“I didn’t think of it like that.”
“You weren’t thinking at all.” Shaking her head, Sienn closed her eyes. When she opened them a moment later, they were softer. “I’m sorry. All our conversations seem to end in disagreements or lectures.”
“I’ve noticed,” I said. “Maybe we could change that?”
“We could try.”
It was my turn. Sienn was looking at me, as if my reply was important to her. It was to me, too. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff trying to decide if I should play it safe and back away, or take a chance with one more step.
I was done retreating.
I reached out and took her hand. “You told me once we could do great things together. It took me a while to see that. But I do now. I need a teacher, Sienn. I know things are strained between us. If all you feel for me is hate, I understand. But people are counting on me. People that are victims of Draken and Jem just like us. If I’m going to help them, I need you to help me.”
“I don’t hate you, Ian. I should have seen Jem for what he was. Not what I wanted him to be.”
“My father had a hold on you. It wasn’t your fault.”
“And the Kayn’l had a hold on you.”
I squeezed her hand. “Not anymore. We’re both free now.”
With a quick, tender move, Sienn brushed a mucky chunk of hair out of my face. “I suppose we could meet in a couple of days. After you’ve had some rest.”
“You should get some yourself.”
I eased my grip and she took her hand back. “There’s a lot to manage here. Between the healings and my teaching and the constant daily spells to keep the camp running. And…” her stare wandered. “Now there’s Jarryd.” I followed her gaze to the back of the tent and spotted him sitting cross-legged on the ground. Head bent, eyes closed, he was sleeping with his back against a wooden cabinet. His color was better. There were less blisters and cuts on his skin. A fuzzy layer of hair had sprouted on his head. But Malaq was right. Jarryd was still disturbingly thin. And his wrecked hands, in his lap, were as useless and gnarled as they were in Langor. “I’m worried, Ian. There are layers of damage in him—and I don’t just mean physical. He’s easily confused. He has violent spells. Traditional ministrations are fine, but magic isn’t working.”
“It can’t get in because of the Kayn’l. Any idea how long until it’s gone?”
Sienn looked back at me. “If I knew how much they were giving him I could guess. But Jarryd isn’t Shinree. He won’t display the physical symptoms of withdrawal like we do, which makes it impossible to gauge his progress. All I can do is to keep trying until the spells work.”
“I want to talk to him.” Sienn opened her mouth to object. “Five minutes?” I begged.
“All right. But he often wakes startled. Give me a moment to calm him.”
Sienn left the table. I closed my eyes, and easily I could have drifted off. Though I couldn’t remember when I’d last done so without hesitation. I’d grabbed a couple of hours here and there since landing in the grotto. Before that, Langor had been one adrenaline rush after another. Certainly, I hadn’t slept much during my previous visits to the camp. Relaxation hadn’t come easy when I could never tell if I was being tolerated out of fear or hope, or because Malaq commanded it. Returning now, though, felt different. Even if the refugees scorned me for Liel’s death, I wasn’t going to hide from it. I made the right call. If they despised me because of the blood in my veins, then so be it. I didn’t anymore. I was finally starting to understand who and what I was. More than that; I was accepting it.
I had a ways to go. But I wasn’t ashamed of being a magic user anymore. I didn’t loathe the power at my command. I disliked how it swayed me, how it turned my emotions against me. I wasn’t fond of how unpredictable my abilities had become since first channeling the shard. I definitely didn’t enjoy the endless cravings for more. But I wasn’t alone in my problems. I wasn’t alone at all. The writings Jillyan had recovered from the ruins, the eldring memories—even my vision in the grotto—had shown me that much. They’d shown me I was a part of something. Something I had ignored all my life.
I belonged to a race of people. Being Shinree hadn’t condemned me to a solitary existence. I did that. I shut myself off from my heritage and my history, from my magic and my people. I chose to drown in the blood I spilled, to label my abilities a curse and my addiction a weakness. I let fear of the consequences control me.
It was time I learned how to control them.
