“No.” Camion’s voice rose slightly. “Using more magic is—”
“Is an option,” I said softly.
“Not a viable one,” he countered. “You look ill every time you use your powers.” He scanned my face, his lips tilting downward. “In all honesty . . . you don’t seem so well this morning.”
I winced. I didn’t need a mirror to tell me that my skin was paler than usual, or that my hair was matting into knots. The nausea roiling in my stomach, the feeble tremble of my limbs—I didn’t feel well. How I felt was irrelevant, though. We needed to press on.
“I’ll be okay,” I murmured. “Some things are more important than my discomfort.”
Camion opened his mouth, preparing to argue, but Meryn cut him off. “I’ll give her the blood. To fuel the spell.”
“You’ve lost enough already.” Jyn’s voice was edged with panic and frustration. Then he sighed. “Can I do it?”
“In theory,” Meryn said. “I’m not entirely sure even my blood would work. But since animal sacrifices are allowed . . .” She lifted a shoulder. “That little tear on your arm could work. Nat would need to be in direct contact with your blood—hopefully through skin contact. I’m not sure I like the idea of mixing them directly. That pushes into dark territory.”
Guilt weighed heavy on my shoulders. I hadn’t checked the men for wounds. They were fine, or seemed to be, but still.
Do better. Be better.
“So, she touches my blood, then pulls the life force into herself?
“Yes. That’s why fresh blood is best,” Meryn said. “Life force ebbs away from blood the longer it’s away from a body.”
“Why can’t your magic be like Meryn’s?” Andimir groaned, shuddering. “Arcane magic is disturbing.”
“The Elves have immortal lives. To them, the draw on their life force is barely noticeable, so the blood bit rarely comes into play.” Meryn paused. “To a human, who shouldn’t have arcane abilities to begin with, the penalty seems much higher.”
I reached for my pack, gritting my teeth as the wraps around my ribs tightened, cinching my wounds. The faded scent of coconut filled my nose before Jyn shoved the bag closer to me. I sighed, looping the strap around my arm before I pushed myself to my feet.
“See? I’m fine.” I said, wobbling slightly.
Jyn raised a brow, straightening until his eyes were almost level with mine. “Not unless you try to heal yourself, not until you can move without your eyes tearing up.” His fingers slipped to the binding on his arm, loosening the knot.
“I’m not going to—I can’t—” I frowned. “You don’t know if this will work.”
Jyn flexed his arm, letting the wound bleed fresh. “I’ll just leave this to get air then.”
I stared at him, wide-eyed, then looked to Meryn. “There’s no other way?”
“No.” She blanched. “Touch his blood. Proceed as usual.”
Andimir’s face scrunched. Jyn stepped closer.
I swallowed, took a step back. “Are you sure? What if I can’t stop?”
He caught my eye, unfaltering as he said, “You’ll stop.”
I pulled my lip between my teeth, chewing nervously. Camion offered a nod of encouragement. I released a heavy sigh, then reached out, brushing Jyn’s sleeve. When my fingers were coated in red, I closed my eyes and tried not to think about what I was doing, and only what I had to do.
Magic spread through me, different than my own. Older. The warmth was there, paired with the prickling, tingling sensation. I opened my eyes and gasped. The blue and purple sparkles were joined with gold, moving across my skin—and mending. Slowly, so slowly. The scar on my side burst to life, more painful than before. But, even then, underneath the current, the magic felt safe. Familiar. I endured the pain in my side as long as I could before I withdrew. My wounds were almost healed. I could move with only a little pain.
“What was that?” Camion asked, by my side now. He traced his finger through the magic that lingered on my forearm.
“Remnants of Jyn’s magic, maybe?” Meryn eyed the sparkles. “I didn’t consider that his blood could be different.”
Jyn seemed unconcerned. “I’m not really surprised some magic remains. I imagine the Elves would have had to kill me to eliminate it completely.”
“I could feel . . . your magic was older, stronger. I couldn’t endure it as long, but your magic felt—” I paused, met Jyn’s eyes. “Your magic felt like home.”
