by Josie Gold
“We just need to get out of the caves and then I can get us to the surface.”
We jumped into the water, each of us holding the man by the arm. We disappeared beneath the water.
The cave was too dark to see so we bumped into the jagged walls and swam blindly. We would never make it.
A subtle golden light began to emit from Harken. From her necklace, the one Kylarn gave her. Brighter and brighter, the light from the necklace filled the cave, banishing the creatures that came too close.
Kylarn had said the necklace would know when it was needed.
Gods, the next time I saw the bastard I was going to punch his beautiful, cryptic face.
I could feel my lungs beginning to convulse as we neared the lip of the cave. Behind us, I felt the current change. I looked over my shoulder and my guts liquefied. The swampling was swimming after us swiftly, mouth agape with fury.
Harken looked over her shoulder and saw it too. She reached out and blasted the monster with her wind. The wind streaked through the water like a projectile, knocking the swampling back.
We made it out of the cave and Harken pulled my arm around her waist. I held onto the man’s arm as tight as I could. She closed her eyes, spread out her arms with her palms facing down.
And launched us through the water, the wind hurtling us upward.
We broke the surface, flying through the air and landing on the wet grass. We rolled onto our backs, sputtering and hacking.
But we were given no time to recover.
The swampling thundered out of the water and onto the grass, crawling toward us in a hungry mass of limbs. It swiped me aside, sending me sailing away and onto my back. It stalked toward Harken, growling deep in its chest. Harken didn’t back away.
Above us, the clouds began to swirl. The air became cold and charged as if a storm was approaching.
Harken’s hair, despite being soaking wet, floated around her. The wind began to swirl and howl around her as the sky churned and rain started to fall. She stared at the swampling, eyes purely gold and luminous.
“You’ll see Larka soon, sweet thing,” the swampling cooed as it grabbed her.
Harken lifted a palm and untethered her magic. The surge of wind sent the swampling onto its back on the ground. It roared. Harken stood over it, her fingers twitching. The wind kept it pinned. Her fingers twitched again and then finger-like tendrils of wind forced themselves down the swampling’s throat.
With a turn of my stomach, I realized that Harken was stealing the air from its very lungs.
The sky continued to rage as the swampling thrashed. But I knew the signs—Harken was tiring. Her face was becoming pinched, and her eyes were slowly dulling.
“Harken, stop,” I yelled over the wind.
She spared me a glance, then tried to conjure more wind. But only a feeble gale manifested from her fingertips. She fought to remain standing, to keep her eyes open. But her legs shook so hard.
I picked up my sword, confidence rushing through me, right when Harken collapsed. The wind died instantly. Before the swampling could touch her, I leaped at it with a yell.
I was weak. I could feel my arms growing tired as I battled the swampling. Even though the sword gave the bearer bravery, it didn’t make me a better swordsman.
I was decent at sparring, but I had never had to fight for my life.
The swampling lashed out and caught me across the stomach. I screamed and fell to my knees. The swampling loomed over me, relishing its victory. I looked over at Harken. Her eyes were closed, her face wet from tears or rain. Her hair still floated around her.
No.
That voice inside me said again. I forced myself to my feet. I felt something gathering inside me. I bared my teeth at the swampling and it took a surprised step back.
“What are you doing—”
I didn’t let it finish. I attacked. I ignored the pain in my stomach and concentrated on that feeling inside me, hot and searching. My swings started connecting. Every time my blade cut the swampling, I felt myself growing stronger. And the swampling growing weaker.
I jabbed at its legs and it fell onto all fours in front of me. It looked up at me, eyes roving and wild with fear.
I lifted my sword high and with my veins singing, I brought it down hard. The swampling’s head rolled away from its body.
I collapsed, clutching my stomach as I laughed and cried at the same time. I indulged in this for a moment, then checked on Harken. I felt her pulse. Beating strong. There was a dark, mouth-shaped bruise above her breast.
