by Elle Cardy
A nearby alley offered cover. She veered toward it, quickening her pace.
“What about the scholar? If we go this way, we’ll lose him.” The kid at least followed her.
All she needed to do was get them out of sight, then she could reestablish their invisibility. Maybe the kid wouldn’t even notice her mistake.
Aurelius stopped, forcing her to stop. “Why aren’t you wielding?”
Trust him to be paying attention.
She pulled on his arm. “Keep moving.” The alley was only a few paces away. Discarded crates cluttered the entrance, making the spot perfect for hiding. If they could only get there unnoticed.
“If you aren’t wielding...” The kid’s eyes grew huge. “That means we’re visible.”
He pulled away from her and gawked about in a panic. He looked like he was about to throw up. Folk were beginning to notice. The scholar had disappeared, but the man with the crooked nose made a beeline for them, his crumpled face glowering.
“You there,” he cried and pointed at them. His cheeks were flushed by too much alcohol, and he swayed on his feet. “Spies!”
Folk around him chortled as they peered in the direction he pointed. Some weren’t so amused.
As a growing handful advanced on her, Jasmine swore under her breath. She had no choice left. She grabbed Aurelius with both hands and wielded.
The man screamed when they vanished. “Untagged wielders!”
That stirred the hornets from their nest.
Jasmine and Aurelius ran.
Chapter 6
Finn opened his eyes to a too-bright lantern hanging from a hook above him. Its light cut with painful stabs. A large form moved to his left. He blinked to clear his vision. It didn’t help. The form towered over him. A phantom from his nightmares. A thing made of darkness. Hunting. Reaching. Grasping.
“Hadn’t expected you to wake so soon,” murmured a familiar voice.
“Brusan?”
“Aye, lad.” Jasmine’s father shielded the lantern, softening the light in the room.
Finn wasn’t in his own bed in his quarters. He was in the infirmary. He had no memory of getting there. A snore issued from the cot next to him. Marcelo slept there with his mouth open. Past the old man, in the shadows of the far corner, Philips lay in another cot and wrestled with some dream.
“What happened?”
Marcelo breathed in a loud, rattling breath. It caught in his throat. He coughed and woke. Muttering, he sat up and rubbed at his red-rimmed eyes. “You’re awake. Already.”
Why did people keep saying that? Finn searched his memories. He’d been talking with Jasmine. She’d told him the visions and the Beast were back and that some intruder had stolen aboard without being detected. She’d seemed afraid. He hadn’t seen her so afraid before, and it unsettled him. He should’ve said more to offer her reassurance, even though he had felt far from reassured after what had happened in town. Then … then what had happened? He was taking a pot of tea to Marcelo...
He closed his eyes at the memory. He’d been attacked. By some invisible force. By malevolence itself. Stabbed by darkness. He touched his side and found a rough bandage and an awful ache.
“How long has it been since…?” He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. An immense power had coalesced in front of him, full of twisted hatred. All its energy was directed at him. It hadn’t been random. It hadn’t been a mistake. Someone had an intense need for him to suffer and then die. The pain that followed had been excruciating.
In the far corner, Philips cried out in his sleep. A fever induced by food poisoning, no doubt. At least once a week he complained about stomach problems. Finn was sure the man’s stomach was made of glass.
Marcelo and Brusan glanced at each other.
“It’s been a couple hours,” Brusan said. His knees creaked as he eased himself down on a stool beside the bed.
“Can I inspect your wound?” Marcelo asked.
Weariness flooded Finn, like no other he’d experienced. It mixed with his uneasiness, making him feel sick. “If you must.”
With a cold hand, Marcelo pulled away the bandages. He released a low hiss. “Was that there earlier?”
The gash in Finn’s side was puckered and angry but mostly stitched together. A two-day-old wound, not one that was mere hours old. He couldn’t begin to guess the reason when healing wasn’t one of Marcelo’s magical skills. It looked like someone had smudged charcoal into his wound, though. An old sailor’s idea of a remedy?
Brusan frowned at the black mark. “That’s new.”
“Poison?” Marcelo asked, as if Finn wasn’t there.
Brusan leaned closer and touched Finn’s forehead with the back of his hand. “The lad don’t seem to have a fever.”
Marcelo pressed his thumb into the darkened skin around the wound, each touch was followed by a dull ache and a stinging tightness. Finn winced.
“Does that hurt?”
“Please stop poking me.”
Ignoring his plea, Marcelo rubbed at the black smudge. “Fascinating. Whatever Jasmine did, it worked a treat, but this black mark is quite peculiar. It’s not dirt, and it won’t come off.”
Finn’s heart sped up. “She wielded?” Whatever happened after he got stabbed was a complete blank. Jasmine had been on deck just before, so it made sense she’d attempted to wield to protect him from the assailant. As much as he loved her, she had no discipline. But she did have power.
“If she hadn’t wielded, you wouldn’t be awake right now. Maybe never.”
It seemed Jasmine had saved his life. Again. Her power was remarkable.
Brusan ran both hands down his pudgy face. With his shoulders hunched, he leaned his elbows on his knees and shook his head. “How can she do these things?”
