Chapter 13
I hold out my hand to the side in case my recreated artificer sigil will cause me to unleash a burst of flame or ice.
This is exactly why the Creed doesn’t want regular people trying out sigils.
One wrong line and it can either not work at all, or Etherlight can explode with horrifying consequences.
But I’m surprisingly confident in my abilities for having never done this before, thanks to all the hours I spent with Dad. For the first time, it feels like something is going to simply work for me, and the sensation is intoxicating.
I suck in Etherlight with a breath—the way I did for years, trying with the vicar—and this time, it feels as though all this power has somewhere to go.
The skin on my fist puckers, spreading down my arm and even tingling across my chest. A thin sheen across my arm is illuminated in the fading light of our fires.
The copper dragon turned my way while I was drawing forth Etherlight. I almost miss the surge of power. Lucan lets out a shout, but he’s too far.
Using all the information I’ve learned about drawing Etherlight through sigils from my father and my training with the vicar, I raise my fist and position my body behind it.
Etherlight is warm, like the sun rising after a long night.
More flows through me than I’ve ever felt before—so much more than opening a lock or lighting Saipha’s little lantern.
As a ball of flame is hurled toward me, I really hope this sigil does what I think it does. This is going to be either a really stupid end to my life…or the most brilliant thing I’ve ever done.
The ball of fire splits in two on my knuckles, shearing away into ribbons of flame. Tiny embers glow around my fist before fading to black. The thin sheen across my flesh vanishes as the Etherlight dissipates.
To think, this is what the vicar wants me to do, but without a sigil. What Valor could do. It’s impossible to imagine just how powerful I’d be if I could.
A shocked laugh escapes me. It worked. That worked. I guessed they’d put an armor sigil with the silver dragon—the most armored of them all—and I was right.
The copper dragon clicks; it’s readying another blast. I sprint forward and, with my free hand, grab Lucan, who lets out a yelp of surprise. We head in the direction of the door closest to the greenhouse.
This is going to hurt. Releasing Lucan, I call on Etherlight again but this time shift the flow of magic to my leg.
I suck in a breath and take a step back as the copper dragon begins to gather its own Etherlight.
Then I lift my leg and kick straight out with all my might, right at the doorknob.
Even with a leg like steel, the rest of my body is not.
My joints scream. My back continues to ooze blood to the point that I’m dizzy. The door budges but doesn’t break.
“Isola—”
Ignoring whatever Lucan is about to say, I bounce back and kick again. Then a third time. On the fourth, the doorframe shatters and I’m left panting, sagging.
Lucan catches me before I fall over and drags me to the other side of the door as a burst of flame explodes where our heads just were. Again. And I don’t know how many more near misses I can take.
He curses under his breath, a sentiment I share. My whole body is wrecked. Sweat and blood soak my clothes to dripping. Trembles are beginning to chase an unnatural cold sweeping through me as the Etherlight vanishes with my focus.
“Come on.” Lucan keeps his hold on me, beginning to pull me up the stairs.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Greenhouse,” he says with a grunt, as though having read my mind. I’m basically dead weight as I stumble down the hallway at his side. I’d probably fall over if it weren’t for him.
“Why are you taking me there?” I glance in his direction. There’s enough moonlight through the windows here for me to see him better.
“You can hardly walk.”
“I’m fine.”
Without warning, he lets me go, and I instantly sway. I’d drop to the floor if the opposite wall wasn’t so close. I barely get a hand up to support myself in time.
Our eyes lock. Lucan folds his arms. “Absolutely fine. The literal picture of ‘fine.’”
I scowl at his sarcasm. “You don’t have to help me. We’re even.”
“Even? What’re you talking about?”
“You helped me in there. I saved you in return. We can go our separate ways now.”
“We’re stuck here for the next three weeks.
There are no ‘separate ways.’” He sounds about as pleased as I am.
“I was wondering why you helped me get out, though, when you could’ve left me.
You can tell me on the way.” Lucan wraps his arm around my waist, careful to avoid my wound, grabbing my arm with his opposite hand for additional support.
I knew the man was muscular. His shirts do little to hide it. But feeling him at my side… He’s raw strength, and a part of me I’ve never known before wants to melt into him. To surrender to the safety he offers, even if I know it has ulterior motives.
