He brushed past me, toward the wall, toward Meryn and Andimir. The earth shifted beneath my feet. Don’t touch him? Leave him alone? My racing heartbeat grew painful in my chest, the air sucked from my lungs. I had thought his grief was my undoing, but no. His rejection was worse.
I hurt him. I hurt him so badly, and all he had ever been to me was kind and supportive. We were a pair and I had shut him out. Now he was doing the same, and the pain was excruciating.
My breathing became jagged as Meryn murmured quiet words to him, and he shook his head. What if he never spoke to me again? I didn’t want anyone but him, I lo—
I swallowed the thought before I could finish the sentence, and then shoved it down deep where the realization couldn’t hurt me. If we didn’t work this out, if he didn’t feel the same . . . I buried the idea. My silent gasps turned to hiccups, my tears sliding free. Why did I always learn the important lessons so late?
Jyn fell into place beside me and rested a hand on my shoulder. “Breathe, Princess. Give him time. He’ll forgive you.”
“Would you?” I stammered between sniffles.
“If I were him?” Jyn considered. “In time, probably.”
I hung my head, more tears sliding free. “What if Camion doesn’t forgive me?”
“Then you’ll move on, like you have before.” He jerked his head pointedly at Andimir, then watched Camion for a moment. “But he’ll forgive you.”
“I’m not sure. I saw, Jyn. What happened, right after I . . . I understand why he’s mad. I deserve his anger.”
The Elf winced, gaze dropping to the floor for a moment, before sliding to his bandaged knuckles. “You saw everything?”
“I’m not sure. I saw a lot, though.” I let the silence pass, then added, “You shouldn’t punch walls. They can’t fight back.”
Jyn’s lip twitched. “If you saw that, you saw enough. You know why he’s having such a hard time. Remember what I told you, in the forest? If he’s letting you in, be careful that you know what that means. He opened himself up to you, and he’s gained a lot of pain in repayment. I imagine he’ll forgive you, but he needs time. We all do. If you’re really worried, be smart for a while. Keep your promise. Make it up to him.”
I couldn’t think of anything in the world that would fix this.
But I would try.
For him, Nahara help me, I would do anything.
Chapter 24
The moment I stepped into the cracked wall, purple and blue sparkles swirled across my skin, the magical glitters dancing from head to foot. Camion, first through, didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t comment. Meryn, Jyn, and Andimir, however, exchanged glances. They weren’t alone—the risks of my unpredictable magic made me uncomfortable too.
“I would say you’re attuned to the Scepters, but I think there’s more to this. You’re reacting more here than you did in the catacombs,” Meryn said over her shoulder.
“But the magic feeds from me, right? From my blood?” I wanted her to keep talking to me, even if only about magic. Camion spared me an uncomfortable glance at the questions. I didn’t miss the thin line that were his lips, or the tight set of his jaw. My eyes burned, but I blinked, then looked away.
“Yes. An arcane spell, fed with a life’s worth of blood—” She stopped. I slammed into her side. Her arm flew out, hand pressed into the rough wall to steady her balance. “Maybe you’re attuned to this place? This tree? Maybe your magic is guiding us where we need to be.”
The sparkling aura brightened the farther along we went, our path rising steadily uphill beneath our feet. Meryn banished her lights; the glow I was emitting was bright enough to fill the narrow passage.
“She’s going to announce us to everything in here,” Jyn said, warily scanning the passage ahead.
Meryn shook her head. “If there is anything in here. I don’t sense any magic users.” She tightened her fist around one of the tiny flowers in her palm, drawing its energy. The petals dissolved as she closed her eyes and listened. After a moment, she said, “No, nothing. Nothing beyond plants, anyway, and the Zylarra.”
“Watch your step.” Camion’s voice held an unfamiliar, distant tone, his words clipped. Restraining a wince, I looked down to where he gestured. A tripwire glinted in the soft light, strung across the cavern right in front of Meryn’s toe.
“Step over. If I try to disarm anything, I might trip a magical trap,” Jyn said. I shot a glance over my shoulder and he caught my eye. “I don’t want to know what kind of repercussions that could have in a place like this.”