Sensing someone, I barely got my eyes open before Jarryd threw his arms around me. He embraced me a long moment, saying nothing, crushing things that already hurt.
Finally letting go, he wiped a wrist across his damp eyes. “Thank you.”
I nodded. It took a second to clear the tightness from my throat. “Malaq says you’re having trouble getting along. You know that’s my thing, don’t you?”
“I didn’t think you’d mind me borrowing it.” Jarryd donned his familiar, crooked grin. It vanished way too fast. “I don’t like it here. Can we leave?”
“Not yet. This is a good place. A safe place.”
“Safe? Surrounded by Langorian butchers?”
“That’s not what they are.”
“Are you blind? Don’t you see how they look at me? How they stare? Like that one.” Jarryd slid angry eyes to a tall, smooth-faced, Langorian youth. Lanky for his ilk, the boy’s potential for soldiery was definitely in question. He could barely fold a stack of bandages without dropping half of them in the process.
“I don’t think you have to worry about him.”
“He watches me.” Dragging one of his bent fingers over his skin, Jarryd raked at a large, crusty scab on his arm. “I don’t like it.”
“He’s not watching you now.”
“Because I threatened to burn his eyes out.”
My head was starting to throb harder than my leg. “Why would you do that?”
“He’s Langorian,” Jarryd said, as if that was enough.
It used to be. “Even if they wanted to jump you, they won’t because they’d have me to answer to. And no one here wants that.”
“I don’t need your protection, Ian. I can take care of myself.”
“That’s not what it looked like at Darkhorne.”
“The odds were uneven there. Here, I have an advantage.” Jarryd lowered his voice. “They look right through me. They talk in front of me.” Scratching with vigor now, he tore into his arm. “They think my mind is as shattered as my hands.”
A pang of sympathy went through me. “No one thinks that.”
“They should. It’s the truth. And it makes them complacent. Makes them forget to hide their weaknesses. So I watch. I listen. I see.” Fingers digging, blood was building under his nails; streaking his skin. “So when they least expect it, I can use it against them. That’s what it’s all about. That’s how you win. I get that now. You find the point where it will hurt the most and strike. Like this.” Leaving off from the wound on his arm, Jarryd took a clumsy hold of the stick in my leg, and pulled. It was a slow, awkward tug.
I screamed the whole time.
Blood spurted. Shouts erupted through the tent. Sienn came rushing over.
Jarryd just stood there, watching me bleed. I stared up at the painful grimace on his face, wondering how badly it must hurt to force his hand to grip something so tightly.
Then I hoped it hurt like hell as he grabbed Sienn, pulled her back against him, and pressed the jagged, bloody end of the stick in her throat.
FORTY
“See what I mean?” Jarryd’s blue eyes gleamed. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”
“No, I didn’t fucking expect that!” Sitting up, pressing a hand to the burning crater in my leg, I looked at Sienn. The stick had penetrated her skin, but not by much. Only a thin trail of red dripped down her neck. Her eyes were calm. She wasn’t struggling. Sienn believed Jarryd wouldn’t kill her. I wasn’t so sure. Neith
er was anyone else in the room.
Eager to help, many in the tent were picking up whatever they could find and forming a small mob. Brandishing knives, chairs, metal pots, even ladles, they inched forward. I waved them back as I tried to find the breath to reason with Jarryd. “Don’t hurt her, Nef’taali. Let Sienn go.”
“Don’t you see?” he pleaded. “Don’t you see how easy it is?”
“I see. I get it. But you don’t want to do this.”
He stared a moment. “Of course I don’t.” Jarryd threw down the stick and released Sienn. As he shook out his crooked hand, she hurried into the arms of an Arullan woman who dabbed fretfully at the puncture on Sienn’s neck. I gave an intimidating glare to everyone else. It ate away at their bravery and they backed off.
Feeling like someone had kicked off a good-sized campfire inside my leg; I flopped back down on the table and tried not to black out. I must have though; Sienn was suddenly back. A cloth around her neck she looked pale and uneasy, but said nothing as she shouldered Jarryd out of the way.
