasn’t accepted Esther’s involvement, but I can tell by the way Imogine moves that she bites her tongue.
Her own instinct and merit receding simply because of the Fates’ influence and intrigue around the omni greer.
“I know an enchantment to call upon the rain.” My brows crinkle as Sheila’s jaw drops. “I’m Felia blessed, but I was raised by a man who had faith in Neina; he taught me.”
“I’ve seen it.” Blaze’s hand squeezes hers, and my eyes narrow, burning holes into the intimate action. Esther’s hand pulls away from his, and suddenly, I realize her gaze is trained on me. I turn, reprimanding my inner beast that climbs closer and closer to the surface.
“And you’re only telling us now?” Imogine’s eyebrows rise, and for the first time, Esther smiles at her.
“If you stopped hating me for long enough, you might’ve asked,” she says, jumping off the edge of the bed. “You might actually think I’m useful.”
“Goodie,” Imogine berates, but we follow Esther through the tent.
“Don’t laugh if I stumble. It’s been a while,” she says to the assassin. His forehead crinkles, most likely smiling under that mask that conceals the lower part of his face.
“You never stumble,” he says, and I grow irritated by the way it seems to ease her.
What the fuck is under that mask anyway? A hideous scar? Warts that fester over his face? Please be warts.
“Your jealousy is radiating off you in waves, old friend,” Imogine says, crossing her arms over her chest as she comes to stand beside me in front of the tent.
“I don’t get jealous.”
“Really? Then why are you here so late when you have somewhere to be? Cutting it close, aren’t you?” I don’t look at her or respond, my focus set to Esther as she closes her eyes, and I sense her magic unfold like a flower blooming.
I sink back into myself, her magic that so often causes calamity and calls upon the dark beasts unfurling into something ethereal as she slides her foot to the left and spins, the skirt around her swishing with every sway of her hips.
She’s enchanting, and slowly, members of the camp come to watch, just as bewitched by the foreign greer who dances, imploring the sky to open up and help these people where I cannot.
The feelopes watch on, sitting and admiring the flawless dance as if it’s something they’ve seen thousands of times before.
Sheila sits with her cane digging into the earth as she smiles. I often wonder if she can see at all, or if she admires the flawless flow of how Esther controls her magic. Esther’s hands are raised to the sky, before one trails back down across her face, collarbone, and other arm.
She sways from side to side, the sounds of bells in the distance, flicking her wrist to every beat.
“Felia blessed, and Neina taught,” Imogine says breathlessly. “I always thought omni were monsters from the few stories I’d heard.”
Yet none confirmed because they kept so quietly to themselves. At times, I even imagined that perhaps they had a higher calling. Perhaps this denva had a higher calling than even me.
The clouds grow darker, and those around her begin to whisper, children pointing to the skies.
“It’s going to work,” a woman whispers, bringing her hands to their chest. “Neina has heard our prayers.”
It’s not Neina they watch, but an omni greer doing her best to survive. To help where she can when she’s been brought into a world where most would not.
Beneath that hard exterior and power that so quickly turns her into a violent blade, is but a girl who only wants to help and see a better world. It makes me understand how far I have fallen from that calling.
A droplet splashes on my face, and as everyone looks up, a hushed lull of suspense and hope ripple through the camp, but I cannot look away from Esther. Her hips, her peaceful expression, the dirt that flicks up under her boots, and her vibrant red hair, which sways and spins as she does.
Beautiful.
Rain pours, and children scream with glee, stomping in the mud as others cheer in celebration.
“Perhaps they’re not all that bad after all,” Imogine says as her hand-fastened warrior, Talis, spots her and pulls her in by the hips in greeting.
I watch on as Esther’s eyes open, and she smiles with an unguarded expression. My fingers curl into the palms of my hands as I do everything to remain where I stand and not reach for her.
I have no right, I remind myself, and the inner beast that wants to claim her.
The more who see her power, the more who will hunt her, but perhaps some will shift their faith to her and only apply more pressure.
It will take away the free spirit that lies deep within, and although I have no right to prevent that from happening, I only wish she could have more nights like this before it all falls to shit.
My jaw clenches when she pulls the assassin in by the hand and twirls herself beneath his arm, laughing among those who join them, celebrating in the downpour.
“If I were to make a suggestion, it would be to pull her in for a dance before you leave,” Imogine says, wrapping her warrior’s arm over her shoulder.
“I do not dance,” I mutter, turning my back, even when every fiber of my body is begging to be by her side. But something more dangerous prowls beneath, wanting to rip apart the assassin that thinks he can so freely touch what is mine.