“She needs a healer,” a croaking voice behind me said. The man we had saved was getting to his feet, his eyes becoming more clear.
“So do you. My village is nearby,” he said. I started to cry again, this time with relief and gratitude.
The man introduced himself as Foxxel. He dressed my wounds as best as he could. I picked Harken up carefully and folded her into my arms. Her head rested against my shoulder. My legs nearly gave out from the pain in my chest, but I gathered my will and my strength. I would not drop her. I would get us to safety.
I followed Foxxel out of the terrible Swamp.
Above us, the storm had passed, as if it had never even been there at all.
12
FENNION
I had seen many wondrous, impossible things. A Library that changed every day. A woman that could summon the wind.
But nothing took my breath away like healing magic.
Foxxel had led me to his village and took me straight to the healer's house. Despite blood still leaking from my chest, I insisted that the healers (a grandmother and granddaughter duo) look after Harken and Foxxel first.
Junnipa, the granddaughter, spread a green paste across the wound on Harken’s chest. Harken’s brow was tight and her eyes darted behind her closed lids as if she was having a nightmare.
Junnipa pressed her hand over the green paste and closed her eyes. A greenish light emitted from beneath her palm, twinkling between her fingers.
Healers were earth mages that used medicinal herbs to perform miracles.
On the other side of me, Cloval (the grandmother) spread the paste across Foxxel’s entire chest. Foxxel was sweating profusely, clearly in pain, but he kept his mouth sealed. Cloval looked him over, pursing her lips thoughtfully, then she lifted a single finger and made a beckoning motion.
The drops of sweat coating Foxxel’s skin lifted into the air like suspended raindrops. Then, as one, they seemed to evaporate.
“You do water magic too!” I exclaimed, then clutched at the wounds on my chest.
A mage being able to manifest more than one element was extremely rare and coveted. I was shocked that Cloval didn’t join the Council of Mages. But then again, the way she fussed over Foxxel and spoke patiently to her granddaughter hinted she was exactly where she wanted to be.
Cloval turned to me with a smile that showed all her big, white teeth, and said, “Your turn.”
Cloval’s clever white fingers took off my shirt. Junnipa came over and peered at her grandmother’s work. Cloval and Junnipa looked like one woman at two very different stages of life. They had the same curly short hair, pensive dark eyes, and gentle hands.
Cloval and Junnipa made a dark green paste and spread it over my wounds. I winced despite how gentle they were. Then, having covered all my wounds, both women pressed their palms against my chest and closed their eyes. I felt a tingling sensation and then heat.
When they removed their hands the wounds were no longer leaking blood and had scabbed over. The pain had dulled to an ache.
“You’ll need to see a healer in another two weeks, but you’ll get by for now,” Cloval said in her lilting villager accent.
I thanked them profusely, then kneeled by Harken’s cot.
“When will she wake up?”
As if hearing me, Harken’s eyes fluttered open. She looked around in confusion, trying to sit up. Her eyes found my face and those golden eyes widened. She reached o
ut, then hesitated. So I took her hand instead.
“You’re alive,” she croaked, clutching my hand hard. My thumb rubbed soothingly against the back of her hand.
“No thanks to you,” I joked.
She didn’t smile, but her eyes glittered. I introduced her to Cloval and Junnipa. Harken thanked them bashfully, then asked after Foxxel. He was sleeping on his cot and would need a few more days to heal.
“We need to get back to the Library,” Harken said, trying to get out of bed. But then she fell back, clutching her chest.
“You’ll be going nowhere,” Cloval said sternly, “you need at least a good meal and a full night’s sleep before you’re ready for any kind of foolishness.”
“We have an extra room,” Junnipa piped in, smiling brightly at us.
Harken gave me a look that said don’t you dare.
“We’d love to stay for the night.”
Harken protested the whole way up the stairs to the guest room. She tried to walk up them herself, but every step left her winded. So I scooped her up in my arms.
