Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Air roared across the deck. The gust crashed into Erinna’s chest, knocking her back against the rail with a hard thud. Even Lila winced at the sound Erinna’s body made on impact.
“That was better,” Erinna said through clenched teeth, rubbing her ribs. They were already tender. She would have bright purple bruises in the morning, but it was nothing she wasn’t used to.
“Better?!” Asher cried, eyes wide and incredulous as she glanced from her own hands to Erinna in horror. “I could have killed you!”
The witchstone vibrated in the wood. Everyone took a step back, as if waiting for another strike.
The arcanum from Asher’s Talent fought its way into the stone, but only half of it made it in.
The rest had ricocheted back at Erinna. A hand-bent silver ring kept the witchstone in place as it strained against the hold.
“When it stops buzzing, try again.” Erinna went to probe her work until Lila’s strong hand gripped her shoulder.
“I think we’re done for the day.”
Erinna tried to shrug off her hold. Since when did she care if Erinna got hurt? “Just a few more tries.” She was so close to success and, more importantly, closer to answers about her father.
Asher wrapped her hand around Erinna’s own, tugging her away. “You’re bleeding.”
A warm, thick liquid dripped down the side of her face. Erinna reached up to wipe it away, and her fingers came back covered in scarlet. The blast was strong enough to tear at her skin. Erinna wondered if she would need stitches.
“I’m fine…” she started, but both Asher and Lila boxed her between their bodies.
“Erinna, you have two choices,” started Asher. “You go to the infirmary with your dignity intact, or Lila carries you kicking and screaming.”
Erinna opened her mouth to protest until she heard a loud snap of metal followed by a thunk to the ground.
The silver band made from Lila’s werewolf hunting knife had cleaved in two, and the stone fell inert once more.
It failed. She failed.
Lila clenched her jaw and balled her hands into fists by her side. The precious item she sacrificed was useless.
There was a nudge against Erinna’s back as Asher steered her away. It would be best to put distance between Erinna and the dulled stone. More importantly, it would be better to get her away from Lila.
Erinna wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to give her a shiner.
Hells, she wanted to punch herself for such a mistake.
She was so sure that combining silver—one of the only metals that could hold at least a fraction of arcanum—with the witchstone would allow Asher to imbue her Talent.
Instead, she used up a fine silver weapon for nothing but a flashy failure.
“Don’t beat yourself up too much,” Asher whispered, as if sensing Erinna’s rising cloud of disappointment.
“You don’t understand. I need to get this done.” She looked at the calluses and scrapes of her palm, remembering the night she made the deal with Kane. It was the only way she knew to get answers. For any kind of insight on the secrets her father harbored with Kane.
Damien used to say that the answer to most mysteries started with the small secrets. The ones closest to home. A pang of guilt added to her bubbling, emotional cauldron. What would he think of her now? Parading with pirates, committing sacrilege in an attempt to save her father.
“I was wondering when I would meet the famous Tarthan shipwright.”
Erinna blinked in surprise. She had been so lost in thought she barely noticed as Asher led her to the infirmary below deck.
She knew Serg by name, the ship’s doctor, but this was her first time meeting him.
Gray dotted the edges of his dark hair, cut close to his head.
Faint pale scars decorated dark-bronze skin.
A small one on his cheek, a few on his hands and arms. It was usual for the crew members of the Hellish Rebuke to carry such memories of violence.
The doctor watched her with warm eyes, far too amiable for Erinna’s liking.
He patted one of the two beds, beckoning her to sit and allow him to assess his new patient.
She glanced around the small room. It was clean, pristine even, but what surprised her was the lack of antiseptic smell.
It was there, faint, masked beneath the scent of warm spices.
He must be from one of the southern kingdoms.
“It’s just a cut. All I need is—” She started moving to wipe the blood away, but Serg’s hands pressed against her arm.
“Your hands are covered in dirt and grime. Unless you want to chance a fever.” He pointed to a cleaning kit beside the bed. “May I?”
Erinna wanted to protest, but a glare from Asher had her reconsider. The message was clear; Erinna would not be leaving the infirmary until the cut was properly cared for.
“Please and thank you,” she mumbled as Serg prepared to treat his new, grumbling patient.
The antiseptic stung, and Erinna clenched her teeth to keep from flinching.
