AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I have only a matter of seconds for relief to trickle into me before a spear of pain stabs through my middle.
I manage to clamp my lips against a gasp, but a faint whine seeps from my throat. I wrap my arm around my gut as if the external pressure can offset the agony inside.
My magic sears through me from chest to gut, sending a familiar series of jabs into my lungs and stomach. It’s pissed off at me, all right—getting impatient that I won’t let it loose like I’ve been willing to so recently.
It took a lot more time before it hurt me this badly in the past… but that was before it had a real taste of freedom. That was before I’d already pushed it to the brink of its patience.
I sag to the side. Alek darts across the cart to catch me before I slump right onto the floor.
A ragged breath catches in my throat. I muffle a sputter of a cough as well as I can—and stare at the red flecks that dabble my palm.
Oh. So we’re all the way back to this point, are we?
My power is literally tearing into my flesh.
Alek’s arm squeezes around me. As the pain finally ebbs, I become aware of Rheave staring over at us, his face taut with worry, his knuckles white where he’s gripping his bow.
His voice comes out in a strained whisper. “Did they do something to her?”
Alek shakes his head and helps me sit back up. “That looked like the fits she used to have at the college…” He peers into my eyes. “Your magic attacked you again?”
I nod, taking a moment before I’m sure I can speak steadily. I can barely hear the retreating hoofbeats now, but I keep my voice low to be safe. “It really wanted to protect us from those hunters. It’s lashed out a couple of times recently, but not this badly. I was hoping I’d have more time before I got to this point.”
A shadow has crossed Stavros’s face. “You’ll have even more reason to worry about protecting us—and Petra—during the trials. It could hurt you worse then if it gets riled up when you don’t need to step in.”
A flare of rebellion sparks in my chest in spite of everything. “If you’re trying to tell me I should hang back out of the way and not even?—”
He holds up his hand in surrender, an echo of our earlier conversation lingering in his solemn tone. “I know you wouldn’t accept that. But you could end up more vulnerable if your magic is attacking you right in the midst of the danger.”
Casimir has swiveled in his seat to join the conversation. “Isn’t that part of what your training with Sulla was about? Finding ways to avoid the backlash from holding the magic in?”
The thought of those early days, back before I’d experienced the other types of harm my magic could inflict on me, sends a pang like homesickness through my chest. “Yes. But the idea was that we extend just a little magic here and there to appease it, not enough that the madness would start to take hold. I’m past that point.”
Alek strokes his hand over my hair. “You’ve turned to it a couple of times since then for something small, and it doesn’t seem to have affected you too badly. If you followed the typical regimen, it might still work to keep you at status quo. No worse than otherwise, and without it lashing out.”
I wet my lips. “I guess I should probably give it a shot. At least to take the edge off before the trials.”
Petra needs me tomorrow. If I’m ever going to use my magic again in a major way, it’ll be to see her through our final stand against the scourge sorcerers. I can’t risk being incapacitated when it’s time to act.
It’s the only way I can prove to all the allies who’ve watched me with trepidation and fear whose side I’m really on. The only way I can make up for the damage I’ve done to her reputation.
The best way I can possibly serve her, whatever it does to me.
But as I look down at myself and around the cart, every part of my body balks. I’ve spent so long tamping down on my power, and I have even more reason to fear it now than I did before.
No possibility that flits through my mind feels right. All I’m left with is a knot in my gut.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admit quietly. “I don’t know what would be too much.”
Stavros’s expression softens. He takes one more glance over his shoulder toward the long-gone hunters and sheathes his sword before shifting closer to me.
When I raise an eyebrow at him in question, he rubs the scruff on his cheek with his hooked prosthetic. “I’ve been neglecting the razor since we changed accommodations. Removing a little hair seems like an awfully small act. You could give me a shave.”
I stare at him for a second, my thoughts whirling.
He’s accepted me as I am, he’s accepted my magic enough to let me bring him back from the edge of death, but somehow this small offer cracks open something inside me.
“Are—are you sure?” I have to ask.