“It’s like this,” Marcelo said, his tone falling into his all-too-familiar lecture mode. “Wielding healers tend to force a healing. If they don’t complete their work, then that’s where it stops.”
“Wait, she healed me?” Finn had no idea Jasmine had the power to heal. The power to stop an attack, yes, but not to heal. She’d once witnessed his broken ribs being healed by a wielder, but in those quiet times together when he was a prisoner on the Prize, she hadn’t offered to heal his many wounds caused by the mad captain. It was a different time, he reminded himself. Neither of them had been certain of the other.
Marcelo gave him a weary glare. “If interrupted,” Marcelo said to Brusan, “the work the healers start drops back to how it was before they began. But not Jasmine’s work. She did something different. It’s like she sped up Finn’s natural healing process. It truly is fascinating.”
Finn frowned. “What stopped her from completing the heal?” A tremor unsettled his gut. “Is she harmed? Or worse?”
“Don’t you worry your head none about Midge,” Brusan said. “I mean, Jasmine. She’s fine and dandy.”
“Then what stopped her from healing me properly?” Finn tried to sit up. Sharp pains shot through his side. He gasped.
“Don’t you be pulling on that wound. Lie yourself down.” Brusan said.
The pain in his side forced him to obey. “What happened?”
Marcelo sighed. “I happened. I stopped Jasmine.”
Nothing was making sense. “Do you want me dead for some reason?”
“Don’t be stupid, boy. If I wanted you dead, that’s what you’d be.”
That was no comfort.
“I had to stop her,” Marcelo said. “She was flailing around with her power, mindless to the possible consequences, being a beacon to—” He glanced at Brusan. “Just doing the wrong thing.”
“You did to her what you did to that wielder in town,” Finn said. He couldn’t think about what had happened in town. Marcelo’s mad insistence for him to… It only made him feel worse. The sooner he could push it from his mind, the better. What was done was done. There was no changing it, no matter how he felt.
Where was Jasmine? He didn’t understand that either. She would never leave him while he was injured. Not by choice. Her face should’ve been the first he saw when he woke. Not her father’s.
“Is she still on duty?” Finn asked.
Again, the two old men exchanged a glance.
A deep sense of foreboding came over Finn. Jasmine had confessed to seeing the dark visions again, announcing that the Beast was back. Finn had been so caught up in his own woes that he hadn’t spent the time to consider what that could mean. The Beast hunted for her, for both of them, but she was the one with the great power. If it consumed enough power, it would break free from its prison. Then no one would be safe.
“Tell me.”
“She’s none of your concern,” Marcelo said.
“Where is she?” He tried to throw menace into his tone. Feeling worse than a drunken sailor the morning after a night of bingeing, he didn’t think he had any real intimidation left.
Marcelo cleared his throat. “She went on shore leave.”
That was ridiculous. She loved her ship — probably more than she loved Finn. She would become a permanent fixture if she could. She’d never leave the ship for something as frivolous as shore leave, especially not while Finn lay injured in the infirmary.
“I don’t believe you,” Finn said.
“Well, she did. Get over it, boy.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed. “She’s gone to find my attacker.” She was stupid to try. Headstrong and foolish. “She can’t. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.” She needed to stay away from whoever or whatever had attacked him.
“The girl will do whatever she pleases.”
“I have to find her.” Finn pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing against the fire in his side. “It’s not safe. Especially not for her. She thinks she’s strong, but...” He shook his head. Jasmine was no match for the mad hatred that had confronted him. Not even close.
“You need to stay here.” While Marcelo put on a show of anger, his tone betrayed a hint of desperation.
“What do you know, old man?”
“Is that any way to speak to your elder? Show some respect, boy.”
Finn struggled to get out of the low cot. Brusan made no move to stop him, despite a pleading look from Marcelo for help. Finn swung his feet to the floor and took a breath. Sweat prickled his hairline.
“Respect needs to be earned,” he said in soft gasps.
“No, lad,” Brusan said in a deep, tired rumble. “Respect should be given. No matter how others treat you.”
Marcelo gave the large man a sage nod. “Don’t let others dictate your actions.”
Finn wanted to punch him. It seemed Jasmine’s influence had grown strong, and that wasn’t all bad.
“Have you had a vision?” Finn asked Marcelo.
“Why does everyone ask me that?”
“Because you knew what we’d encounter in town. Because you planned for me to be there at that precise time. Because you wanted me to do what I did.” Shouting only made his wound hurt more. He took a breath to calm himself.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marcelo said.
Finn wasn’t being ridiculous. He wasn’t a fool either. He knew when his strings were being pulled, and his journey into Oakheart had been one clever manipulation. Marcelo had claimed he couldn’t go without Finn’s help during the visit to the Order, yet he hadn’t allowed Finn to enter the Order’s halls, or to even be seen by the members. He’d insisted Finn wear his hood up the entire time. Marcelo had entered alone then came out not a handful of minutes later. He couldn’t have done more than drop off a collection of scrolls. He certainly hadn’t been in there long enough for engaged conversation or discussion about the events of Sapphire Cove — the whole reason for the visit.
