CHAPTER TEN
NICK FOCUSED on mixing the poultice. It had been years since he had last used it, and his memories of the medicine were not fond. Too much liquid and the green powder had no effect. Too little and it turned to cement before it could be mixed. He had already forgotten what the powder did, but if his mother recommended it, it would help. So he focused on getting it right, and used the task to avoid looking at Meaghan.
He did not have to see her face to know the storm in her eyes had brewed to a full hurricane. She wanted answers.
As he stirred green powder into a bowl of snow, Cal's advice came back to him. As King, Nick had a duty to share what he knew with her. The title still did not sit well with him, but it did not change the facts. Protecting Meaghan from the news would only hurt matters for the kingdom in the end.
The poultice began to turn, solidifying into a stew and he stopped adding powder. He kept stirring. Something about his current situation nagged at him, though he could not seem to place it. He snuck a glance at Meaghan. She caught him, and responded to his curiosity with a glare. She had a right to be mad, but he had to make her understand he meant no harm by his actions. Much like Adelina's decision to protect Ed in the past, it seemed like the right thing to do.
But the decision had been wrong. Instead of protecting him as she thought she was doing, she had made it more difficult for him to become a part of his new home. Nick doubted his behavior had any less of an impact on Meaghan.
The poultice thickened to a pudding and he stopped stirring. He brought the bowl to Meaghan and stood over her.
“Turn on your side,” he told her.
She did as he asked. He removed her bandage, and then began applying the poultice with a spoon. She winced, but did not complain.
“You were right,” he said after a minute had passed. “There were details in that story I had to read. Or rather, there was something I needed to learn.”
She peered at him from below raised eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. He scooped up more of the poultice, focusing on her wound rather than her face.
“I've been keeping things from you,” he said. “I've known for some time about Abbott's treachery.”
“I see.” She hissed and he could not tell if her injury or his statement had caused the reaction. He dared a glance at her. Her eyes appeared hard, but pain shadowed them.
“The poultice should work soon.”
“I'm not a child. I can handle it.”
Nick nodded, realizing she had meant the news, not the injury. He dropped his gaze back to the green goop. It had turned hard and white around the edges. He began applying another layer.
“Those were almost the exact same words your father said to your mother when he found out she kept news from him,” he said. “She was wrong to want to protect him in that way. And I'm wrong to do the same.” He returned the spoon to the bowl. After spreading the poultice into an even layer with his fingers, he taped fresh bandages over her wound. “How does it feel?”
“Cold,” she said. “It tingles. What does it do?”
“If I remember correctly, it prevents infection and numbs the wound. It may do more, but it's been a long time since I've used it.”
She sat up and lowered her sweater. “Nick, tell me the truth. What happened to Abbott?”
He took her hands in his, facing her, and the truth. “He let the Mardróch into the village that night.”
“He,” Meaghan started, but could not seem to find any other words. Her grip tightened on his hands. “He couldn't have,” she finally mustered. “Why would he?”
“To destroy you. The Elders believe he took the potion to gain access to the village through a Healer.”
“That's not what your mother said. She's one of the Elders.”
“They make decisions based on majority. Mom thinks we didn't clear all of the potion from Abbott's system. It's possible he let them in while crazed.”
“But you don't believe that,” Meaghan said and narrowed her eyes. He realized she had used her power to sense the doubt plaguing him. “No matter which theory they subscribe to, all of the Elders believe Abbott started the attack, but you don't. Why?”
Nick shrugged. “I should. He's the one who attacked Max and Cissy.”
Meaghan shook her head. “The potion would explain why he went after Max, but not his betrayal. Letting the Mardróch in would take planning.”
“I know.” Nick stood and moved to the fireplace. The roast had some time left to cook, but it had begun to emit an aroma that foreshadowed a tantalizing feast. He could not find the will to enjoy it. “None of it makes sense. Garon has no qualms about murdering, but he doesn't like to waste Mardróch if he can help it. The attack on the village cost him five of his monsters. It would have been far simpler for him if you'd abdicated. You would've been unprotected.”
“Yet Abbott helped talked me out of it,” Meaghan said. “I understand your concern. We'll have to be cautious when we return to the others. If you're right, the real traitor could still be there.” She folded her hands in front of her, more relaxed than she had been at the start of the conversation, but her face still looked taut and her knuckles appeared white. “What else haven't you told me?”
Nick glanced back at the fire.
“You said you were keeping things from me,” she continued. “Plural. What else?”
“Updates on the war, mostly. Battle outcomes, villages lost. Garon's become more aggressive. The Elders have set up several refugee camps in the caves to accommodate the displaced villagers.”
“They're in that position because of my return,” Meaghan guessed, and did not wait for confirmation. “I'm fed up with this, Nick. I'm tired of hiding while Garon slaughters thousands. It's time I defended them.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “How? You know nothing about wars. And I know only a little more than you.”
“A wise person once told me a good leader doesn't do everything on her own. She finds people who can help.”
