Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
The rest of the day, things are tense as the others take turns scouting ahead for moving threats. What happened with Mace seems surreal. Did I imagine it all? I’d be tempted to think so, considering how cold and focused Mace is for the rest of the day.
The moment we make camp, Mace insists on another round of training, instead of picking up where we left off when Xandra found us. ‘Shit’s about to get real, Ellie. I need you to be prepared.’
We go through the usual sequence of drills, and then Mace makes me try again to shape my power into anything else but a shield.
That part isn’t going very well.
‘Maybe my power isn’t suited to attack,’ I say, exhausted after more than half an hour of trying to get my power to attack a tree, instead of shielding me against it. ‘Engineer magic isn’t suited to it, nor is ingredient-mixing magic and healing magic.’
‘I think you’re wrong,’ says Mace, wiping the stubble on his jawline, a move that tells me he’s increasingly frustrated. ‘When the others attack you with their swords, your magic does something to actively repel it. We just haven’t found out how you can twist it to attack.’
‘That sounds right,’ Allen chips in.
Xandra says nothing.
Mace points at a tree about two dozen feet from us. ‘Again. Try to blast it from existence. Imagine it’s your nemesis.’
I don’t actually want to attack anyone, and I’m not sure I have a nemesis, but imagining Xandra’s face superimposed on the bark makes me want to do things to that tree.
I take up a fighting stance, which I’m convinced looks halfway ridiculous, and raise my hands.
I try to push my magic out through the tips of my fingers, focusing on that tree as if it’s Xandra and I’m doing my best to put her on her arse.
But the magic stubbornly whirls out, settling into the shape of a dome around me. I’ve been doing it this way for so long, that I don’t know if I can re-teach it to do anything else.
I grit my teeth, frustrated, trying to push it away from me, but it just gathers in thicker layers around me, growing almost milky from the depth of it.
‘Stop,’ Mace says. He scratches the back of his neck. We’ve been trying this for nearly a week, with the same results, which means as good as none. ‘The problem,’ he says, ‘is that I don’t think you’ve learned how to fight yet. How to throw punches.’
I bite my tongue. We’ve been over this more than once. Attacking is against my nature. So of course it doesn’t come naturally to my magic, either.
‘Let’s try something else. Xandra…’ He points to the middle of the clearing. ‘Hand-to-hand combat.’
I step into the impromptu fighting ring, circling Xandra. I can see what he’s doing. Mace has been teaching me the basics of hand-to-hand combat, but we haven’t really been sparring, so maybe he hopes that throwing me with a new opponent will unlock something inside of me.
But all I manage to do is get myself thrown on my arse, on my knees, on my hands, and once, nearly on my face.
Within the longest few minutes in my life, I have managed to land zero blows.
She moves like the wind and it’s as if she anticipates every move I intend to make, three moves before I even think about them.
By the time she grabs my arm and twists it behind my back, I’m exhausted, bruised, and the pain in my shoulder is so sharp that I can’t stifle a small whimper and the bitter tears that rise into my eyes. I’m failing again.
I swallow down my tears because I don’t want to cry in front of Mace.
‘Let her go this instant.’ Mace’s voice is low and cold and promises violence.
Xandra releases me with a shove forward and I’m unable to catch myself. My raw palms drag against the twigs on the ground and it burns.
‘What the fuck was that?’ Mace says, striding towards me.
He’s gripped by such a cold, deadly anger that his face could be carved out of marble, the very image of the vengeful god of war.
I’m close to tears because I can’t do this, because they’ll never make a fighter out of me and I’m proving once again my inability to rise to any challenge.
‘She can’t even defend herself,’ Xandra spits out. ‘She’s still a liability to this team. She’s even a danger to herself.’
She’s right, I think with mounting bitterness. That small part of me that cocked its head and became hopeful that I could get good at something withers.
Mace’s heavy boots thump ominously with each step he takes.
He stops right in front of me. I look up at his snug-fitting trousers and tight training T-shirt, his squared jaw and pursed lips.
He has the same cold, formidable expression as a few moments ago, but he bends down, and his arm bands around my waist, gently lifting me and pulling me into him.
I curl into his chest, more out of instinct than anything. ‘She is trying hard. She has been training for less than two weeks. The point isn’t to drag her down, Xandra, and make her doubt herself. Congratulations. You’ve been training for this for years. You win.’
I might be wide-eyed when his words sink in, but Xandra isn’t; she must have felt this coming.
‘I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve,’ she says.
