Chapter 21 A Rival In Arms #2
“Yeah, yeah—we’ve been over that part,” Zarrek agreed. “But she is choosing how and with whom she wants to be.” He raised a brow. “And right now, it isn’t you.”
Resh returned to sharpening but his strokes were uneven now. Too hard. A bit ragged.
Zarrek didn’t press. Just watched him for another moment, squeezed his shoulder—hard—then murmured as he turned to leave, “She still looks at you like you hung the stars. But if you don’t move soon, Resh…someone else will teach her how to shine.”
Resh stopped sharpening his blade, setting it aside. I’d hang them for her if she’d let me. Though it seems she’s quite content allowing Thessia to guide them to her instead.
He observed the two women without reservation now, watching Thessia hand Auryn a bow and some arrows.
She’d been practicing earlier, too, and Resh had been surprised to note that she was a natural at archery.
He watched her draw the bow and aim. Thrilled at the focused, calm expression on her face before she let the arrow fly.
“It’s worse,” Zarrek said at last behind him.
Resh didn’t turn. Kept watching.
Auryn let loose another arrow.
“Compared to the river,” Zarrek continued, “this was much worse. Next time…” He hesitated. His grip on Resh’s shoulder tightened. “Next time might be the last, if she does that again.”
The words dug their claws into his heart and dragged it downward into fear. Despair. Resh gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white.
“She wasn’t casting,” he said.
“No.”
“It wasn’t runes, glyphs, or sigils. Not spoken magic. It wasn’t anything I’ve seen in my entire lifetime.”
Zarrek folded his arms. “It’s not mana, Resh. She’s pulling from the source.”
Resh turned. His eyes burned like frozen suns.
Zarrek met them evenly. “Every time she touches it, it bites back. And the bigger the working…” He nodded toward the pair in the field. “The more it takes.”
Silence swallowed the space between them.
Resh looked down. Picked at the callous on his palm.
“She’s barely come into it,” he whispered. “And it’s already killing her.”
Zarrek said nothing.
Resh’s shoulders straightened. “She can’t keep doing this. I won’t let her.”
Beside them, the fire cracked.
Another arrow flew, missing the target.
His voice was steel now.
“She will not touch this magic again. Not until we understand it. Not until we know what it is, how to stop it from doing this to her. Whatever this is, it’s not worth her life.”
Behind him, Zarrek shifted. His voice came low. Tired.
“You can’t cage her, Resh. She’s too wild,” Zarrek went on. “We laugh and smile at her antics, pretend they’re harmless. But in times like this? It’s obvious.”
Auryn let loose another arrow. It hit the target dead in the center, and she turned to Thessia, smile bright as noon during midday.
“She’s fire in silk, and none of us saw it. Not really. Not until now.”
Resh had to control his voice to keep it from wavering.
“She’ll die,” he said.
Zarrek nodded. “Maybe. If she keeps doing this.”
“Then I have to stop her.”
Zarrek’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “You think she’ll stop because you tell her to? She’s not like your men. Not like the Companions who fold their knees on command.” He gestured toward Auryn with his head. “You keep trying to lock her up and she’ll keep turning to the person with the key.”
A commotion caught his attention. He turned to look toward Thessia and Auryn only to rise to his feet when he saw Auryn running—Void, she was running—toward him. Full tilt. No hesitation. Bow still clutched against her and an even more radiant smile on her face than before.
“Kailorien!” she shouted. Stumbled. Lost a sandal. Kept running.
By the time he caught her in his arms, she was completely out of breath, and Resh thought he might be experiencing what it was like to have one’s heart explode in one’s chest.
“Auryn,” he chided. “Be careful.”
She wasn’t listening. As soon as she caught her breath, she pointed to the haystack where her arrow protruded from the center of a makeshift target.
“Look! Did you see? I hit it!”
She was the one in danger. So why did it feel like he was the one being saved?
Thessia strolled over to catch up with her, picking up her lost sandal. Her expression was amused—resigned. When she reached them, Resh pressed Auryn tighter against him before he realized what he was doing.
His eyes clashed with her violet ones.
Held.
“Did you see, Kailorien?” Auryn asked, pulling on his collar.
He exhaled. Helpless.
“I saw. You did well.” He cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.
And then his vision tunneled, narrowing on a trail of silver dripping from her nose. He tore off his glove and wiped the drop away with his thumb.
“Auryn, are you all right?”
She blinked. Glanced at his thumb.
Swayed.
“Oh,” she breathed, suddenly leaning against him.
His jaw tensed.
“I think you’ve done enough for one day. Have you eaten?”
She nodded, though she didn’t pull away from him. “Thessia made sure.”
