Chapter 1 #3
She breathed a sigh of relief that neither prince seemed to sense anything was really wrong with her. But something was wrong with her, tearing her apart from the inside.
Free from curious eyes, Imani let the pain wash over her and immediately dropped to her knees.
Her stomach clenched, and she threw up her dinner.
She heaved several more times until, finally, it stopped.
Her chest hollowed out, and all she could do was lie prone on the ground.
She pressed her blazing cheek to the cold, wet leaves as a vision of blood running down her temples flashed in her mind.
Real blood began sliding down from the crown of her head, like she’d cracked open her skull. Maybe something had—had she hit her head on a branch or the ground? Or was it something else? Some magic she didn’t understand? It wet her skin and hair.
Pain continued blasting through her, almost as bad as the sacrificial, blood burning flesh magic ritual she had done with Kiran to save her life after she’d failed the assessments. Even the reappearance of her brands hadn’t felt this all-consuming.
She could barely move but tried to stand.
A tunnel formed in her line of sight, and she swayed a little until she fainted and blacked out for a few minutes.
Images of Meira flooded her mind, exactly like the visions she was used to seeing of her over the past several months.
It showed her sister lying in bed, tossing and turning, moaning in pain.
Blood dripped down her brow and temples.
Imani could feel the silkiness of the sheets, slick with blood, covering Meira’s face.
Sharp pains still assaulted Imani, and she couldn’t help but wonder what the divination magic was revealing, and doing to them.
Despite the grotesque scene, Imani didn’t push it away. She missed her sister and relished the connection.
The visions had never felt this intense before, and she hated the scene. While part of her would enjoy revenge against her sister, another part of her still felt protective, even if Meira had made it clear she didn’t want to be protected.
So odd how one could go years without knowing who people really were on the inside.
Imani had chosen to see only the good memories with her sister.
Like picking fruit from a basket, she’d completely glazed over the other imperfect or downright rotten pieces.
If ignorance was a fruit, then for years, Imani had eaten only the ripe, perfect ones.
Still, Imani basked in these half-dreams, half-visions, feeling close to her sister and relieved she wasn’t alone in experiencing this pain. Hopefully, Imani was taking some of it away from Meira when they shared these visions.
When Imani’s eyes fluttered open, she was back in the woods and the pain in her skull was a dull ache. Her head dropped with the weight of what had just occurred, but Imani gathered her strength.
Like usual, everything had looked so real, and Imani had stood right in the room with her sister, feeling what Meira had felt.
Luckily, Meira never seemed to see her or communicate with her, but she wondered if they explored this connection more, their divination magic connection might make it possible.
She pushed herself off the slick ground, and her shaky body almost lost balance. But she righted herself before toppling over again. Mud and blood covered her face and dress, but she could breathe normally now, so she sucked in deep breaths of cold, wet air.
Despite recovering, something was different in Imani’s body—a feeling coursed through her bones that wasn’t entirely hers.
Blood had dried around her cheeks and eyes in long, red ribbons.
With a trembling hand, she reached up and touched her crusted hair, feeling branches and leaves tangled up in the strands.
Blood still oozed from her head, and her heart skipped a beat.
She dropped her hand like it had been burned.
What did you do, Meira? What is happening to us?
These visions had become more frequent—more real as of late—but whatever new magic coursed through her veins was …
unheard of. Imani had a feeling Meira had performed a flesh magic spell, and it had connected itself to Imani, too.
It had to be similar to the one they had performed when they’d transferred divination to Imani, but something had gone terribly wrong with whatever magic Meira had been attempting.
Holy gods, what has happened to us? Imani covered her mouth, lest she vomit again.
Magic coursed through her veins like she’d never felt before—powerful and heady. Imani flexed her fingers and felt several jolts of electricity between them. While she didn’t feel any new magic, it was almost as if her current magic had been amped up—made more powerful.
She touched the dried blood on her head again, wondering if she was more powerful now, or if this was just a reflection of what Meira had done.
If it wasn’t a reflection, the whole game had changed, and this was not part of the plan.
No, no, no. How could this have happened? The likelihood seemed almost impossible.
And yet the proof dripped red blood down her face, and magic so powerful she felt like a queen ran through her veins.
Meira had performed a powerful flesh magic spell, to be sure. Enough to rival a monarch.
Imani’s body trembled with the newfound power vibrating her bones. This connection between her and Meira had just become dangerous and almost unfathomable. Sharing magic like this could only be done between heartmates. Or so it was thought.
Shock made her dazed, but some part of her knew to be afraid and wary of anyone seeing her in such a state.
She had to get out of sight immediately.
Slipping out her wand from the pocket in her dress, she cast a hasty illusion spell over the crown of her head and her brow to hide the evidence of her ordeal. Then, trudging forward, she crossed her shivering arms and thought more about her sister.
Should she find a way back to Meira? Could they forgive each other, given the gravity of the magic they now shared in their blood? Tanyl would kill Meira over this if she couldn’t keep the magic hidden.
Tanyl might kill them both if he knew the sisters shared this type of magical connection.
Imani shook herself back to reality. There was no time for such worries—she needed to think about her survival here, in the Niflheim Kingdom.
Disgusted, she ripped up those thoughts and tossed them away, remembering that Meira would have sent her to the pyre with a smirk on her face just days ago.
Whatever her sister’s current situation in Stralas, it was not Imani’s business.
Imani had her own problems to worry about, which were now made worse by Meira’s.
Indeed, this had to be Meira’s fault, not hers.
The visions almost always had Imani taking on Meira’s pain, not the other way around.
Even if she could leave to save her sister, the damn bindings kept her tethered here.
It made her sick how much freedom had been stripped from her.
If Meira was really dying, Imani would have no way to get to her.
That didn’t sit right, but she didn’t think Meira had died.
Imani still breathed, and their connection still felt strong.
Either way, Meira could deal with this by her own damn self. Just like Imani would—by hiding it from the world.
Panting quietly to try to steady her breathing, Imani went to the princes’ tents again. She flattened herself against the side of the canvas and shrouded herself in shadow before she could be sure it was safe to run across the field past the guards.
Her ears flicked back and forth at the voices emanating from inside—Saevel wasn’t alone. Kiran was still there, along with several others.
And inside, one unfamiliar voice began shouting. With the way the man begged, it made her heart skip a beat because this was no ordinary meeting.