“I don’t like being indebted to anyone.” My circumstances with the vicar have made that clear enough to me. He holds my life over my head, and I can’t do anything about it. I hate that feeling of owing and never knowing when it’ll come due. Of lacking that control. “So don’t help me anymore.”
“Your stubbornness is going to get you killed.”
“My tenacity is how we survived.”
He snorts. “After I snapped you out of your catatonic terror.”
This guy is so rude. But I’m not about to say so out loud. I’m far too strategic for that—is what I tell myself. Even if he’s the vicar’s son, he’s been useful so far…as much as I hate to admit it.
I scan for dangers as we emerge into the balmy greenhouse, grateful to find none.
“This way.” He guides me to a shed that’s been built off the back wall of the greenhouse. “In here.” Thank goodness it’s unlocked. We both do a quick search of the interior, but it’s small enough that there can’t be many surprises. He says what I’m thinking. “Defensible.”
I nod.
“Now, you stay here. I’m going to collect what I need.”
“Which is?” I let him ease me into a seated position on a bench. The world is starting to spin a bit from either blood loss or exhaustion…or both.
“Something to patch your back up.”
“Are you some kind of healer now?” I narrow my eyes slightly.
“Would it be so bad if I was?” Lucan shrugs and heads into the rows of plants.
I should have paid closer attention the past six years I’ve been stuck around him.
I shift to a more upright position and wince at the multiple stabs of pain.
He returns with two types of leaves clutched in his fists.
His knee bumps into mine as he sits, and I jerk away from the touch.
He doesn’t even seem to notice it happened.
“I’m feeling better,” I say, not only because I’m dubious of what he plans to do with the sprigs and leaves in his fist, but because being this near him is uncomfortable.
“Sure, sure,” he says in the most dismissive way possible as he begins to grind the plants together in an empty pot.
I pay close attention to what he’s adding when and how much water is needed to form a thick paste.
If there are plants here that can heal, I need to learn how to use them.
He stares at me for a moment, and I adjust my back, wincing at the pain.
“But you don’t look like you feel better,” he says.
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“You’re a bad actress.”
I scoff at that. If only he knew how decent an actress I can be.
I’ve kept all of Vinguard thinking that I’m Valor Reborn—blessed by my position, loving of the Creed.
High Curate Kassin Thaz’s good little daughter, following the path he’d always dreamed of but could never achieve, straight into Mercy Spire.
Despite the fact that I’m fairly certain that, out of everyone, I’m the one who’s cursed.
“Turn around.” Lucan has a glob of the plant mush on two fingers. I never realized how big his hands were until I had a reason to focus on them.
“You expect me to put my back to you and let you smush that into my wound?”
A pause. A lift of his brows. “You want to do it yourself? Or would you prefer just sitting here with it bleeding and hurting?”
He’s so annoying when he’s right. With a grumble, I banish my desire to be childish and turn.
Lucan’s touch on my back is strange, his fingers callused and warm.
When he pushes the torn edge of my top to the side, I shiver.
I almost prefer to focus on the pain than think about him touching me.
When he’s this gentle, I can almost forget all the reasons I have to be skeptical of him. Almost.
I’m not going to let him win that easily, I vow to myself.
This is what he does. He shows kindness and then turns on you.
I’m in a vulnerable state. Of course it’s natural to want to literally and emotionally lean on someone helping you.
Take what you need from him now and get what information you can, Isola, and sort through your thoughts about him later.
There’s a bit of initial pain at the pressure of him pushing the mixture into the wound, but the makeshift medicine immediately begins to take effect, and the ache numbs. My shoulders relax, and a soft sigh escapes my lips without a thought.
“I really don’t need, or want, your help,” I murmur.
“You might not want it, but I challenge you on needing it.”
I glance over my shoulder and study his face.
Square jaw, strong nose, hazel eyes—the brown-and-gold sort more than green.
All the pieces fit together perfectly, and I really hate that I notice.
Because he’s right…I still don’t know if I trust him.
He’s either the vicar’s loyal heir—in which case he would help me—or he’s a zealous, jealous sycophant like Cindel and would gladly poison me to expose I’m not really Valor.
“How’d you learn how to do this?” I ask.