A chill raced up my spine at the thought of walls so close that only a couple inches of space on each side allowed us movement. If the walls collapsed or anything attacked us, survival would be slim. I stepped gingerly over the cord and noted the hurried pace we adopted without words. The trap spurred us on, lit an anxiousness to be out of the walls.
Minutes passed. Andimir swore, the sound loud in the silence. He shoved Jyn forward as jets of flame filled the space between the two of them—right where the Elf had been standing a breath before.
Jyn blinked, lips parted, then his throat bobbed. “I heard the click. Right before you pushed me. I heard the click, and I didn’t—”
Andimir nodded, face illuminated by the wall of fire. He scanned the jets, then gestured to the ground. “There’s a mark on that rock, a tiny broken spiral. I don’t know if you brushed your boot on it, or got too close . . .”
Jyn swore, offering the pirate his hand when the jets died off. “I owe you.”
“I think we’re even.” He waved Jyn’s hand off, his eyes landing on me for a moment. “Besides, I’m starting to think if we play the ‘who owes who’ game, we’ll all come out losers.”
“I can agree with that,” Meryn muttered.
Jyn lingered a moment, staring hard at Andimir. The pirate raised an eyebrow, gesturing Jyn forward, but the latter shook his head. “I’m serious. Thank you.”
I sped up to catch Meryn. The idea that the traps might not be easily spotted, that even Jyn might miss them, sent small tremors through my body. I wasn’t so eager to die. Not again, in any case. I stared at Camion’s back, at the straight-set line of his shoulders. I could never do that to him again. To any of them, especially not without giving them a say in the matter. Impulsiveness had always been a weakness, one I excused under the guise of control. If I did what I wanted, I would keep my mind, my sanity, in a palace full of rules and expectations.
I reached a hand back, nervous, and waited for Jyn’s. For a moment, there was nothing, and my heart ached at the rejection. I almost pulled my hand back when warm fingers locked with mine. Not forgiveness, but acknowledgment that he knew how sorry I was, that I would try to do better.
A click caught my ear.
The sound was soft, so subtle I almost missed it. I didn’t know who triggered what but, around us, the walls began to tremble. Those spare inches began to disappear as the rock closed in slowly, agonizingly so. Our hurried steps became a frantic struggle, the confining walls too tight to let us truly run.
Already Camion and Andimir’s leathers were snagging, Jyn’s blades clinking against the stone. Camion vanished from sight, followed by Meryn. A clamp tightened around my chest. Before I could react, hands were jerking me from the walls now pressed against my chest and back.
I slid free.
The passage fell away. I stumbled out, into Camion’s waiting arms. He scanned my form once, unable to completely conceal his relief, then moved to help Meryn pull Jyn clear.
Andimir came last. He shoved against the stone, furiously trying to break free, but he didn’t budge. I stopped breathing. Jyn and Camion tugged as hard as they could. Meryn tried to shatter the stone with magic. Nothing. He was stuck, the walls bearing down on him. His breaths were shallow, rapid, the stones squeezing his chest. Fetian cawed over the rumbling stone and frantic chatter of my companions.
I closed my eyes. If he was going to die, like this, I couldn’t watch.
And suddenly I understood what Camion meant. The impossible feeling of helplessness, the gut-wrenching fear. I gritted my teeth. This couldn’t be the end. I wouldn’t be the only one not helping.
I didn’t know how I did it. I simply focused—on what I wanted, on what couldn’t happen, on what I needed to happen.
Rock began to crumble from the wall, bathed in purple and blue light. As the intensity grew, my skin warmed, grew into an inferno. I kept going. Remained focused.
Imagined Andimir free, safe.
Alive.
I wasn’t quite sure why my name slipped from Jyn’s lips before I fell.
***
“She didn’t know what she was doing. This wasn’t a sacrifice, she overexerted herself.” Meryn’s voice floated to my ears. I was sprawled uncomfortably on rough, stony ground. My back ached. But, before I could move, another voice rose.