Cloval’s house was a simple cottage made from silver birch. It was warm and comfortable, with knick-knacks from across Vivus lining every shelf.
Junnipa led us to the guest room. The room was barely bigger than a closet but it had a hearth and a bed covered in furs. I dumped Harken on the bed, making her squawk in protest.
“I’ll bring you some food,” Junnipa said, grinning.
She didn’t curtsy as she left the room, to my relief. I had told them my name was Fenn and deliberately left out the fact I was royalty. Luckily we were so far from the Royal City that none of the villagers had any idea what the third prince looked like.
I noticed Harken shivering, so I added more wood to the hearth. She was wearing a lavender nightgown that Junnipa had let her borrow and I was wearing a clean black shirt that belonged to Cloval’s late husband.
Junnipa came back with bowls of soup and hearty bread. The broth was yellow and salty and the meat was tender. The bread was brown and flaky. It was the best meal of my life.
Harken ate too, but slowly as if every sip was a struggle.
It was quiet and peaceful. Now and then I caught Harken staring at my chest as if imagining the healing wounds underneath.
The sky turned dark as we finished our meal. We thanked our hosts again, and then the candles in the house were blown out, leaving us in darkness. I pulled a couple of blankets off the bed and put them in front of the hearth.
“What are you doing?” Harken demanded from the bed, prim as a princess. Some color was returning to her face.
“Building my boudoir for the evening,” I said sarcastically. She huffed, crossing her arms.
“Don’t be stupid,” she snapped, “just sleep beside me.”
I dropped the furs in shock. She glared at me, but in her eyes, I saw worry. Like I might reject her.
“I’m cold, and you run hot,” she added, tilting her chin up haughtily. I chuckled and tossed the blankets at her. She cursed under her breath, but scooted out of the way when I approached the bed.
“You better not take advantage of me,” I said cheekily as I pulled back the covers. Harken rolled her eyes.
The bed was small, so our arms brushed against each other as we lay on our backs. I stared at the ceiling, unsure what to say, or if I should say anything. Harken’s breathing was soft and erratic, so she clearly wasn’t asleep. Her hair was unbound and gently drifting around her. It brushed against my cheek and chest, sending shivers down my body.
“I’ve decided what to name the sword,” I said finally. I turned my head to the side and saw that Harken was already looking at me. She raised her brow.
“Misery Ender.”
Her expression became thoughtful.
“I like it,” she decided. I smiled at her. Not the charming, Prince smile I was so used to giving. The smaller one, the one that was born of happiness.
She didn’t smile back. She swallowed hard, her long neck bobbing. She reached out and touched my chest gently.
“You killed it,” she said, more to herself.
Her eyes were wet. I knew what I wanted to ask, but I didn’t know if I should. Her hand stayed on my chest, pressing against my skin.
I asked, “What did you see when the swampling fed on you?”
She snatched her hand away and clutched it to her chest. Right above where the swampling’s mouth had been.
“You don’t need to tell me,” I assured her.
The window was open, so the light of the moon and the stars turned her skin pale and luminous. I cupped the side of her face, my thumb skirting across her cheekbone. Touching that damned distracting mole on her cheek.
“I saw…” her voice was hoarse and cracking, so she tried again, “I saw my friend die. Over and over again.”
Larka, she had called out, desperate and sorrowful.
“What happened?” I asked gently, still stroking her face. Harken closed her eyes, grief pinching her face.
“Larka was a village girl. She was my best friend. She was wild and funny and fearless. She loved to read and learn. She was my favorite person.”
I thought back to that night when I told her about Tearlyn, what she said about having maybe loved someone.
“You were in love with her,” it wasn’t a question. She scoffed.
“We were children. We didn’t know anything about love.”
“You were in love with her,” I repeated, compassion lining my voice. She appeared to think it over and then nodded reluctantly.
“My powers manifested while visiting her,” she continued, voice strained but eyes clear, “She was the only person I told. She loved magic, so she was delighted by my powers. She came up with games and adventures where we needed my wind.”