He smirked, but his eyes were warm. “We’re family, Princess. You are my home.”
***
With Jyn’s help I pushed my magic a bit farther and healed Meryn a bit more. We were sore and tired but, with the wounds at least sealed, the worst was past. The weight of my pack tugged at my shoulder, the annoyance little more than that of a pulled muscle.
In the morning light, the shattered pieces of marble were dull against the bright grass. The golden piles of ooze shimmered, no longer a threat. Nothing happened when we started climbing the stairs this time. Not a sound, nothing more than the chittering animals and insects from before.
We shoved open the doors; I froze. A massive library waited inside, at least quadruple the size of my own in Thrais. Every wall towered with shelves. Ladders leaned at appropriate intervals. Gaps spaced the rows, books missing from the massive, dusty collections.
Tables lay scattered across the floor, surrounded by skewed chairs that appeared to have been thrown out of the way in haste. An entire section of wall was dedicated to row after row of tiny drawers. Their silver handles glinted in the sunlight filtering through the shattered windows. Questions rose in my mind, my curiosity rising. What might have happened here that the Dwarves had taken as many books as they could before vanishing with the wind?
Wonder touched Meryn’s face, followed by excitement, but she reigned herself in and moved for one of the drawers. The wood stuck. She tugged until a cloud of dust puffed into her face, which she waved away to reach into the drawer. Tiny slots lined the inside, filled with miniature scrolls.
“It’s a catalogue,” she said after a moment, slipping the silk ribbon off one. She studied the page, then studied the label on the drawer. “They were all alphabetized, by section.”
“And the missing ones?” Andimir’s eyes trailed the remaining books. Once, he had loved to read. I wondered if that still held true, or if his scrutiny was purely in their monetary value.
“Well,” Meryn paused, skimming three more of the little slips, “there’s nothing marked off. So, either this section wasn’t touched, or they didn’t have time to tally inventory. The latter seems more likely.”
Jyn wandered closer to a towering stack of books on the floor and picked up the top one. He flipped through the pages, wincing as several of them crumbled to dust beneath his fingertips.
Meryn narrowed her eyes in his direction. “I haven’t even had the chance to touch one and you’re already destroying them?”
“I didn’t mean to.” Jyn stared at her for a long moment, the corner of his mouth tilting upward. “But this page seems interesting, what if I—” He ran a finger over the corner and slowly, meticulously pretended to fold it over. Meryn dropped the scroll in her hands and snapped her fingers. A tongue of flame shot across his leathers and Jyn swore, the sound echoing through the room. The nature witch grinned broadly. His slitted eyes stayed locked on her face as he snapped the book shut. A cloud of delicate parchment gusted from between the covers. Meryn’s hands shook.
“Knock it off,” I said. “One of you is going to end up hurt.”
Neither of them budged. I huffed, closing my eyes. I couldn’t watch this.
Warmth spread across my skin. My eyes shot open at the sound of splashing water and laughter from Andimir and Camion. Jyn was sopping wet. A gust of wind swirled the catalogues into the air, breaking Meryn’s focus. My mouth fell open, then clicked shut as I hastily stuffed my sparkling hands into my pockets. Meryn collected the papers from the air, then stilled, gla
ring in my direction.
“That was a bit unnecessary, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t mean to—” A wave of exhaustion poured through me, sapping my already feeble energy. Camion caught my arm, brows pinched in concern. I shook my head. “I didn’t plan to do anything.”
“Nat you need to be careful,” Meryn said. “Be more mindful of your thoughts. If you keep sapping yourself, you’ll be useless to us all. You haven’t fully recovered from—” Meryn didn’t finish the sentence. She seemed to have adopted the attitude that if she pretended I hadn’t stabbed myself, then I hadn’t.
“I know, Meryn. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t need a bath this badly,” Jyn grumbled, squeezing the excess water from his hair.
Andimir’s nostrils flared as he sniffed gingerly. “Honestly, she could do more.”
“Oh?” The Elf shot a daggered glare in his direction. “You’re no peach, pirate.”