He moved to the other side of the table. “I was only trying to prove a point.”
There was guilt in his voice. I was glad, but I couldn’t address it. I was hard at work biting back a scream as Sienn peeled the piece of bandage out from where it was lodged inside my thigh. She started rummaging around in the wound.
I seized her arm. I barely got the word out. “Stop.”
“Okay.” Sienn moved my death-grip to the table. “I need to get some water and clean this out.” Her hand touched my face, focusing me. “The stick didn’t cause this wound. When did it happen?”
I forced my fluttering eyes to stay open. “Darkhorne.”
“Darkhorne? You crossed the swamp with an open wound in your leg?” Surprisingly, it was disappointment in her voice and not anger. “Gods, Ian, you couldn’t have found something to close it with? Or at least change the bandage?”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“Well it is now.” Sienn pressed a wad of cloth against the mess of my leg. She moved my hand on top of it. “Keep the pressure on,” she said, ignoring my yelp.
“I remember what it was like,” Jarryd said then, watching Sienn walk away. “I remember being Nef’taali. But it faded. I wanted to hold onto it. I needed to. I tried. But you weren’t there. You weren’t here.” Jarryd thumped a bent hand to his chest. “Nothing is here. Just the dark. And I hate it. I want it to go away. I want it to go away now.”
“It will. Soon. I promise. Until then, you need to try and take your mind off it.”
“Distraction? Is that what you think I need?” Jarryd laughed. It was sarcastic and erratic, and sounded nothing like him. “I guess you’ve had a lot of those,” he said, losing the amusement and looking down with utter detachment at the magic-scars on my face. “Distraction won’t help, Ian. Only one thing will. And that’s giving every filthy, fat cock-sucking Langorian bastard alive the pain they deserve.”
“No,” I winced. “They don’t all deserve it.”
“Fuck you, they don’t.” Fingers scratching, he started up again with the ugly wound on his arm. “You can’t tell me these people here—these pigs you want me to accept—are any different. They’re hands aren’t clean, Ian. They’re not fucking clean.”
“You’re right. They’re hands are dirty. Dirty as hell. And so are mine. But those things can’t matter, Nef’taali. We can’t let them matter. Not anymore.”
He took a step back. “How can you say that?”
“Because all of us, all of Mirra’kelan, have been affected and suppressed by one ruler, or one law, after another. Our history, our fears, have kept us enemies for so long, we don’t know how to be anything else.” I gestured at the mix of peoples in the tent. “I know this seems unnatural. It probably did to everyone here at first. They all felt what you’re feeling. They were angry and in pain. Bitter. But they got past it. They evolved to live and work together. There’s peace here, Jarryd. Real peace. And if it’s possible here, then it’s possible everywhere.”
“You’re wrong. This isn’t real. This isn’t how it is out in the realms. Out there, Langorians don’t sit down to dinner with Rellan families. They bash their skulls in.”
“Draken’s reign has perpetuated the hatred, I know. But—”
“The Langorians took my father, my home, my king. My hands.” He held them up. Blood ran down his gnarled fingers. “They ripped half my fucking soul away, Ian. How can I be at peace with that? And how can you of all people expect me to be?”
Startled, I didn’t reply, and Jarryd resumed mutilating his arm.
“I have to go back,” he said. “I have to find Elayna. I can’t leave her there.”
I should have told him. But his concern was more than a loyal servant to Rella’s throne. “What happened between the two of you? Why is Elayna Arcana suddenly so important?”
Sienn returned. I didn’t think Jarryd would answer in her presence. His blue eyes wandered. Pain and memory twisted his lean features. The expression sat locked in place for a full minute as he absently raked the remaining skin off his arm. “It was awkward at first,” he said then. “Uncomfortable. Cramped. The cell was so small. We had to share. Rations. Water. We had one blanket between us. One bucket.” He paused. A twitch ran through the taut muscles of his face and another minute went by. “Elayna wasn’t made to work in the mines. They didn’t question her. She was there when they dragged me away. She was there when they brought me back. She tried to help. Even when I didn’t want her to. It was just this endless cycle of pain and hunger. She was the only thing that broke it.”
