CHAPTER 20
CRIMSON AND EMERALD
True magic sharing is rare, beautiful and powerful. And all the more dangerous because of it.
– Fatàn Scriptures
Morning light filtered through the leafy canopy as Kara knelt by the fire pit, blowing on the embers. When they caught with a crackle, she grabbed a piece of bread from her pack and held it over the flames, watching it turn golden-brown, the smell making her stomach growl.
She glanced across their small camp. Sebastian had abandoned his bedroll sometime in the night – he was now slumped against the tree trunk, arms crossed, head tilted awkwardly to one side. He’d fallen asleep keeping watch. His brow was furrowed – tense, braced – the soldier expecting an attack.
Or maybe he was watching me. Making sure I wouldn’t hurt him again.
The guilt twisted forcefully in her gut, chasing away her earlier hunger. The food was a peace offering. Maybe it would make him forget, for a second, how angry he was with her. Stop him looking at her like she was dangerous.
She bent down next to Sebastian, holding out the warm food, but he didn’t stir. “Hey,” she said gently. “I made you–”
His eyes flew open.
Too fast.
His arm came up sharply – an instinct born from years of combat and too little sleep. Before she could speak, pull back, or do anything at all, he lashed out and smashed into her outstretched arm.
There was an audible crack. Pain exploded through her wrist.
Sharp. Nauseating.
The food tumbled onto the grass. She gasped and stumbled backwards, cradling it to her chest.
Gods, this hurts.
“Kara,” he said hoarsely, the wildness draining from him as fast as it had come – recognition replacing it. He pushed himself up, his gaze focused on her wrist, horrified. “I – dammit.”
He reached for her, his hand actually shaking, but stopped himself short. She stared at him, stunned.
He didn’t mean to.
She knew he hadn’t. An accident, that’s all it’d been. She tried to speak, to tell him that, that she understood. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but none made it out. She turned away instead.
“I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly. “I didn’t mean – I thought–”
“I know.” Her eyes stung from the pain, and she looked anywhere but at him. “I startled you.”
She gathered the dropped food with her good hand and tried to keep it steady as she offered it to him. “Here,” she said, her throat tight. “It’s still warm.”
He took it without so much as looking at it, his gaze still fixed on her wrist.
“Is it broken?” he asked.
It was. She’d known immediately. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. She let her magic unfurl from her palm, the cold olive light seeping over the injury. Her magic still healed as it should, although bones always took longer. He watched every thread of it this time, and didn’t recoil.
Once the pain had disappeared, she let her magic fade back into her hands. She flexed her fingers slowly. “It’s fine now.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“Let me see,” he insisted.
His fingers closed around her wrist without waiting for an answer. Warm, light, and incredibly careful. He turned it towards the morning sun to get a better look.
The air shimmered.
It began at the point where his thumb brushed her skin: his crimson light blooming instinctively. Her tainted green flared in answer.
He tensed at the sight, but didn’t pull away.
His magic entwined with hers like it had been waiting.
It found the darkness within and burned it away, powerful and deliberate.
His heat and strength filled her, piece by piece, snaking through her magic until the last cold olive shadow dissolved into nothing.
All that remained was her true colour; a warm, shining emerald.
Healed.
She could breathe deeper, think clearer.
“How are you doing that?”
His focus was on their joined hands. “No idea,” he admitted. “It’s... just doing it.”
“But why does it do that?” she blurted out.
He looked up, searching her face, like he could find the answer written there if he stared hard enough. Their magic lingered, emerald and crimson dancing together without the corruption between them – threads of russet flickering where the streams touched.
He was so close. And still she wanted to be closer. Her heart hammered in her chest. His thumb was resting against her pulse – surely he could feel it racing? He had to know what his touch was doing to her. The glow around their hands finally thinned, retreating like it had never been there at all.
He let go. Slowly.
His fingers trailed across her skin, lingering a moment longer than necessary – reluctant maybe?
At least that’s what she told herself. Her wrist felt horribly cold and empty without his hand on it.
Neither of them spoke, just looked at each other.
Sebastian cleared his throat, the sudden sound making her jump.
He turned away abruptly – whatever mood had come over him had evidently passed.
He busied himself with the valmares, packing up without so much as a glance.