I huffed a laugh before slipping free of Camion’s grip to start sorting through books. Most were bound in aged leather, the silver and gold lettering faded and cracked. The stairs to the upper level were crushed, buried under the rubble from above. Nature hadn’t been kind to these books. Sun and wind had done most of the damage, but water leaked in too, rendering most of the books useless. More than once, the pages disintegrated between my fingers or stuck together in unreadable clumps.
After a few hours of failed searching, I didn’t expect Meryn to spin around with a smug smile stretched over her face and a sparkling piece of jewelry twinkling in her hand. “I knew there would be something. This was tucked into one of the scroll compartments.”
She held out her palm. Perched in the center was a tiny gold pendant. Two winged, fanged lizards were etched across the surface, wrapped tail to nose around a star very similar to the royal symbol of Eythera.
“Dragons,” Jyn murmured, scanning the piece. “They’re a myth, right?”
“Humans haven’t found any evidence of them,” Meryn said, latching the chain around her neck. “The Dwarves might have used them symbolically.”
“So why does this crest have the same star as the symbol for Eythera?” I asked.
Jyn’s brows pinched. “Did you say the Dwarves didn’t help hide the Scepters?”
“They weren’t mentioned in anything I read.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples, rubbing gentle circles. “The symbol seems familiar though. I can’t shake this feeling I’m forgetting . . . everything.”
I stared at the dragons a moment longer, at the jagged spikes that ran down their spines and tails. A headache was building behind my own eyes and I lifted my fingers to mimic Meryn’s motions.
“What’s guarding the Scepter?” I asked.
Meryn’s eyes widened as she caught my train of thought. “I don’t know.”
“Are there any books on dragons?” Camion scanned the drawers, but Meryn was faster. She pulled open a pair near the middle.
“All of these. If the books are there.” She studied the shelves they were supposed to occupy. They were almost bare.
“Well. Let’s read some books.” Andimir sighed. Fetian perched on his shoulder, tilting his head slightly at his master’s tone.
The search was as fruitless as we’d suspected. Anything the Dwarves might have had on dragons was gone, not even a book with a lingering mention remained. Same with everything involving the Scepters, the Titans, and any census dossiers for the city. Everything was gone, everything of importance, anyway.
Midday sun was already creeping behind the trees when we stood outside again, staring up at the final building. Hesitation and apprehension stretched across all our faces, but the idea of a delay weighed on our shoulders. I was eager to be off, to contact Audri and see if she had news of my sister.
Truthfully, I wanted to go home.
“All right,” Jyn said with a resigned sigh. “Let’s go.”
The city grew quieter the farther we went, as though the animals knew how dangerous that last building was. Jyn lead us over the remnants of a building that had collapsed across the path, little more than vegetation and plants littering the ground. No lingering reminders of the Dwarves that had once dwelt inside. I didn’t trust the lack of guardians—two didn’t seem like enough. Though, those two would have killed us without Meryn’s talents.
Maybe whatever waited ahead was meant to be challenge enough.
Jyn held a dagger loose in his hand, the silver glowing with the red-orange of the sunset behind. His head tilted. Several strands of hair slid free of the bun they were tied in, falling onto his face. “Does anyone else hear water?”
I paused my steps, closing my eyes to listen. Faintly, off to my left, I could hear the soft trickle of liquid over stone. The sound of running water, and suddenly I was very conscious of the fact that we hadn’t showered in days. Since we’d left Audri’s palace, at least. Wading through soggy marshland hardly counted. Covered in blood, sweat, tears . . . I felt unclean, and I didn’t want to think about how I smelled, or how the others might rank in comparison.
“I do,” Meryn said, breaking my thoughts.
“So, do we make a detour for a potential bath and the chance to refill our waterskins, or do we continue on?” Jyn asked. He kept glancing to the left, however, toward the soft sound, the longing clear in his eyes.
Camion shot a wistful look in the same direction, then another toward the dried blood that lingered on his clothing. My blood. The same blood that was caked beneath my nails. We needed to wash away the constant reminder of my mistake so we could all move on. Or at least, so I could start making it up to them, as I would be doing long after the physical stains were gone.
