Chapter 1 #2
He let loose another burst of magic.
Enough. I’d had enough of men molesting girls.
I’d dried rivers of tears, clutched countless hands, spent more nights than I could count holding girls haunted by nightmares.
I’d ached enough, suffered enough, hated enough.
Something deep within me cracked, and a tiny taste of my rage danced across my skin.
My anger was as bitter as wormwood and stronger than the liquor our neighbor made in his makeshift still.
The ugly lights from Smit’s magic seemed to slow as they hit my shield, swirling around its edges instead of dissipating. For a heartbeat, the lights pulsed even brighter, as if they were transferring energy. My shield shimmered, no longer invisible but burning with cold blue fire.
My heart hammered against my ribs. This wasn’t how my magic worked. What was happening?
My shield dispelled others’ magic. At least, that was what it usually did. Was it about to fail? I pushed Khouri further behind me and held my breath.
Except Smit’s ugly red and purple and black lights were now racing toward him.
The colored lights slammed into his body, wrapping around his neck like a noose. Shock and pain registered on his repulsive features, and his hands clawed at his throat.
This couldn’t be real. My thoughts spiraled with disbelief and confusion, and any plausible explanation eluded me.
Smit’s furious face went slack, and he crashed to the floor. The lights surrounding him flickered and disappeared.
Long seconds passed, and he didn’t move. He was a horrible man. Truly terrible. But I didn’t want him dead. I didn’t want to have killed him. I didn’t want to feel as if I could do it again.
My feet refused to move. They were frozen to the floor. Perhaps permanently. My mouth gaped open. Collapsing seemed like a viable next step.
A low moan claimed my attention.
Khouri.
“Stay here.” Somehow, I forced my leaden feet forward, shuffling toward Smit as horror stole the air from my lungs. I bent. I pressed my fingers to his neck and swallowed a moan. No pulse. The man had no pulse. I’d definitely killed him.
I nearly buckled beneath the weight of my actions.
My hands shook, and my breathing grew shallow.
This was bad. No, not bad. This was terrible.
I’d killed a man. And not just any man—an important one.
Not on purpose, but the guard wouldn’t care that it had been accidental. Smit’s death wouldn’t go unpunished.
I forced myself to think past the horror. There would be time to fall apart later.
“What did you do?” Khouri’s voice was small, diminished.
I’d blocked her view of her father’s attack. Did she know he’d hit me with death magic? Did she know his magic had bounced back onto him? “You’re safe,” I told her. She’d never been less safe. I’d implicated her in her father’s murder. “Has your father been having any trouble with his magic?”
“No. Why?”
I turned and took in her tearstained face. “He’s dead, Khouri.”
She pressed her hands against her cheeks, and her chin quivered. Tears welled from beneath her closed eyelids and ran freely down her bruised cheeks.
The man had been a monster, but he was still her father. I gave her a moment.
When her eyes opened, they were clearer. Less haunted. “Good.” Her voice was barely a whisper but fierce. “I’m glad he’s dead.”
“Haven?” Grandmother spoke from just inside the door. Her gaze caught on the dead man, and her face tensed, even as her wrinkled cheeks paled.
“He threw death magic at me.” I swallowed past a sudden lump in my throat. “It rebounded.”
She pressed her open palms over her heart.
Death magic was rare and highly prized. The sudden flare in Grimswood would not go unnoticed. The guard would be arriving soon. We both knew it.
“It’s Wolgen Smit.”
The remaining color leached from Grandmother’s face, and she fumbled for the doorframe to hold herself steady.
“This is Khouri,” I told her. “Get her out of here.”
Grandmother’s gaze shifted to the girl. She took in the bruises and the torn clothes and the blood. “Who was he to you?”
“My father.”
Grandmother gave one brief, pained nod. “We’d better do as Haven says. Come with me.”
“But—”
“Khouri, we don’t have much time.” I struggled to produce an encouraging smile. “You need to go with her.” Now.
Grandmother held out a hand marked by veins and age spots and decades of caring for others. “Come with me, dear. We’ll keep you safe.”
Khouri stumbled to her.
Even as Grandmother wrapped her arm around Khouri’s narrow shoulders, she cast a look my way—pain, deep and sharp, darkened her eyes, and the sight nearly stole the breath from my lungs. We both knew what this meant.
Grandmother deserved better than this. She’d spent her life caring for others, only to see her daughter, my mother, dragged into an endless war. Now there was every chance I’d share my mother’s fate. I swallowed the emotion clogging my throat. “I’m so sorry. I love you.”
Her chin wobbled. Grandmother was a pillar of strength. She persevered through heartache and want and unspeakable horrors. She never faltered. Never. That tiny wobble told me more than I wanted to know. She didn’t expect me to survive this. “I love you more.”
I breathed past the need to cry and nodded toward Khouri. “Keep her safe.”
Grandmother took the girl’s hand. “Grim is the wood.”
I choked back a sob, somehow managing a watery reply. “But strong are the roots.”
A tear tracked down Grandmother’s cheek, and then she and Khouri disappeared into the hallway.
I sank onto the couch, suddenly too exhausted to stand. Silence pressed in on me, leaving me with my thoughts. One thought. Life as I knew it had ended.