Spark

by Anna Holmes

  “I would miss you terribly.”

  “I could visit. When it’s safe.”

  “And you’d never get lonely, just you and the fish?”

  “I almost certainly would, unless the merfolk decide I’m friendly, but I’m not likely to bring them so much trouble, at least.”

  She takes her breeches from me and runs her fingers over the place where the hole had been, then looks at me. “You don’t need to do that. We’ll protect you.”

  I reach out and touch the contours of her face, the hollow of her eye, the lifted rise of her cheekbone, the single dimple of her left cheek. “And that’s what I’m afraid of,” I tell her softly, glancing at the red peeking through the bandage.

  She follows my gaze, then folds her hands on top of my good knee. “You think you’re not worth it to me? That I wouldn’t take this and more—gladly—to keep you with me?”

  “I know you would, and that’s exactly what scares me.”

  “Well, you’re scaring me, all of this talk of killing you and running away,” she returns a little hotly, then sighs. At length, she searches my face earnestly. “It’s your turn to promise me. Don’t go. At least not far, at least not where I can’t come find you.”

  Her eyes shine a little, and she looks away fiercely. After all this, she still won’t let me see tears. I cup her face in my hand and turn it gently toward me so our eyes meet, just for the briefest of seconds, before I set my forehead to hers. “Okay,” I tell her softly. “Okay.”

  Caelin sniffles slightly, and I smooth down the loose strands from her braid. “Do you mean that?”

  “Yes. In fact….” I swallow my own thrashing heart and reach to unfasten her earring. When she realizes what I’m doing, she fumbles to help me open it, presses it into my hand. I hold it for a moment, my hands shaking, guts taking tumbles over one another. It’s possibly the most scared I’ve been in a while, but it’s also right, somehow. “Will—?”

  “Your Highness?” August calls tentatively from outside.

  I sag a little with a pained laugh, and Caelin’s jaw sets as she lets her head drop. “What?” she growls.

  “I, uh…Sergeant Crow…the prisoner wants to talk to you.”

  “Of bloody course she does. Because we are just awaiting her pleasure.”

  There’s a pregnant pause. “So, er…you’re coming?”

  “Eventually!” She turns back to me and mouths, sorry. “I will be there in a minute,” she says more evenly. “Why don’t you go let her know?” Caelin suggests, a slight edge to her voice.

  “Yes, I can do that.”

  There’s a long silence, not at all punctuated by footsteps. “Now,” she adds.

  “Oh, right, okay,” he answers.

  At last, he starts trudging away, and Caelin pushes out a breath. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “I can start over.”

  She closes her hands over mine and the ring and smiles down at her knees. “I want it to be what you want,” she replies. “You deserve that, at least.”

  “I have such terrible timing.”

  “I think that one was Jori.”

  Probably purposely, quite frankly. I don’t doubt that she noticed I went in and have yet to come out. “Next time,” I laugh weakly. “Next time I’ll get it right. If you happen to note an opportune moment before I do….”

  “I’ll let you know.” She beams at me and places a kiss on top of my hands before withdrawing the ring and fastening it to her ear again. “I'm afraid I’m going to need it for what's to come.”

  Without a doubt.

  We take our time coming out. Possibly a little petty, but no more than Jori demanding a command performance from her former lover and the queen of a foreign country. Caelin slips her arm through mine after helping me out of the tent. “If she starts getting to you….”

  “I’ll leave.” I press a kiss into her hair as we go. Honestly, I don’t know how much lower a blow Jori could deal me, but I’ve thought that before. The energy that’s redoubled since my troubled dive roils in anticipation, like a stomach churning in midair before a precipitous drop. I grit my teeth, try to tamp it down. It’s ridiculous to be so worked up over someone who means less than nothing to me now. But she’d meant a great deal to me once, and in that time she learned all sorts of soft spots at which to prod.