She paused, curling in on herself. With my other hand, I reached around her back and pulled her close. She simply let me hold her, her head under my chin. When she spoke, her breath was warm against my throat.
“She wanted me to use my magic to make her fly. So I tried. And she flew. She looked so happy,” Harken choked, and I felt her tears against my skin, “she was still so high in the air when my magic drained from me. I told everyone she fell, but I didn’t tell them why or how.”
I rubbed her back, murmuring nonsense words into her hair as she cried.
“That’s why you hid your magic,” I realized.
“I hated my magic,” she said, “I never wanted to use it again. And when my mother found out, I couldn’t stand the thought that my magic was the only thing that might make me worthy of the Kenza name.”
I understood. The rage. The sorrow. Her hatred for the Library. My heart broke for her. Having to carry this horrible weight. Hating the part of herself she couldn’t control.
“I know you won’t believe me,” I whispered, “but it wasn’t your fault.”
Her shoulders tightened, but she didn’t pull away.
We stayed like this for a while. Her face pressed against my chest, my nose in her hair. Eventually, she lifted her head and touched my hair, almost shyly.
“You remind me of her,” she said.
“Tell me everything about her,” I insisted and she did. Long into the night, she talked. And I listened.
I woke to the sound of birdsong and the slanting orange light of the sunrise.
Sometime in the night, I had rolled onto my back, and Harken had followed me. She was halfway across my chest, her face burrowed against the base of my neck. Our legs were tangled together.
Heat pooled in my belly at her closeness.
We needed to leave. We needed to get to the Library. But all I wanted was to hold her tight and never leave the bed.
I stroked my hand down Harken’s bare arm, marveling at the petal softness of her skin. She mewled in her sleep, frowning and shifting against me.
Hells. I bit my lip, trying to reign in my desire.
Her head lifted slowly and her eyes blinked tiredly. It took a moment
for her eyes to focus, for the realization of our position to hit her. I braced myself for her to recoil, to spit at me like an angry cat.
But instead, she lingered. I held my breath as she lifted one finger and touched my slightly open mouth. Her fingertip traced my top lip and then the bottom. I watched her eyes fervently. They were dark. Molten. But I didn’t move.
When she leaned in, I gripped the furs hard in my hand. She stopped an inch from me, our lips nearly touching.
“Can I…” her voice trailed off.
“Gods yes,” I growled. She smiled, coy and cat-like, then pressed her mouth to mine.
The kiss started chastely. Sweet. Just the press of her bottom lip to the top of mine. Then she slanted her mouth against mine firmly and opened her mouth. My mouth opened too, and her tongue ran across my lip.
I groaned and gripped the furs even harder.
After a moment of slow, melting kisses, Harken took my bottom lip between her teeth and bit down hard.
I lost all control.
I grabbed her around the waist, flipped her beneath me, and kissed her fiercely. She laughed between kisses.
Kissing Harken reminded me of the first time I had ridden Fluffy. Exhilarating. Dangerous. Addicting.
HARKEN
Fennion kissed me hungrily. He gripped my hips and tugged me closer as if he was desperate to keep me as close to him as possible.
I tugged at his hair and bit at his lips, just as desperate.
I spread my legs and he settled his hips between them. His hands were everywhere, lingering and reverent. He peeled his mouth from mine and licked a line down my throat. I moaned and put my hands under his shirt. I touched his wounds gently, relishing the warmth of his skin.
This close, I could see the light freckles across his cheeks. Like someone sifted cinnamon across his cheekbones. His chin was prickly with stubble, scratching at my skin in a way that made my veins turn molten. His eyes were so bright and green, so focused on me.
He nipped and kissed my neck until I yanked his face away. He started to protest, but ended up groaning instead when I bit his shoulder, then kissed the hurt away. His hand trailed down my waist as I sucked on a patch of skin on his neck.