13. Imprecation #2
Flinching back, I raised my arms protectively around Squire, but the glass diverted around us like we were in a protective bubble. Tarantula bent over, eyes closed, chest heaving, with his hands on his knees. Silver magic gushed off him.
I scrambled backward, hyperventilating.
While he was still bent over, his eyes shot open. Tarantula tracked my every move with unblinking fervor. Glass clattered as a gust of chilly wind carried the broken pieces across the icy cobblestones.
Concentrate, Zora.
I staggered woozily to my feet, shards crunching beneath my boots. You’re here for a reason. It took a long second to sort through my befuddled thoughts, and then it hit me.
“Mom,” I said hoarsely, guilt eating me alive. How had I forgotten?
Squire flew up and settled on my shoulder. “Mom?” he squawked with confusion.
“Stop moving,” Tarantula said as I hobbled past him before he could read my intentions. He hurried after me. “Thou art hurting yourself.”
“Mom!” I yelled, ignoring the pain in my arm as I ran toward my home.
“Sit back down, right now. Thou art the most bullheaded—”
A familiar door flung open. “Zora, sweetie! Is that you?”
“Mommy,” Squire hooted with delight.
Tears flooded down my face before I’d processed what was happening. I was on my knees, and she was running toward me, wrapping her arms around me. Holding me.
Long, wonderful seconds passed as I embraced the only family I had left.
“You’re not safe,” I whispered into her ear when I finally found my voice.
“Shhh, sweetheart, it’s okay. I have protection.” She gestured to where a man stood on her stoop. He was covered in muscles, and I recognized him as Vale, the most competent man in the Commune. Manto had kept his promise to protect her when I left.
Everything blurred.
And now he’s dead.
“Sweetheart, please.” She cradled my head, gasping as she saw the dagger sticking out of my shoulder. “Who did that . . . ? Why . . .” She trailed off as she took in the carnage all over the street.
“I’m fine,” I said reflexively. It was a testament to how much I’d suffered in the Crimson Army that I wasn’t lying.
She yelled as she caught me just before I face-planted.
“Just a light passing out,” I whispered. “Nothing to worry about.”
Mom held me cradled in her arms. “I’m beyond worried.”
I laughed, so grateful she was alive I could happily die. She smacked me lightly on the back of the head.
“Wow, beat a woman while she’s down.”
Mom wiped hair off my forehead, whispering something about “fairy’s tales” and “all my fault,” as if saying a prayer.
“It’s fairy tales, and it’s not your fault,” I promised her. “It’s mine.”
“No.” She shook her head, eyes crinkling. “It’s fairy’s tales.”
“I’ve never heard anyone else call it that. You’re definitely wrong.”
“No, I’m not.” Both of us laughed, and I tried to nudge her but gasped with pain.
“My Zora.” Her fingers trembled as she cupped my face. “You need medical attention. I don’t . . . We don’t have any supplies in the North . . . to help this.”
Her eyes were wide and panicked. We both knew the only thing our local “medic” did was prescribe bark soup. People didn’t get gravely injured in the North. If they did, they were dead.
“I need to take her back and treat her.” Tarantula stood above us, long shackles blowing in the wind.
Mom’s jaw dropped as she glared up at him, cradling me protectively. “I thought the papers were m-making up stories,” she said, her voice thin with asthma.
“It’s fine,” I said weakly. “He’s my . . . prisoner?”
His severed chains clattered loudly as if making a mockery of my statement. Mom shook her head, not looking convinced. Understandable. It didn’t help that the last time she’d seen him, he’d kidnapped her, and now he’d just murdered two Royal Mages with his bare hands.
I glared at Tarantula, gesturing with my head across the street. He rolled his eyes but turned his back to give us some privacy and walked a few steps away. He picked up my Knight helmet and busied himself hanging it off his armor belt.
“We should go and report this to the Marshal,” I whispered to Mom. “Come with me. I can keep you safe—”
“My life is here.” Mom shook her head, mouth tilted stubbornly. She always acted like this whenever I’d mentioned leaving the North. “Plus, I have Vale.” She gestured back at the man, who was now sharpening an ax on our front stoop. The sight made me feel only marginally better.
“Please,” I begged, unable to let it go. “It’s not safe. The threats against you are—”
“Like I’ve told you before,” she said harshly, “I will never leave the North.” Her expression softened as she saw my devastation. She leaned down and gently kissed my forehead. “I heard you’ve become a Knight Mage . . . I always knew you were destined for greatness, my sweet, lucky girl.”
I was breaking at the seams.
“Please,” I repeated as I cried, wishing I could tell her about my impossible quest and how the Iron Ritual had malfunctioned, making me into a Royal Mage.
They want me to do the unthinkable. I glanced at Tarantula, trying to tell her with my wide, panicked eyes what I’d promised the Marshal I would never speak out loud.
Mom’s breath hitched, fear flashing across her face like somehow she’d understood me perfectly. She masked her surprise quickly.
Cheeks tight from frozen tears, I leaned my head against her shoulder. Squire repositioned himself so he was pressed between both of us.
“Everything is not as it seems,” I whispered.
She gently stroked my hair. “And yet you and I are real. Hope is where the divine enters, and you know what that means . . .” She trailed off, waiting for me to finish her favorite saying.
“Our souls are free, old god turn us toward the light,” I whispered, throat impossibly tight as a wave of inarticulable sensations washed over me.
Mom always felt that way to me. Divine. She believed in everything, in me, so strongly that it felt sacrilegious to argue with her limitless faith.
Long minutes passed as the three of us embraced, and I wished with every aching beat of my heart that the moment would never end. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried not to notice how brittle, starving, her frame felt beneath my touch.
Sharp pain shot up my shoulder. I tried to hide my wince, but it was too late.
“Please, go get help, Zora. Write to me.” Mom’s smile was steeped with melancholy, lips wobbling as she tried to be strong for both of us. “Remember, please.” She placed a hand over her heart, the meaning clear.
“I love you,” I whispered, tongue numb from the weight of everything I wanted to say but could not. “I’ll be back home soon. Keep my snowboard polished for me.”
She rolled her eyes as I laughed. “Oh please, you and that death trap.” We hugged each other tighter. “I love you so much.” She kissed my forehead. “Old god, please protect my lucky girl.”
No one can save me.
Not from this.
Feeling like I was dying, chest cavity filled with dirt, weeds growing from my decaying flesh, I inhaled deeply and wrenched away from her embrace. She smelled like kindness and hope for a better future, but her temples were sunken in, mouth too large for her skull. I swallowed down bile.