“Do you know what awaits Jasmine out there?” Finn asked.
“Despite what you think, not everything is governed or directed by visions. I’m not a puppeteer.”
“Fine. I’m heading to town, then.”
Brusan grumbled something under his breath and shook his head. Finn ignored him and tried to stand. The pain sent spangled light across his vision. He swayed and sat back down.
“Not tonight, you aren’t,” Marcelo said. “You saw how dangerous it can be in town.”
He did, and most of the danger he’d faced had been caused by Marcelo’s meddling. “Why is it so important I stay here?”
“Did I not just say how dangerous it is in town? And look at you. You’re not fit for travel. Don’t be difficult, boy.”
“If it’s so dangerous, then that’s more reason to find Jasmine. And clearly you know something.”
“Clearly, I wouldn’t tell you, even if I did. Just trust me. For once.”
Chapter 7
Aurelius backed into a shadowy corner and eyed Jasmine. “Why didn’t you bring your prize with you?”
As she sank onto the step under the eaves of a darkened doorway, a quiet chuckle pushed past her lips. She imagined trying to tuck the Wielder’s Prize into her pocket. He didn’t know her prize, her talisman, was the Prize. As a temporary talisman, she carried an oar swivel folded through her belt, hidden under her clothes, a gift from Marcelo who knew her secret. She had also added an iron bolt from the floor of the galley where she used to sleep, and a small square cut from the corner of her hammock. Objects from her true talisman. She rarely took them off, priming them for months so she could leave her ship and keep her magic strong and ready.
“This is serious.” He unconsciously turned a copper band around his wrist. Jasmine wasn’t supposed to know a small thread inside that band was his talisman. She doubted Aurelius would like it if he discovered she knew his secret.
“What makes you think I’m not carrying my talisman?”
“You’re … weaker.”
“It takes a lot to hide two people.” She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. “Just give me a minute.”
The door was padlocked from the outside so there was little chance anyone would surprise them from behind. Weeds grew in the cracks between cobblestones, and the place smelled of rotting vegetables and urine. It was a part of town populated mainly by drunks and other surly locals who kept to themselves.
She sorely missed her ship. The deeper they headed into the township, the harder it became to wield the cloaking magic around them both. Getting away from the frenzied crowd had been difficult. Draining.
Her hands trembled. She closed them into fists and took a deep breath.
“What will you do with the assassin if you find her?” the kid asked. It seemed silence offended him. Perhaps the cobblestones were distasteful too because he refused to sit.
Little chance he’d let her ignore him, so she shrugged.
It was a good question, though, and not one she’d thought about. She’d been so busy wanting to act that she hadn’t stopped long enough to work out what it was she needed to do. It wasn’t like she wanted to kill Finn’s attacker. Brusan didn’t think killing was a path she should ever take. This was one of the few instances where she agreed with the man. Of course, if she had to kill, she was certain she could — if it was the only option left to protect someone she cared about or herself. If she didn’t have to, then that was better. No, what she wanted from the would-be assassin was answers. Then, maybe, she’d find a way to stop her from trying again.
Aurelius nodded as if her shrug had been a satisfying answer. “We’re not much farther now. To the Guardians, that is.”
Jasmine eyed him. She knew then what she had suspected. “You’ve not been here before, have you?”
He looked ready to speak his lie then thought better of it. “Not so much. That doesn’t mean I don’t know this place. I’ve seen maps. I’ve studied it.”
Another lie.
“You hadn’t left Auslam before a few months ago. You don’t even know Gamilion where you were born, and Oakheart had been a va
gue name on a map until my ship anchored here.” It was a truth that floated about him like fireflies.
His shoulders dropped, and he sank to a worn step beside her. “How do you do that?”
A woman strode past, holding a leash connected to a collared man. She walked with purpose, and the malnourished man shuffled to keep up. The slave was a tagged wielder. His power rested on him like a seeping wound. He carried a bundle of papers and a small rock. Grabbing Aurelius’ arm, Jasmine wielded them hidden. Hopefully the newcomers wouldn’t take forever to move on.
The woman stopped at a tall wooden fence farther down the street where a bunch of bedraggled posters hung. More wanted posters, as far as Jasmine could tell. The woman pointed to a spot on the fence. When the man didn’t move, she tugged hard on the leash. The slave grunted. He took one of his papers, along with a nail from his pocket, and hammered it in place with his rock. A new wanted poster. They continued on their way and disappeared around a corner.
Weariness shivered through Jasmine. “I need to reveal us.”
Aurelius glanced around. “We’re good.”
Like an expelled breath, Jasmine let go of the magical cloak. She leaned against the door for support.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You love Finn that much?” He’d asked the question with a sneer.
She wondered if his question had been one of those rhetorical ones. If it wasn’t, then it was none of his business what she felt. “You need to get over your jealousy.”
Aurelius pulled himself upright like a lyrebird shaking out its feathers. “I’m not jealous.”
It was amazing how often people lied. Especially to themselves.
The kid paced. “It doesn’t matter that everything he ever got was handed to him.”
Clearly, he couldn’t hear himself.
“He never had to struggle,” he charged on. “He never had to fight.”