We went left. A pool of crystalline, steaming water—fed by hot springs—was tucked into a corner of the city nearly untouched by age and decay. Walls of white stone rose to our waists, circling the massive bath. Dragon figures perched in three of the corners, carved from the same ivory rock and towering high above us. Water poured from their mouths, spilling into the basin below. More of the black flowers grew here, tiny, tri-petaled blossoms that clung to vines wrapped around the cracked stone and trailing into the pool below. Meryn’s expression glowed with delight.
“I’ll test the water temperature,” Andimir offered. “No sense in burning or freezing our bits off.”
Jyn rolled his eyes, but the pirate dropped down beside the water and dipped tentative fingers in. His pack slipped from his shoulder and onto the grass as he flipped his hand over. Water shimmered across his palm. “Oh, no, this is fine.”
My throat dried, thirst tugging at me. Our waterskins had been low for a few days. As if reading my thoughts, Meryn reached into one of her pouches, pulling free the same powder she had used in the catacombs to test the water. While the rest of us pulled our packs free and began unloading weapons, she checked the water for potential contaminants—or magic.
“Nothing,” she said after a minute. “We can probably fill our skins off the waterfalls.”
With that, she dropped her pack and stripped to her undergarments. She was in the water before I could blink. I laughed, but my gaze caught on the scars that marred her torso. My smile fell. The marks along my own skin ached as I loosened my leathers and pried them from the cotton underneath. I hesitated a few seconds before I pulled off my shirt, reminding myself that my underclothes were still in place.
Camion cleared his throat.
I glanced up. He wasn’t staring at me, rather at Andimir. In the second I needed to look up, he was already glancing away. At least the pirate had the sense to appear guilty before he said, “I was helping Meryn last night, I didn’t see—”
“That bad?” I asked. His mouth popped open, then snapped shut. I frowned. “What?”
He met my eyes. “The scar on your ribs is longer than I thought.”
“Ah,” I said. I could understand the curiosity. “I’m sorry.” I swallowed, dipping my head. Camion slid closer and draped his arm around my shoulders. I loo
ped my arm around his waist before I added, “You can tell me what you’re thinking, Andimir. The truth might hurt but I need to hear it. I can try, but I know I can’t erase the memory.”
“What are a few scars?” Jyn asked quietly. He paused in the middle of scrubbing his own leathers, his eyes tracing the marks that marred my shoulder. “They add character.”
Camion stared between the two of us. His eyes dipped to the marks across Meryn’s back, to the knotted skin on Andimir’s torso. A frown curved his lips; his arm tightened around me.
He took a step away, head tilted back as if staring at the treetops, and said, “Every scar tells a story, even the ones you can’t see. Or don’t want to.” He sucked in a breath, voice barely more than a whisper when he added, “I’m tired of hiding mine.”
Camion tugged his shirt over his head. Baring, for all to see, the banding of scars that covered his back. Bright pink marks curved his ribs, the most recent from the Kotsani attack. I moved closer, put my hand on his shoulder, and looped my arm through his. He met my eyes, carefully avoiding the others. Too afraid to see their reactions, their judgment. There was none, though. No pity. Only sadness, then awe.
“I’m proud of you,” I whispered. A war of doubt and acceptance moved across his face, but I added, “You can’t start a new adventure if you never open the book.”
If a glance could speak, his would have sung ballads.
***
Meryn volunteered for the third watch shift, insistent that I could use another night’s rest. We laid camp near the spring, hoping that the untainted water might mean the area held relative safety.
I started to lay out my blankets when Camion gently grabbed my arm. He didn’t quite meet my eyes. Nervous butterflies filled my stomach.
Then he spoke, and those same butterflies exploded into a flurry of motion. “Will you sleep over there? With me?” He gestured toward the edge of the firelight, where his own blankets were laid out. His throat bobbed. “I want—”
The words fell off. He was nervous. Vulnerable. I had always asked him, or we’d been coerced into sharing a room. For him to ask outright . . . The swell of emotions that flooded my chest cut off my breath. I looped my fingers through the neckline of his shirt, pulled him toward me, and pressed my lips to his.
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