Nick chuckled. “I may have said that, but I didn't mean for you to take over the war.”
“Perhaps not, but it's part of my job. Our jobs,” she corrected. “And if Garon is destroying the kingdom because of me, then we have to stop him.”
The determination in her eyes, and the steel in her voice brought a smile to his lips. He had expected her to be upset about the news or to feel responsible for Garon's actions. He had not expected this. “And how do you plan to do that?”
“I intend to learn how to control my empath power. Starting tomorrow, if you're up for it.”
“Then what?”
“Then,” a mischievous grin spread across her face. “I guess you'll find out. You're not the only one who can keep secrets.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MEAGHAN DID not keep her secret for long. That night, as they lay in their cots, their bellies full, and the night blanketing the room in darkness, she whispered her plan to him. It seemed simple enough. If she could make it work. Nick had his doubts.
Before she could attempt it, though, she needed to heal so they could travel. Until that happened, he had one focus. After a breakfast of cold roast and bread, he retrieved the cornhusk doll from the shelf where he had put it the night before and brought it to Meaghan's cot. She sat in the middle of the bed, her legs crossed in front of her.
“I thought we'd try visualization again,” he said, sitting beside her. “But instead of shutting off your power, I want you to move it.”
“I don't understand.”
“I think you're having trouble learning the Guardian techniques because your power can't be shut off. Some sensing powers can't be.”
She blew out a breath in frustration. “Do you realize what that means, Nick? If I can't shut it off, I won't ever be able to live around others.”
“Not necessarily.” He picked up the doll and traced his fingers across its corn husk brow. “The Elders and I made the mistake of assuming it could be shut off because you sense
emotions from everywhere in exactly the same way a Guardian senses magic or danger. Because we've been focused on faulty logic, we never bothered to see if any other tactics might apply.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you aren't the first Empath, and you're certainly not the first one who's wanted to live around other people, so there has to be a tactic that applies to you. I think focusing will be the key.”
“I've tried that. All I focus on is my power when we do those exercises.”
“Focusing on your power isn't the same as focusing your power,” Nick said, and then stared down at the doll when Meaghan knit her brows in confusion. She had to understand the concept for his plan to succeed. His eyes slipped from the doll's face to the floor, and then the water bucket. An explanation came to him.
“Think of a sensing power as a river,” he told her. “We all have the ability to see the objects a river carries, like rocks and twigs. In the same way, we can see the things our powers sense. Guardians can focus on and differentiate between types of magic, for instance, and you can do the same with emotions. Is that clear?”
She nodded. “Sure, but it still sounds like the same type of focusing.”
“That part is the same,” he agreed. “What's different is how the power is managed. Using the same analogy, if we want to control a river, we have two options. We can block its flow or we can redirect it. Most people with sensing powers can block them, essentially by building a dam. For others, the power can't be controlled. It has to flow continuously—”
“Like a Seer's power.”
“Exactly. But unlike a seer, I think you have the ability to redirect your power, to focus it on one point. A specific person or,” Nick placed the doll in her lap, “something else entirely. The doll isn't ideal in every situation, but it's a good start. Once you gain control of diverting your power, you can figure out what object works best for you.”
Meaghan's eyes fell to the doll. “Do you really think this can work?”
“Nothing's certain. It's been over a century since your power last appeared. What knowledge remains of it is vague, but I think this technique has a better chance of working than the others.”
Meaghan stared at the doll for a second, and then nodded. “All right. Let's give it a try.”
He stood. “Great. Focus on your power. I'll walk you through it.”
She closed her eyes and he began pacing the room, his feet shuffling over the floor in a steady rhythm. He waited for her to nod in acknowledgement that she had located the warmth of her power, before stopping in the middle of the room and facing her.
“Can you tell the difference between your powers?”
She shook her head. “Not really. When I activate my revival power, I focus on the warmth and it does as I tell it.”
He had suspected as much. He latched his hands together behind his back as he moved again. “In order for this to work, you need to be able to separate your powers. Focus on my emotions. What do you sense?”
Her brows knit together in concentration. “You're nervous about this,” she said, “and hopeful. You're also afraid, but there's a calm about you that settles the other emotions. It stems from relief. Why do you feel relief?”
“No guesses?” he asked, and then chuckled. “I thought knowing the source of emotions was your super power.”
“You make it sound like I'm a carnival psychic,” she complained and opened her eyes. Insult dragged a frown over her face. “It's not like I can't figure out the source of most emotions if I pay attention. I only guess when I'm reasonably certain.”
“And you're almost always right,” he told her. “I've gotten used to that, and frankly, I find it amusing.”
“Is that so?” She set the doll aside. “I'm glad you find me so entertaining.”
Her sarcasm erased the smile from his face. He sat down next to her and placed a hand on her thigh. “I'm only teasing, Meg. You've actually developed a talent for understanding the source of people's emotions. It's impressive.”
“So you tease me about it?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “That hardly seems fair.”
“I suppose it isn't,” he said. “But I didn't mean any harm. I guess I just feel a little more relaxed today, more like I used to before all of this happened.”