‘And it’s not for you to question. Get the fuck out of my sight,’ he barks.
Xandra looks like she might argue. I feel Mace stiffening beside me, and his expression turns even colder – he’s practically baring his teeth. She turns on her heels and strides away, picking up speed as she goes.
Mace lowers his head, brushing his nose to my temple. ‘Are you okay?’
I sigh. How could I not be alright, when he’s holding me so close to him? I curl into his chest. ‘I’m fine,’ I squeak. ‘Perfect.’
I can’t see his face, but I bet he’s lifting an incredulous eyebrow at me. His grip is gentle when he takes my wrist and turns my palm up gently, whistling as he takes stock of my scrapes. ‘We need that Pocket Healer.’
‘How about you kiss it better?’ I murmur, and he chuckles.
‘Pocket Healer,’ he says. ‘Captain’s orders.’
His fingers card through my ponytail and then drop to my elbow. He pulls me towards the camp. Walking side by side, my heart begins to thunder in my chest. Whatever is happening between me and Mace, it’s something. And I need to make him talk about this, because if I leave it to him, we won’t.
I duck into my tent, and he follows me inside.
‘Pocket Healer.’ Mace sits down on the mat, stretching out his hand.
I rummage in my rucksack, pulling up the device, clean bandages and disinfectant. He wipes my palms clean, and, at the end, deposits a soft kiss. ‘There you go,’ he says.
My heart is about to leap out of my chest, but then he picks up the PH and avoids looking at me. I could swear, though, that a flush is creeping up his neck and I wonder if he’s as excited and uncertain as I am.
If we were at The Citadel, we wouldn’t even be allowed to be together. If Stella decided to report to Central Command that we are fraternising, they would separate us while we’re still running in the mission and the consequences would be catastrophic.
Team Gold would lose their points, their good standing in the charts, their chances at good positions after that. Have Mace and I stumbled blindly into this? Have we risked too much, and something I had no business risking?
Fear and excitement run through me in equal parts. I’m too terrified to ask how he feels about us.
I stay silent while he fiddles with the device. ‘I’ll try to figure out how to do some basic healing, okay? Just in case.’
I steal glances at him as he does that. He pouts at the machine, as if looking frowny and hot as fuck would make the machine submit to his will, and if I were the Pocket Healer, I’d totally do it.
‘Okay, so I’ve initialised the treatment sequence,’ Mace says. ‘What now?’
‘Well, normally I’d say that’s a big no-no, and that you should start with a diagnostics sequence first. But since it’s obvious that I have only epidermic injuries, I’ll let this one slip,’ I tell him.
Mace raises his eyebrows.
‘It means that I only have a superficial lesion,’ I clarify.
‘Now tilt the screen towards me.’ I review the settings and tell Mace what to fine-tune, just because I’m a nitpicky sort of person and I spent hours learning exactly how changing each setting will affect the process of healing.
I give Mace a few more tips, helping him set healing depth and type of tissue. ‘You’re good to go.’
‘Stretch your hands,’ he says, and he runs the device over my skin, a glowing green light emitting out of it. I feel the pull and the itch of the skin knitting itself back together under the stimulation of the machine’s healing powers.
‘You did it,’ I say.
A corner of his mouth ticks up. ‘I just held the device, Ellie. You’re the one who practically did the entire work.
I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.
’ His deep green eyes are searching my face, and settle somewhere in the vicinity of my lips.
All the unsaid things are hanging between us and my heart thumps faster and faster.
The PH beeps and he moves it to my other hand, while I open and close my fist to stretch the healed tissue.
‘It’s so frustrating,’ I blurt out.
‘What?’
‘Not being able to land a single blow on Xandra.’
He chuckles. ‘Maybe you didn’t want it badly enough.’
‘Maybe you’re wrong,’ I counter.
‘Nope.’ He taps the side of my temple. ‘It starts here. The big hang-up. When it comes to attacking with your fists, or with your magic. You’re just not thinking like a fighter yet.’
‘I don’t want to be a fighter,’ I say.
‘You’ll have to be,’ he says, setting the healing device aside. ‘If you want to achieve anything. On this mission. Or in The Citadel.’
‘Now you sound just like Central Command. You’re giving me the creeps.’
He leans back, throwing a hand over his knee and stretching his other leg. ‘Yeah. Well, I am a Warrior, through and though. Never forget that. You bend to their ways. Or you fail. They make sure of it.’
It’s not the first time he’s brought this up, and a chill spreads through my body.