Chapter ten #2
A small breath hissed through his lips and I held my breath. “Magic?” He blinked, his mouth hanging open, looking at me with both skepticism and awe. “You have experience with real magic?”
His lack of anger or fear was a comfort, and I nodded.
He opened his mouth, but I’d left him speechless, apparently.
I hurried to explain, hoping that the more he knew, the more he’d understand. “When I was nine, I gained the ability to heal, but only through my hair, and only if it was never cut.”
“You can heal?”
“I could.” I looked down at my hair that hung only to my elbows and then back at him. “Not anymore.”
His eyes grazed over what remained of my hair. “I took your magic from you?” he asked in a raw whisper.
I nodded.
I thought perhaps this piece would make him feel better. Yes, I’d had magic, but I didn’t anymore. If he feared magic, that should have been a comfort. Instead he looked devastated as he said, “I’m so sorry.”
Tears of relief pricked my eyes and I shook my head. “Don’t be. It’s better this way,” I assured him as guilt marred his face.
“How can it be better?”
His utter confusion made me certain that I’d been wrong. “Isn’t magic a bad thing?” I asked.
“I don’t know, “ he said, his eyes darting about, obviously trying to work out all the implications of my revelation. “I’ve no experience with it.”
I wrung my hands as my world reordered itself and a knot of fear eased.
Finally, Tavric’s eyes settled back on me, questions written all over his face. “Why is it better that you lost your magic? Being able to heal…”
“Is an extraordinary gift, yes. So extraordinary that it was coveted and envied.” I lifted my chin again, feeling just a little defiant for telling him this truth. “And well used.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Well used?”
“You asked why my aunt kept me in that tower. That’s why.
She believed it was my responsibility to use my gift to its fullest because if I’d had my gift when my parents fell ill, I could have saved them.
She always resented me for not being able to save her sister, and she wanted to keep others from suffering that grief.
If I was always in the tower, then the sick and injured always knew where to find me, so my magic could always be used.
And anyone who wished me harm couldn’t reach me. ”
His eyes darted around as he tried to make sense of it all. “Who wished you harm?” he finally asked.
I shrugged. “I had powerful magic, and powerful magic was coveted in my land. The High Court liked to have people like me under their control.”
He stood straight, his jaw working, forming words that never escaped, until finally he looked to me. “Here.” He gestured toward two chairs that sat in front of a nearby fireplace. “Come sit.”
I did so, and he sat on the edge of his own chair, leaning forward. “How did it work?”
I let out a little breath of relief, grateful that he was curious instead of suspicious. “As long as I was singing, someone needed only touch my hair and they would be healed.”
“Cuts? Bruises?”
“Yes.”
“Broken bones?”
“Yes.”
“Fever? Infection?”
“All of it.”
“Astounding.”
My eyes stung and I blinked. “All these years, I thought—I was told—that everyone outside of Branfrie hated magic. That they feared it.”
He let out a bewildered little chuckle, shoving his hands into his hair.
“There are enough records and rumors of magic that I think we all know it’s out there somewhere.
We assume the mermaids in these waters have magic, though our only understanding of their existence consists of mere rumors and rare sightings.
” He studied me, almost like he was seeing me for the first time.
“There is an entire land filled with magic?”
I nodded. “It wasn’t always that way. Magic first presented itself in our land seventy-five years ago.
It was strong and random. Not many had it, and those who did found themselves in a position of power.
A few strong sorcerers thought the land would be better ruled by a High Court of those with magic instead of by a royal family without. ”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Why have I never heard of this land?”
“It’s shrouded. No one but the inhabitants know it’s there. I’ve always known it remained invisible to the outside world, but the fact that you don’t even recognize the name of it… I hadn’t expected that.”
He studied me for several moments, looking like he wanted to say something but was holding back. I waited him out, and finally he spoke. “Do you want to return?”
A deep, visceral reaction crashed through my whole body. The answer was a resounding and unequivocal no, but I worried that if I said that, Tavric would feel obligated to take care of me, and the last thing I wanted to be was a burden.
But I also couldn’t lie.
“Do you think I should?” I asked, terrified that he might say yes.
“It’s not up to me.”
“But you have an opinion?” I asked, suddenly impatient for him to just answer.
