Chapter 26 #3
Did Cirrian realize he’d just destroyed my world in more ways than that one?
Taking away parents who I had believed had withheld important life-changing information and replacing them with people who’d simply raised me and may not have even known what I was.
Probably misinformed that I was a witch, too.
The only thing true about them was that they were witches. Witches whose magic was so weak their orbs were barely blue.
I was left with a million questions. My aunt, who cared for me after my parents’ accident, seemed unable to form a real connection with me. Was it because she knew? Who’d put a protection spell on me, and why?
“When did you suspect it?”
“When you told me about the attack. The aura of magic on you is strong.”
“Is it normal for ashinwas to have a protection spell on them?”
“No.” His tone held the same wary dread Vina’s had.
“I am what you think I am?” The desperation in my voice made my question sound like a plea.
Everything I knew had been whisked away.
Unmoored, I tried to anchor myself to the only truth I thought I knew: I was an ashinwa.
Vina’s words replayed in my head along with Jamillah’s gentle concern when she said, “I should have found you.”
“Yes.” He drew out the word as if there was more he wanted to say.
“We should go,” he added. He linked his fingers with mine.
They felt so warm. The firmness of his grip wasn’t enough.
I was floundering. I’d abandoned every self-regulating technique I knew: Vagus reset—screw your exhalation.
Mindful walking—I was on autopilot and my feet could have been replaced with hooves and I’d be none the wiser.
Gratitude—it was hard to be grateful for anything in the weeds of despair.
I needed to get it together. Cirrian’s hold on my hand was firmer when I stopped for a moment. I shored up the resolve I needed to gather my emotions to sort through later. Probably with a bottle of wine and comfort food.
Cirrian’s hand slipped from mine and gently pressed into my back, guiding me from the building and past the guards with purpose.
“Cirrian,” Lyzeil said as we moved past him quickly. I was acutely aware of the intensity of the guards’ stares, although I wasn’t sure who was the recipient of their interest: me or Cirrian.
Cirrian’s pace continued. He pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around me in preparation to return home, when the sound of beating wings came from the sky. A moment later, we were surrounded by twenty winged guards.
They separated to create an opening for three people to enter in a single file. A tall, lean woman with golden-brown skin and molten brown eyes. Her grimace, softened by full lips and docile eyes, showed her determination and dissatisfaction.
A fitted black jacket made of reinforced fabric and leather moved with her body without softening its lines.
Soft leather lined the tapered wrists of the sleeves.
The neck rose snugly at the throat, precisely framing it.
My eyes snagged on the narrow sheath seam that housed an easily retrieved slim blade.
The diagonal harness strap crossed from shoulder to ribcage looked decorative until I saw that it was a retention strap securing blades to them for easy retrieval.
The bold embossed insignia had meaning. I speculated rank, but the varying colors meant something else. I just had no idea what.
Matte black pants similar to the ones Cirrian wore were cut lean through the thigh with a strap. Knee-length boots completed the uniform. Whereas Cirrian’s seemed ornamental, her steeled-toed footwear without any visible lacing was to give her an advantage during a fight.
The slow breaths I took did nothing to temper the growing apprehension from the new arrivals. While Cirrian’s attire spoke of dark menace, their determined advance held an air of authority and readiness for violence.
Cirrian stood taller, his expression quickly moving from annoyance to defiance that he leveled at the duo behind her that included Larkin, who looked as if he was there under duress and returned Cirrian’s annoyed look. But his irritation was clearly directed at Cirrian and not the situation.
The guards surrounded us, thrusting me out of the way before I could make sense of what was going on.
The woman’s invocation came quickly with a blast of magic, torrential and strong.
Cirrian grimaced as the black smoke around him narrowed out, wound around him, dissipated, and then he was shackled, his arms and legs in runed chains.
His mouth moved ardently in what I assumed was a counterspell that failed.
Buckling to his knees, he toppled over from there.
He was still, his eyes closed, his breathing even and soft.
Where I’d expected to see accusation or even rank cruelty from the woman who’d forced Cirrian into submission, there was something else that I couldn’t quite place. Sorrow. Wistful regret.
It was missing when it was turned on me. “And you?” she said, pinning me with a wrathful glare diametric to her honeyed voice. “You seem to be the reason behind all this chaos. I need to know why.”
She didn’t give me an opportunity to answer. The cloud of magic swept over me, my vision grew hazy and heavy, my mind clouded, and then darkness.