Chapter Sixty-Two #3
“You don’t want any other young witch to suffer your fate, do you?”
“No, mentor.”
“Good. Now go again. Siphon the Guard’s annoyance. Become his vessel. Hold all he cannot. Now imbue him with calm. Give him all of your own—whatever it takes. Pull from memory. Others’ bodies. Their memories. Hoard them. Do what you must.”
“I do not care that you’re tired. You will go again.”
“Now siphon his anger. It doesn’t matter that it stings.
What are you, a weakling? This is what witches are born to do.
Our purpose is to suffer so our sorcerers can protect us with their strength.
You will hold all he cannot tolerate for him.
Hold it. Now siphon more. That’s it. He’s beginning to feel relief.
Now imbue him with a sense of peace—I don’t care from where you have to extract it. ”
“That’s it. That’s my good little witch. Push it down. Shove it away.”
“This is how we must contain all that others cannot.”
“Go again. And again.”
“Oh, please. You do not need to rest. You just need to try harder. You can do better than this. You are to be the Imperial Grand Witch.”
“Think of the citizens. If you give up now, you’re just being selfish. Because if you refuse, you only condemn another to take your place.”
“And if every witch after you fails us—you know what that means. The Dragons will reign, and everyone you care about will die.”
“No!” I cry, here or there I cannot be sure, but something entirely Varic drags me from the squall of memory, out from the ocean’s worth of guilt and shame expanding throughout my lifetime.
“It’s me. I’m right here.” Varic’s voice is low and gentle, and I nod to let him know I have heard.
Details slowly come into focus as I turn and trace the shiny line of every new scar Varic carries like a constellation marking the brown skin on his hand. I raise my own to run my fingertips over every smooth area where he could have asked a healer to ensure no mark remained.
The rough texture of his thumb can be felt through the thin leather over my arm, where he continues stroking soothing lines to calm me without the use of either of our magic.
A heady sensation takes effect the longer he makes contact.
With such power he wields over me, where his touch alone is capable of calming the storm inside my body.
I take the risk and lift my gaze to his—no matter that I shouldn’t.
Not like this. Not in front of Prince Auden.
Yet the second our eyes lock on each other, my heart constricts, absorbing the compassion he sends me while unable to ignore the love with the way his eyes water. Imbued so fully, it’s as if the emotion itself is weaving a line from his heart to mine.
My stomach clenches, as this is not the natural connection between a Lead Guard and their sworn protected. This swirl of emotion he’s divulging to me means so much more, and yet we cannot have whatever this would be outside of our roles.
His hands slowly relax before falling away to clutch his reins, and a blanket of grief drops over my being while I gasp for relief from the absence of him.
A sensation so strong I must force memories where I felt frustration, anger, neutrality—anything other than this all-encompassing, breath-stealing loss of him.
Because this intensity isn’t from one lost moment of connection—it’s a lifetime’s worth.
“We can turn back,” Varic offers.
I shake my head and peer over my shoulder at the Prince.
“I apologize for bringing up such inappropriate topics on what otherwise could have been a peaceful ride.” Prince Auden places a hand over his heart.
“Aside from finding the patch of doomweed, of course.” His sorrowful expression seems to be a mix of far older grief and more current contrition, though I cannot be sure, and I will not chance alerting him should I use my power.
I force the corners of my mouth to rise into what I hope looks to be a faint smile of sorts.
“Our relative privacy offered me an opportunity to speak differently compared to anything we may find inside the castle. However, I did so without considering the effect—”
“Thank you, Prince Auden,” I say, cutting him off without caring. “I understand.”
“Your refusal to drop the formalities is baffling,” he teases, eyes glinting. “I do not expect you to forgive me, and you owe me nothing—not even your understanding, as it seems you are too often made to give that as well.”
“You think me a powerful witch indeed, if you believe me capable of blocking the ability to understand another.” His brow rises, so I explain.
“While there may be times we need to try to understand another’s perspective, I do not know of any being capable of preventing such when it occurs naturally. ”
“I think I can glean your meaning, and also why you are so adored. It is not just your magic, nor even your attitude toward service. But in how considerate you are with interest in understanding the experiences and politics all across the Continent.”
“You’ve known me for less than a day, yet you have made such an apt assessment,” I say, flattering his skills of observation.
“Would you care to take another turn around the sunken gardens before tea?” I nod in assent and give the appropriate command to Filly, then seek Varic’s eyes, which contain a grave understanding.