“You got lucky. There shouldn’t be need for stitches.” He put the swab of cotton stained with red into a small tray beside him. Flames erupted and singed it to ash. Erinna let out a gasp. The doctor let out a soft chuckle, grabbing a salve and bandage.
“It usually startles people the first time,” Serg said, cocking his head to the tray that had already stopped smoking.
Erinna studied the piece as Serg continued his work with the ointment and gauze.
It looked like an ordinary metal tray with a glaze that clouded its luster.
She could barely see the mark in the four corners—at first, she swore they were scrapes from a chisel.
No, on closer inspections they were some sort of marking she had never seen before.
“That…” started the doctor as he made good work of the wrappings on her head. “Is a Grace-imbued tool. Custom-made by Kane himself.”
Erinna’s brows shot up in surprise. “Grace? Kane?!”
Serg chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Grace is another way to manipulate arcanum, common in the north. A thing closer to witchcraft.”
“It’s the same thing,” Asher grumbled from the corners of her mouth.
Serg’s eyes narrowed. “We are not having this debate again.”
Grace must be Talent, Erinna surmised but couldn’t deny her rising curiosity about the tray. They could call it whatever they wanted, but how did he make that tray?
“Kane, with the work of a northern smith, imbued the tray through these runes.” Serg pointed to the marks. “They light up whenever I put something in the center. A handy little burner, for sure.”
“It was hotter than normal fire,” Erinna noted.
Serg and Asher exchanged a brief look.
“It’s hellfire.”
Hellfire. Erinna’s head was starting to swim, but at least she could blame it on the wound.
“It should heal nicely, but try not to irritate it too much.” Serg inspected his work, his deep brown eyes traveling to land on Erinna’s mark. “Huh, reminds me almost of your blessings, stormsinger.”
Erinna snapped her attention to Asher.
“I’ll explain on our way to get you cleaned up.” Asher cocked her head, gesturing that it was time to go.
“I just bandaged her!” Serg cried. He had a point; it would be a waste of a clean dressing to submerge it in water.
Asher simply rolled her eyes. “Relax, the bandage will stay dry, I have control over two elements, remember.” She wiggled her fingers in emphasis.
Erinna was still amazed to see a dual-wielding conjuror.
It was more common for a mage to be proficient at one element, but for a mage to manipulate two at such a caliber, the academy would have happily made room for Asher in their ranks.
Erinna followed Asher back toward camp, but as they neared the crumbling stone arches, she turned onto a small footpath into the surrounding forest.
The walk was mercifully short and far easier than her earlier trek to the cemetery. They ducked under low-hanging branches, and soon Erinna caught the sound of running water. A gentle rushing that grew louder with each step.
Asher parted thick foliage to reveal a small pool of freshwater.
A natural hot spring. Erinna gasped. All the hot springs on Tarth had been bought by private hospitality companies or by rich nobles to turn a profit on tourism to the island.
This was untouched by their capitalist hands and beautiful.
The pool itself was small, and a trickling brook fell down the side of a steep hill, supplying it with water.
Erinna wondered where it came from, but not enough to think much more of it.
“Your bath has been drawn, M’lady.” Asher bowed with a dramatic wave of her arm.
Erinna laughed. “Please, you can call me Eri.”
There were sparks of joy in Asher’s golden irises. “Eri, I like it.”
“It’s what my friends call me.”
“Careful, or you might start liking us more than a shipwright should.”
Erinna laughed again. “You may start liking me more than a pirate should.”
Asher cleared her throat, as if trying to force away amusement—or something else. “This is where we come to wash when Cap can’t stand the smell of us anymore. I can give you some privacy, but what is your comfort level with me helping you out with that bandage?”
Erinna watched as Asher rubbed her shoulders, noting the stiffness in her movements. “Did you want to join? I don’t mind at all.”
“If you insist.” Asher was already shrugging off her layers of clothing. With a quick wave of her hands the steam from the naturally warmed spring rose, shrouding them in privacy.
With a shuddering breath, Erinna pulled her aching feet from her boots and discarded the tunic and trousers. She tossed the clothing with more force than necessary, a remnant of the day’s frustration. Erinna dipped into the luxuriously warm waters. Her muscles grateful for the heat and reprieve.