His eyes held hers, and she nodded in understanding. “Before we left Earth,” she said. “Before the stress of being King and Queen and the constant fear of being hunted.”
“Yes, before.” He lifted his hand to her neck and drew her closer so he could press his forehead to hers. “Do you remember what it was like when we spent time together? When I used to be able to tease you and it made you laugh?”
A wistful smile flickered over her face and for a moment, he thought he also detected longing in her eyes. It used to be there whenever they spent time alone in his apartment, when they sat this close, and when his fingers touched her skin the way they did now. He leaned in and tested her lips, then dove deeper, feeding his need. She responded with the same frantic passion as she had the first time they had kissed on Earth, and then she withdrew from him with the same speed she had the last time he had tried to kiss her, the night they had moved into the cabin.
It had been his choice to push her away in the beginning, when he thought giving in to his attraction would destroy them both. And it was her choice now. He had long ago destroyed what had been building between them and he had to pay the price for his decision. The realization tore through him, dragging pain with it, but he stifled the emotion and stood.
“I'm relieved you're okay, that's all. I was worried I would lose you for a while.” He picked up the doll from the bed and handed it to her. “We should get back to work. Focus on my emotions and tell me if the warmth changes.”
She closed her eyes, but opened them again a moment later. “It's hard to tell when you're burying most of your emotions. Maybe if you—”
“That won't work,” he decided without letting her finish the thought. “You need something stronger, more defined. Close your eyes again.”
She frowned, but conceded to his request. He moved across the floor to their stockpile of weapons, picked up a knife and did the only thing he could think of to cause intense emotion. He gripped his fingers around the blade and pulled.
Meaghan gasped. Her eyes flew open and within them, he saw the intensity of his own pain. Red welled over his palm. He squeezed his hand into a fist, slowing the flow of blood. It oozed between his fingers.
“Nick,” Meaghan protested. “What are you—”
“Focus,” he commanded. “Or this is a waste.”
She snapped her mouth closed and nodded, then squeezed her eyes shut.
“Does it feel any different?” he asked.
She nodded again. “My revival power emits steady warmth, but my empath power feels more like a lighthouse beacon. It moves as if it's searching for something.”
“It pulses,” Nick guessed.
“Exactly.”
“Good, now grab hold of it. Do you have it?”
“Yes.”
“Then open your eyes.”
She did and turned them toward Nick. He wrapped a towel around his hand and nodded at the doll. “Slide your power,” he instructed. “Shift it like you do with your revival power.”
She looked at the doll. Minutes passed. Creases grew along her forehead. She shifted on the bed, and then leaned forward, almost glaring at the doll. He remained silent. When a half hour elapsed, he found a seat next to her on the bed. Her eyes flicked to his, then found the doll once more and he said nothing.
Her hands came together. Her knuckles turned white with the intensity of her grip. Sweat beaded on her brow and rolled down her cheek. Finally, when the color drained from her face, leaving her pallor waxy, he gripped her shoulder.
“You need a break,” he said.
She sighed and closed her eyes. “Every time I think I have it, it slips away. It's like trying to grasp the skin of an eel. I can
only move it so far before it escapes my hold.”
“And my emotions?”
“They dulled, but they never went away.”
Her words brought him hope and with it, another emotion he made sure not to stifle. Meaghan narrowed her eyes before opening them wide to stare at him.
“I don't understand,” she said. “You're proud, but I failed. The technique didn't work. It—”
“Worked.” He grinned. “You need more practice, but you made it move. Meg, you made it work.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
OVER THE next few days, Meaghan and Nick kept the same schedule. They feasted on ambercat and the remainder of their supplies until little remained of either. Meaghan pushed her power further, testing the boundary of her will and her exhaustion until Nick forced her to sleep. She felt more confident with each new attempt, her pain diluted and her injury forgotten as her power commanded more of her attention.
On the fourth day, she waved off his effort to get her to rest, ignored his prompts for lunch, and then glared at him when he attempted to talk to her.
“Meg,” he tried again. “You can't do this all day.”
“Quiet,” she told him, refusing to remove her eyes from the doll. “I almost—”
A knock came at the door, cutting off her words. Startled, she jumped from the cot and Nick chuckled at the reaction.
“Only one person knows about the cabin,” he reminded her.
“Right.” She laughed and raised a hand to her chest, placing it over her heart. “I just didn't sense him.” Her eyes grew wide. “Nick,” she said, but did not have to say anything more. He swept her into his arms and into the air. When he brought her back down to her feet, he planted a kiss on her forehead.
“You did it,” he said. His eyes held hers. Pride shone within them, but she did not feel it. Her focus remained on the doll. He lifted a hand to her cheek and for a moment, she thought he would lean into the distance between them, but another knock came and he released her. He crossed the room to open the door.
“It's about time,” their visitor complained before engulfing Nick in a hug.
Aerenden: The Gildonae Alliance (Ærenden Book 2) Page 8