  We find our way to the fore of the camp, back to the fire ring. Gavroth busily folds the last bit of his bathysphere back into its self contained little bubble. Bannon and the prisoners are nowhere to be found, and Nuthatch fidgets to keep himself warm. His skin is flushed a brilliant red, even sort of erasing the poisoned scar above his eye. I glance around for some sign of August and Jori, and finally catch a hint of red hair over Tressa's shoulder. I lurch my way over to that side and find Jori— still manacled— chained at the waist to Tressa's back. Tressa glowers in my direction. “This was not my idea,” she informs me.

  “Mine either, you great cow,” Jori mutters.

  A slight prickle starts along my spine, and I clench my jaw and force a breath. Caelin gives me a cautious glance, and I pat her hand and let it go, stooping near Jori. “You,” I tell her, “are lucky you’re breathing fresh air. I’d recommend behaving yourself if you’d like to keep it up.”

  “I thought your mistress doesn’t kill unless she has to.”

  I look back to Caelin. “She is the more scrupulous of the pair of us.”

  Caelin gives me a sidelong glance. Jori glowers, still a hint of a smirk in place. “You couldn’t. You’re too soft.”

  I stare directly back. “Let’s just say some things happened that hardened me up since you knew me last.”

  For the first time, I see her waver—just a tic, a tiny flicker of doubt in her glass green eyes, the slightest droop to her lips. There was a time that would have broken me. I guess it wasn’t a complete bluff to say I’ve grown calloused. “People don’t change that much,” she says quietly.

  “I beg to differ.” I shift to sit, my bad leg angled out awkwardly. I cringe “So. What is it this time? More gloating? Misplaced terms of endearment? Emotional knife twisting?”

  Jori lifts her chin, the smirk gone. “There’s a component you’re missing.”

  Nuthatch leans forward. “What are you talking about? Our formula is sound.”

  “That’s because it’s not an alchemical component. You need a will caster to regulate the administration.” She looks at me briefly, fleetingly. Guilt? That's not like her. “Which is why I was assigned to you.”

  “Assigned,” I say, my voice low.

  “That’s all it was at first,” she says quickly. “I was to get close to you, monitor and report your progress through varying emotional conditions, but I—”

  “You what?” I return. I think I’m angry. It feels like anger in its basic substance—the tautness of everything, the nausea, the taste of metal in my mouth. But it’s cold, like the water was. My skin prickles here and there, but so far, no new ridges. I suppose it’s not full blown anger because it’s not complete surprise. “All of that—the fights, the stolen moments, your so-called death—those were tests.”

  “Not all of it,” she returns, stricken. “I—came to inhabit the role too fully.”

  “Well. Commendations are in order on your dedication, Sergeant,” I reply tersely.

  She leans forward, or attempts to, anyway. Tressa pulls her back firmly, unwilling to bend any more than she has to. “Listen to me,” Jori says, her face screwing up. “I don’t care what you think of me right now. Your life is in danger. That’s why I’m here.”

  "Why should I?” I mutter. “Everything else was a lie.”

  Caelin looks my direction. “This…isn’t.”

  It doesn’t do much to cool my anger, and I’m not the only one. Nuthatch still looks skeptical. He folds his arms and sits back, still looking at her. “If will casting is important to the process, why didn’t I see you at the last administration?”

  “Because I was invisible
,” Jori answers dully, not looking at him, or me, or anything, really. She’s stopped trying to pull against Tressa, too. “Pell didn’t want any one person knowing too much. I didn’t see any of your work. You didn’t see any of mine.”

  “And you’re here out of the goodness of your heart, is that right?”

  Some of the fight comes back as she shoots him a glare. “Like you’ve room to talk. What are you doing here, Doctor?”

  “Trying to make amends,” he snaps. “Something I don’t see you trying.”

  “Okay, okay, shut it, all of you,” Caelin interjects. “Crow, you’re a nasty piece of work, but you’re not lying. Nuthatch, let’s focus on putting the prince back together. We all have angry opinions about her methodology.”

  Jori snorts. “Are you defending me, valsht? I don’t need your chivalry.”

  Caelin jerks her thumb in my direction. “No, but Alain does, and apparently you want to help, so stuff your prejudiced Rosalian epithets up your Rosalian backside and help him instead of arguing with us.”