Said warrior stepped closer, placing a hand on Auryn’s shoulder.
“Should we retire for the night, moonbeam?” she asked.
Auryn’s grip tightened, instinctive. Needing him.
But he…couldn’t.
Not like this. Not now. Not when his palm still stung with the truth.
He pulled back. Looked away.
I can’t let her see my anger now. I don’t want to frighten her.
“Yes,” Auryn said. “Thank you.”
Thessia took one of her hands and supported Auryn as they walked away.
Something tingled on Resh’s palm. He looked at it, his eyes widening, as the stinging callous just below the meat of his thumb hissed and stitched back together into healthy new skin beneath the silver blood he’d just wiped from Auryn’s face.
He held his breath.
Zarrek saw it all. He looked unfazed, but Resh recognized the tilt of his mouth.
The floor spun beneath him.
Void save us.
No one can know.
He rushed to wipe the blood on his tunic then looked to his brother in arms.
“Not a word of this,” Resh breathed. “Not a Voids-damned word, Zar.”
The warrior shifted his weight between his legs. Sighed.
“Yeah, I get it. First they pray to her then they want to bottle her blood for potions.” He let out a long breath.
“This goes past my purpose, Resh. I’m bred for war, not intrigue.
Could never remember a single fucking Devotion.
All I can tell you is, you’re in deep water.
So, choose. You going to swim with her or put her on a raft and let her float to shore? ”
He scratched his head and paused. For effect, maybe.
“Gotta hope no one else wants to drown her, but then again, seems like the Lioness can take care of her just fine.”
Resh hardly heard that last part. He raked his hand through his hair then ran his palm down the front of his face. His healed palm.
Healed—with the blood of a girl with silver veins he found in some Void-forsaken temple lost to time.
Most magic couldn’t heal. Even the most advanced of casters couldn’t stitch together skin. Set bones, perhaps. Encourage mending. Staunch heavy blood flow. Experienced mages could try, but the mana toll was devastating. The cost was too high unless the need was dire.
Yet here was Auryn—her skin healing in hours from cuts and scrapes. Her magic able to perform miracles. Her blood a raw elixir for closing wounds, and Void knew what else.
“How far to Stonewake?” he asked.
“Two weeks, maybe. Four at most. One of the horses was ripped apart in the fight. We’ll have to push the wagon part of the way through the swamps.”
Resh brooded in silence.
“I know that look. What are you thinking?”
“Arrange for a message to Maradryn. Tonight. Use one of the falcons, I don’t care. By the time we get to Stonewake, I want a wagon and supplies ready to take her to the capital.”
“Not your brother, then?” Zarrek pressed. “You sure? This is just the kind of treasure he’d love to—”
“She’s a person, Zar. She’s not a relic or some treasure. She’s not—” he choked on his word, “mine.”
Zarrek waited, and when Resh didn’t go on, he said, “She could be. If you want. You’re the Resh’Agar. You can take her as your Sokar.”
“I’ve already named her that.”
“Named, not taken. A temporary patch to a leak that needs fixing.”
Resh sent him a dangerous glare, and Zarrek raised his palms in surrender.
“Just saying it as it is. If you bring her to the city as Auryn, she’ll be ripped apart. But if you bring your consort to them with fanfare and a bit of flair, she’s untouchable.”
With that, Zarrek stepped closer.
“Don’t pretend you don’t want to.” The warrior reached out and parted Resh’s hair at the nape of his neck, revealing a small braid with a thin ribbon tied into it. “You’ve never been able to hide your pain from me, Resh. And now, your love.”
Resh stared at him. Angry. Furious.
But Zarrek was right.
Zarrek was always right.
“I saw you with her when she was dying, Resh. Half-clothed, soaked, cradling her like she was your last breath. Don’t insult me by pretending that wasn’t real.”
“I’ve known her a few months,” Resh rasped. Still trying to push back. Still trying to find some loophole in the logic of it all.
Zarrek made a short, bitter sound. “It didn’t take you a few months,” he said, his voice low. Solemn. “You were done the moment she fell into your arms from that ice.”
Resh turned toward the firelight, its glow reflecting in the taut lines of his face.
“Zar,” he said. His voice was steady, lethal. “If you see her even reaching for that power again…you stop her. Am I clear?”
Zarrek didn’t answer right away.
The older warrior’s gaze settled on his Commander. Zarrek exhaled slowly, then replied, voice like granite cracking.
“And if she fights back?”
Resh didn’t hesitate. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
“Bruised pride is better than death,” he ground out.
Zarrek’s eyes narrowed. He scanned Kailorien’s face, searching for something—weakness, uncertainty, perhaps.
After a long beat, Zarrek gave a single nod. Short. Final.