“Yes, overexerted herself using magic that literally pulls from her life force.” Camion. The pain in his voice shot blades through my skin, sank deep into my stomach. “Maybe you should teach her some control.”
“I know you’re struggling to forgive Nat right now, but you can’t take your frustrations out on Meryn.” Andimir’s tone was cautious, as if trying not to light a precariously short fuse. “She saved my life, Camion. You know she wanted to help.”
“At the cost of her life?” Camion snapped. Fuse lit. “This is the third time that I’ve had to watch her fall unconscious, unsure if she’s alive, in less than a fortnight. I can’t believe you’re all okay with this. Am I the only one struggling here?”
“You’re not,” Jyn said levelly. “And forgiveness is something she has to earn. From all of us. But she can’t fix things if you shut her out. You have to give her the chance.”
“I can’t . . .” Camion’s voice was gentler now. Sadness took the place of anger. “I can’t keep watching her die. Or almost die. I can’t.”
“Then leave.” The words weren’t a threat. Jyn sounded calm. Defeated. “We all know how you felt when she died. I know the hole that ripped apart your chest. I know it hasn’t entirely sealed. But I also know how much relief I felt when she woke up. When her eyes opened, as she took a breath. She made a mistake, and no small one at that. Still. I would rather spend the rest of my life hurt by the mistakes of my friends than to let no one in at all.”
“I don’t want—”
“Camion.” Meryn’s voice was closer than the men’s, likely within arm’s reach. “There’s nothing wrong with needing time to process. But if you’ve decided all of this is too much, you need to go now, so she can get her head on straight. If you’re going to stick around, you need to talk to her.”
A soft, defeated sigh fell into a break of silence, then Jyn said, “None of us have forgiven her, Camion. Maybe Andimir.” A pause, then, “Forgiveness and civility aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“I know. You’re right.” Camion’s voice wavered.
Jyn huffed a laugh. “I usually am.”
“I’m sorry, Meryn,” Camion said. “Andimir is right. My anger isn’t meant for any of you. I’m not even really mad at Natylia.”
“You’re not entirely wrong, though. I do need to train her, or at least help her get some control over her abilities.” Meryn sighed. “I was hoping we could hold off till Eythera, but Natylia has grown dangerous. To herself, most of all.”
“We’ll just have to keep an eye on her. Or, those of us staying will,” Jyn said. Without seeing I knew the exact expression on his face, the hard stare he was leveling on Camion. “I would rather suffer the heartache of her rash decisions than not have her in my life. What about you?”
I saved him the trouble of answering by stretching my arms and groaning at the ache that rippled through my muscles. Another selfish decision. But I didn’t want to know the answer, especially if he wasn’t sure.
“How are you feeling?” Meryn asked, right beside me now.
“Never better,” I groaned, ignoring the sharp pain in my chest, right above my ribs. Reflexively, my fingers rose to the tear in my armor, tracing the gash.
“Does it hurt?” Jyn asked, kneeling, brows pulled together.
I sat up and took a shallow breath. The spot burned, spreading fire across my skin. Despite myself, I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. Exhaled slowly. Before I could open my eyes again, lavender filled my nose, followed by the soft weight of a hand pressed to my back.
“Interesting.” Meryn’s tone was curious. My eyes snapped open, met her hazel ones. “I didn’t think the wound would be considered arcane, since she technically stabbed herself.”
“Meaning?” Camion asked, voice low.
“Meaning she might feel pain if her powers get too low?” Meryn tugged at a curl thoughtfully. “But, you didn’t drain yourself completely. So, either your magic shut itself off after Andimir was safe—thus your will fulfilled—or that scar is acting like a damper.”
“She can’t die from using her magic?” Andimir asked. Hopeful relief spread over his face—guilt, too, that I had blacked out while saving him. Guilt he shouldn’t feel.
Meryn tapped her chin with a finger. “We would have to test her, and honestly right now I’m not too keen to push her. The draw today has been too much already, especially without practice.” She winced, glancing at the crimson-stained cloth still wrapped around my leathers. “There’s always the possibility that the pain isn’t a damper or tied to your limits at all. You might simply feel pain when you use your magic from here on.”