  Jori’s jaw sets. “There is a focus,” she says begrudgingly, “that I need to recover. Pell was sending me for it.”

  Caelin looks questioningly over at me. I press my fingers into my forehead. “It’s a magical item that amplifies casting,” I say. “They’re rare, expensive, and specialized.”

  “And this one is made to ferry cryst energy between the vessel and a body at a rate the body can handle,” Jori finishes, glancing at Nuthatch. “It pulls the energy out before it’s fully cycled through the body and refines it one more time before directing it back in. Keeps the crazy away.”

  I shouldn’t, but I feel a little relieved. There’s every chance something still goes wrong and I still wind up with a swollen head and more magic than a single person should ever have, but it’s at least mildly comforting to know that someone thought of that ahead of time.

  Kai thinks for a good bit of time. At long last, he nods. “Where is it?”

  “The Little Islands. Where we used it last.”

  I’m on my feet before I can even really think about it. My whole body hums with restlessness. I have to get out of here. If I stay, I’ll choke, explode into crystals, scream until I don’t have any breath left. The rest of the world seems to drift by like fog, only the ground in front of me real. I start away, no destination in mind, just—away.

  Before I get far, a voice calls to me from the fog. I whirl senselessly, fumbling for the source of it. Light. My breathing slows a little bit, though my heart still tries to ram itself through my chest. My vision focuses a little, and I see Caelin chasing after me. “I can’t stay,” I mumble.

  “I know. It’s all right,” she answers, panting to a stop. “Just—here.”

  She bows at the waist and unfastens the strap around her leg, a pair of sheathed long-bladed daggers dangling from it. She kneels and starts affixing it to my good leg, a little above the knee. I laugh weakly. “What do you expect me to do with those?”

  “When we get back, learn how to use them,” she says, “but in the meantime, it’s better than sending you unarmed.” Caelin finishes with the buckle and stands to take in my face. Briefly, her hand brushes my cheek. “Do what you need to, my love, but remember your promise.”

  I nod, still numb to everything except that warning bell impulse to get out. “Not far.”

  Her hands close around my shaking ones. “Be careful,” she exhorts.

  The wandering was for naught. I didn’t get away. I’m still slammed back to that barren rocky island, surrounded by red, hot sun dust in my eyes, dust in my gills, no water except stolen handfuls from the slurry. Only one thought hammering in my head, my chest— escape, escape, escape.

  I’m starting to think I never will.

  The blaring sun suddenly gives way to dusk, and I lift my head. I’m not standing in the burning quarry in midday. I’m huddled in the middle of an icy path, the darkened temple close at hand. My breaths shudder in and out, and I wrap my arms around myself to insulate myself against…something, I’m not sure what. I lift my head to the sky and let go of a strangled cry of frustration. The by-now familiar clinking of crystal on crystal remains after my voice dies back, and I let my forehead fall into the palm of my hand with a smack I feel all the way up my shoulder. It feels better than the burning flesh and the exhaustion that always sets in when the nerves start to wear off.

  Ahead on the path, two figures move in the gathering dark. I rush to stand, give what I can see of myself a quick once-over. I’m a blue beacon in the shadows, and those infernal jagged ridges of cryst jut out from my arms, longer than ever before. My still shaking hands find the sides of my face. Crystals there too along my cheekbones, the same stunted feathery stubs. Maybe they’ll retreat again as they’ve been doing, but either way, I don’t think magic is going to play along and that these daggers will do me much good. I turn back to the beach and hustle away, pulling my uncooperative leg along behind me.

  “Alain,” a small voice shouts. I turn to see the unmistakable slip of a silhouette running toward me. Elle.

  I hurry back in her in her direction. “Walk, Ellenore.”

  The shadow petulantly skids and slows, still making too much time for my liking. The taller shadow, slightly leafy behind her veil in the early strains of moonlight, bustles forward too. If I had my way, I wouldn’t be parading my freakish self in front of the Venerable Mother right now, but I owe her my thanks, and Elle’s too. Elle starts to open her arms, so I throw my hands up in front of me. “Don’t—don’t touch me right now, please. It’s probably not good for you.”