“Of course.”
“Which is?”
“Don’t go back,” he said, almost begged. His eyes were deep with worry and want as he said it, and I knew he meant it.
I drew in a tight breath. “Why?”
“That place wasn’t good for you.”
I wanted to ask if there was any other reason. Did he want me to stay for my own good, or for his? But I wasn’t that brave. Not yet. “How do you know that?”
He let out a gentle scoff. “You hadn’t touched land for ten years. You’d been turned into a slave. You were so miserable that you risked scaling the side of a castle turret to escape that life. You hadn’t interacted with anyone but your aunt for a decade.”
“I interacted with people.” I didn’t know why I was arguing with him. Perhaps I just wanted to believe that it hadn’t been that bad.
“Face to face?” he challenged.
“Well…I was up in the tower, and they were on the ground, but yes, I could see their faces. I could talk to them.”
“But did you have any friends?”
“One.”
“What was her name?”
“His name was Gregor.”
He paused as some sort of puzzled look crossed his face. “And he would visit you?”
I nodded, grateful for this one piece of brightness that was part of my story. “He would always speak to me when he came by, asking about my day. He was kind and funny and brought me books that we knew Aunt Ethel wouldn’t approve of.”
His smile was small but genuine, though there was a sadness behind it that pulled on the threads of sadness in my own heart. “I’m glad you had someone who cared for you.”
“Me too. He was always gentle when he used my hair.”
Tavric’s brow furrowed and his eyes took on that stormy quality. “Would he do that often?”
“Do what?”
“Use your hair?”
“Of course. That’s why he would come. That’s why everyone came.”
His jaw tensed and he looked away for several seconds. “That sounds lonely.”
I gave a small shrug. “It was less lonely when they came. At least the ones who spoke to me. And it was comforting to know that I was helping.”
His lips pressed together and his eyes narrowed, like something about my answer frustrated him. “But they were always there to use you. Did that not bother you?”
Yes, but… “They needed my help.”
“Did they?”
I huffed. He was always challenging my answers this way. This time I kept my mouth shut, certain he had something to say.
“When people sought your help, were they gravely ill?”
“Sometimes. Most often, they didn’t let it get that far. They came to me right away. Wounds rarely got infected because I could heal them when it first happened.”
“People mostly came to you for small things?”
“Yes. Scratches and bruises. Congestion, headache. Though some of the lads would make a game out of seeing how long they could wait before coming to me.”
Concern cloaked his features. “What do you mean?”
“They would each give themselves a cut with a dirty knife, all at the same time, and then the person who lasted the longest before coming to be healed would be the winner.”
He looked horrified, staring at me for several long moments before turning to look away, rolling his shoulders in agitation. “Those boys didn’t need your help.”
“I assure you they did. Waiting that long caused awful infections.”
He pressed his lips together, his nostrils flaring.
“I’ve lived my whole life without someone to instantly heal me,” he pointed out.
“I’ve had more injuries than I can count, and far more than my mother would prefer.
I’ve dealt with each one. I’ve taken care of myself.
I’ve used the herbs given to me for healing. You weren’t their only option.”
“They weren’t the only ones I healed,” I defended myself, even though in the hidden parts of my soul I’d thought all the things he was saying. “Some people came to me gravely injured by no fault of their own.”
“And the gift you gave them was a true miracle. I’m glad for their sakes that you were there for them. But it sounds like most people came to you because they were careless or lazy or just didn’t know that there was another way.”
“Yes,” I conceded.
“You’ve been used, Lyrielle. For your entire life.”
“I haven’t had the gift my entire life,” I pointed out with another stubborn lift of my chin, unwilling to think too hard about what he’d just said.
He stood and paced more, agitated. “Fine then. You’ve been used every day for the past ten years.”
He was right, but it sounded so much worse when someone else said it out loud.
“They needed help,” I said quietly, mostly out of habit.
Tavric nodded. “Some did. Most just wanted it. But what do you want? More importantly, what do you need?”
I bristled at the question. “Aunt Ethel always said it was selfish to want things when I’d already been given so much.”
His eyes narrowed with curiosity. “And what had you been given?”
Questions, questions, so many questions. “My gift,” I answered, exasperated.
“Healing?” Another question. “Could you heal yourself?”