“We should get moving,” he said, voice rougher than it needed to be.
Well, it’s better than yesterday. Broken wrist aside.
Today they would be leaving Hale territory for Fatàn.
Yesterday’s route had wound through deep forest and countryside, but Kara knew there was no way to avoid the villages ahead.
She prayed she wouldn’t be recognised. If they passed through quickly, maybe she’d be fine.
Sebastian, however... they’d notice a Thorne.
Even without his armour or Creststone, something about him radiated it – the way he carried himself.
His crimson cloak certainly didn’t help.
Sebastian was right: Henry would have gotten free and sent word by now.
And a Hale and a Thorne riding together would draw attention.
“You look too much like a Thorne.”
His head came up, confused.
“You need to change,” she said.
“What?”
“Your cloak.” She grabbed her spare Hale cloak from her pack and tossed it to him.
He caught it, but held it away from him, clearly not enamoured with the thought of wearing Hale colours. “Planning to hide me in plain sight?”
“That’s the idea.”
She reached for the clasp at his throat before he could protest. He watched her closely as she tugged his crimson cloak free, her fingers tracing the line of his neck as she did so. His breath hitched slightly.
She swung the green fabric over his shoulders and he murmured, “You know, this feels suspiciously like you trying to dress me.”
Her fingers fumbled with the clasp. “Try not to look too much like a fugitive,” she said dryly.
He gave her a long look. “I’ll do my best.”
She stepped back quickly, pretending to inspect her work – though really, she was taking in how the green set off his dark hair, made his eyes brighter. It looked good on him. He watched her with a faint smile.
They mounted and rode side by side in silence for a while. Kara stared steadfastly on the road ahead, but her mind kept returning to that morning in camp, their magic twining together, him standing so close, what would it be like if he’d leant in and–
Focus, Kara.
The storm damage surrounding the Hale road was reminder enough.
Shattered shutters, destroyed herb gardens, citizens making repairs.
The devastation was everywhere. No, the world didn’t have time for her distractions.
It warmed her heart, however, to see how her people were managing.
In every doorway they were salvaging what they could, working together to retrieve unbroken jars of herbal remedies, and sweeping the debris into neat piles.
Late afternoon, the sky darkened without warning. The wind hit them fast and angry, strong enough to bend trees and tear down fences. Sebastian grabbed her arm and hauled her off Whisper.
“Get down!”
Kara dropped behind the wall beside him, rain pelting her face and stinging her cheeks. The guilt was plain on Sebastian’s face, but he didn’t look surprised.
He expected this.
The storm tore through in minutes, and Sebastian stood the second it cleared, water dripping from his cloak. Kara made to speak – to reassure, to say something, anything – but he cut across her.
“Fatàn’s an hour north-east. Let’s move.”
She obeyed him without comment. The last Hale village before the border was small – a square, a well, and a handful of stone houses. Herb bundles hung drying from doorways, filling the air the scent of something familiar – echinacea, maybe. Kara pulled her hood low, and kept her head down.
I’m just another traveller.
They’d almost made it through when a Fatàn trader caught sight of them from behind a table strung with glittering necklaces and bracelets. She leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Something pretty for the lady?” she asked Sebastian in a thick accent. “A gift for your wife?”
Kara opened her mouth, mortified. “Oh – no, no, we’re not–”
But the woman was already holding up a pendant of polished sea-glass, smiling knowingly as if Kara’s protest was the most predictable thing she’d heard all week. “Newlyweds, yes? I can always tell.” She looked directly at Kara, her grin widening. “The way you look at him.”
Kara wanted the ground to swallow her. Sebastian’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.
He’s never going to let me live this down.
“We’re really not–” Kara managed.
The woman winked. “Not yet. But soon, I think.”
Sebastian cleared his throat. Kara refused to look at him.
The woman held up another pendant. “This one’s lucky. For new love.”
Kara leaned over, grabbed Sebastian’s reins and all but dragged him away, her face burning as crimson as his magic.
Behind them, the woman’s cheerful voice called out, “Come back when you’re ready to make it official!”
They’d ridden to the edge of the village before Kara trusted herself to speak. Sebastian, to his credit, had managed to stay silent – though he was clearly holding back a grin.
“Not. A. Word,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he replied, far too innocently.
“You were thinking very loudly.”