“You and Elayna…you were together?”
“We tried not to be. We tried to pretend there was no attraction. We were never alone. There were always the guards and the other prisoners. But after a while none of that mattered. We were never getting out. The only comfort we were ever going to have again was from each other. So we convinced ourselves it was okay. That we shouldn’t be ashamed what others saw. And those moments,” Jarryd’s distant blue eyes misted, “they were all I had. Then they took her away. They found my weakness.” His eyes went so cold a chill raced up my spine. “Like I found yours.”
“Jarryd,” Sienn said gently. “Why don’t you go get something to eat?”
He left the table then, without even looking at me.
A towel in her hand, Sienn dipped it in a bowl of water and rang it out. “Would you like to talk about it?”
The pity in her tone irritated me. “Goddamn it!” I pounded my fist on the table and the water bowl beside me jumped. I pounded a few more times until my hand ached. Scowling up at her, I shook out my knuckles. “Are you going to do this or not?”
Sienn cocked an eyebrow. “All of a sudden you’re in a hurry?”
I was. I wanted the pain to go away now. There had been so much of it lately. I wanted Jarryd back to normal and the link flowing again. I needed that. I needed to feel still inside, like when I would sit on the deck of Krillos’ ship; listening to his crew sing; staring out at the waves. Despite the confusion, despite the trauma of coming off the Kayn’l, there were times then when I’d felt lighter. Short stretches when I hadn’t dwelled on the past or agonized over the future. Fleeting moments where I wasn’t haunted by what prison had taken from me. Where I let my guard down and simply existed; content in a way I’d been so few times in my life—because I couldn’t remember the reasons not to be. Because the identity the Kayn’l took away was contrived in the first place.
Because I let it all go.
Until now, I hadn’t realized how much I missed those brief bouts of tranquility. They seemed so out of reach. I wasn’t sure making peace with my lineage, or even with Langor, could bring them back.
Krillos was right. I gained something when I lost my memories.
Then they came crashing back and I buried it.
But it’s not gone.
That person he saw, the one who had temporarily misplaced the chip on his shou
lder, was still in me somewhere. I just wasn’t sure I could be ‘him’ and Malaq’s weapon at the same time.
Troubled, as Sienn’s healing spell washed over me, my drowsy thoughts turned to the crown and Jillyan’s plan to repair it. I’d put it off long enough.
FORTY ONE
I never thought it could be so strange to be in my own body. I knew the moment I was in. I remembered it explicitly: the scarf-draped corner hiding the tub of water, cold after last night’s bath; the faint streak of sun that poked each morning through a rent in the fabric of the far wall. There was the oaken table strewn with maps, journals, bottles, and empty plates; the smoldering brazier that had gone untended in the wake of other, more pleasurable tasks; the wooden chests that held her armor and weapons; the thick bed of furs that held us. Every aspect was exactly as I recalled.
Yet, so many years had passed. It felt wrong being here, knowing what the day was to bring. Invading their intimate moment felt wrong. Only Aylagar felt right.
Her naked body, warm and soft, was curled up behind me. Her inky dark skin pressed against mine. One muscular arm and one shapely leg were draped over me. It was how we often woke in those last few months, and it was something I had definitely undervalued. I’d taken so much for granted; toward the end, even more so. By then, anger and bitterness had outpaced my affection. I’d fallen into the habit of taking my pleasure in her and returning it half-heartedly.
This, the last time we slept together, had been pure obligation on my part. After, as she braided my hair, we argued about strategy and politics. While we were dressing, I overstepped my bounds and she put me in my place. Then the Langorians attacked, I found the Crown of Stones, and she was dead. There were things I said I didn’t mean, and things I meant to say and never did. But I can change that, I thought. I can do it different this time.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars Page 33