  She bites her lip but nods and keeps well back. The Venerable Mother joins us. “Lieutenant Bannon has said that your retrieval went well. Elle wished to return, so here we are.”

  “Yes,” I answer, inclining my head. “Thank you for your assistance. For her sake and mine.”

  “Of course. It is my duty and pleasure.” It’s hard to tell, of course, with that unnerving sheet of fabric in front of her face, but her gaze seems to linger on me. Of course it does. Even Elle, who’s used to a certain amount of oddity in her life, doesn’t seem to know where to look, her eyes anxiously leaping from my face to my hands to my eyes and back around again. The Venerable Mother hesitates with an audible breath. At last, she seems to decide against whatever it was and adds, “Your sister has a delightful wit to her. It must run in your family. I very much enjoyed our time together, Elle.”

  Elle looks startled at the sound of her name, then turns back to her with a little smile. “Any time you’d like another trouncing at chess, I’d be happy to oblige.”

  “It would be my pleasure.” She turns back to me. “Five times. She beat me five times.”

  I lift my eyebrows. “Usually opponents only last two before they give up. I admire your persistence.”

  “I am nothing if not patient, Prince. You don’t get to be my age without learning it.” She bows her head to me and pulls in another breath, which plays with the veil. “I wish you every success and every comfort in your journey. May it be short.”

  It won't be, but I appreciate the sentiment. “Thank you, Mother. Again.”

  She bows deeply, then turns for the temple. Elle is left, still looking at me in uncertainty. I’m not sure what to do with my arms, so they swing strangely at my sides. “I know I’m a little weird right now….”

  Elle steps forward and grabs my hand, walking along with me like she did when she was little. Usually I was the one pulling back then. I look down at her small hand in mine and start to say something, and she shakes her head. “You look like you needed it. I’ll let go if I start feeling funny.”

  I nod, and we carry on in silence. The light of the moon and my abnormal glow stretches our shadows out long in front of us, and I can’t help staring. They belong to a little girl walking hand in hand with some strange blue spiked creature. Elle’s mouth is a little taut with worry, but other than that, she seems calm. At length, she says, “It’s not uncom
mon, you know.”

  “What?”

  “The waking dreams. Carrying memories like that changes things.” She bumps me with her shoulder. “Be kinder to yourself about it.”

  “What book did you find that in?”

  “Not a book.” She shifts her weight. “Papa has hands come in during the busy seasons. Lots of them fought in the war. On your side and Caelin’s. They do the same thing you just did.” She reaches out and pokes one of the ridges jutting out from my wrist with her free hand. “Well, not exactly the same.”

  “Do you remember this?” I ask. “When Mother…?”

  She shakes her head. “She glowed like you, but none of this.”

  “And you haven't ever…?”

  “No. I think it’s your magic, plus whatever they did last time.”

  Last time. I sigh. “Elle…I have to go back to that camp that I was put in at the end of the war. There’s a focus there that they used.”

  She snaps her fingers. “I knew there was something we were missing. The energy cycles worked out but it still seemed too concentrated….” She trails off. “You…were having the sort-of dream because you have to go back there.” I nod. The panic starts rising in my throat again, but I breathe it out, force it back down. I may not be able to stave it off all the time, but I want control of myself right now, and that’ll have to be enough. She frowns. “Why can’t Caelin just send somebody to go get it?”

  “Dealing with this much energy? You know that thing is grounded. I don’t think I have the kind of time I’d need to send somebody to go dig it out.”

  Elle nods, taps a finger to her lips, and thinks. “You know,” she says after a moment. “That script has a loophole in it, which is why you’re having difficulty now. They built in this little back door, so that you’d be primed to accept more energy the next time they wanted to do this. I can close that, if you want. This could be the last time you ever have to do this.”

  Wind kicks up the reeds around us, little clicking whispers. I would likely lose my insurance against the Legion, but I’d give it up in a heartbeat for the certainty that I won’t send cryst shrapnel into my loved ones when I get annoyed. “Yes,” I say. “I do want that.”