“Then the pain will serve as a reminder,” I said firmly. “A reminder of the cost of impulsive decisions.” Three of my companions looked away, to the stone ground, all but Camion. He met my eyes long enough for me to say, “I panicked. I didn’t try to use my magic, not again, not so soon. I promise you.”
He didn’t reply, only turned his head away, but his hand ran up the length of my spine, then back down. I swallowed the knot that crept up my throat.
“Can you stand?” Jyn asked, extending a hand.
I accepted, letting him pull me to my feet. My scar throbbed in response, along with the rest of the muscles in my body, in a way that reminded me of being severely ill. Not the sniffles and a nap kind, though. The stuck in bed with a fever, aching as if I had run for miles kind. My footing was unsteady, but I could move. I glanced at my hands. The glittering magic had faded completely, leaving behind pallid skin that glistened with a thin coat of sweat.
“I’ll be okay,” I said faintly, locking eyes with Andimir, who looked rather pale himself. “I feel . . . ill, at worst.”
“What do you mean, ill?” Meryn was already shuffling through her pack, tugging free random herbs, flowers, roots. “Tell me what I need to be searching for.”
“I need rest, Meryn, that’s all. Thank you. When we leave this place, let me rest for a few hours. I’ll be fine.”
She still shoved a bottle filled with clear water into my hands, then began to break off tiny bits of various dried plants. “I can’t steep them. This will have to do,” she muttered, corking the bottle as she pulled it from my fingers. Tiny particles of leaf, flower, and stem swirled through the water when she shook the bottle.
“What now?” I asked.
“You drink the bottle.” Meryn shoved the glass back into my hands, brow lifting expectantly.
I grimaced, but popped the cork, tossing the bottle back. Random textures danced across my tongue. I didn’t complain, though, and swallowed every bit—even when instinct told me to spit the odd pulp out. Gross, but I wasn’t about to argue, especially if she was talking to me again.
“We can press on,” Jyn said. He gestured at the space around us. “Cautiously.”
I took in the room with a gasp. My jaw slipped. Not a room. The cracked wall had opened, not into more tunnels or another cavern, but back into the marsh. We were on a hill, one that was thankfully too high to be completely flooded with water. Flowers and fauna grew rampant, tall trees blotting out most
of the star-flecked sky.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“We’re not sure,” Meryn said. “I checked the maps while you were out. There’s no ruins marked, but then again, the tree isn’t marked beyond that tiny dot. I have no idea where we are.”
My eyes skipped across the landscape, catching on what lie ahead. We were outside a city. An entire abandoned city, now falling into the marsh around us. Columns, reminiscent of the ones on the Temple of Nahara, held a lot of the structuring together, every building made from same white stone. Fractured moonlight cast a glow over shadowed ivy that laced up the crumbling remains and stretched as far as I could see. Stone piled on stone, the mysterious shattered debris of a forgotten history.
The Tellus Scepter had to be inside. I couldn’t begin to imagine where.
“I’ve been to this marsh before,” Andimir said quietly. “I’ve never seen this.”
“So, you didn’t come here, exactly.” Jyn shrugged.
“No, I’ve been contracted to the marshes more than once. I’ve combed every inch.”
“And yet, you likely still missed the tree we entered through, yes?” Meryn asked. When he nodded, reluctantly, she added, “I imagine the city was concealed with magic. Natylia let us in. Which means if we hurry, we might actually find the Scepter, since the wall was intact before—”
She wouldn’t say the words. I had a hunch none of them would, for a long time. Camion met my eyes for a moment. Trying to forgive me, maybe. Or deciding if he wanted to. Either way, both were more than I deserved.
“Then let’s go,” I said, scanning the broken walls, the dark shadows that lurked heavy over them. “Or . . . we could camp here, where the ground is dry. Get some rest.”
The others considered. Jyn stared at my face for several seconds, then nodded his agreement. “We’ll get some rest. I won’t risk your life inside the city, and we don’t know what waits. You did more than you should have today.”
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