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I’m just stretching in the saddle, wondering if it’ll be time to take a brief rest stop soon, when one of the guards at the front of the procession lets out an urgent sound.
A small squad of four riders is trotting toward the crossroad we’re just minutes away from, coming from our right. They wear the uniforms of royal soldiers, but one of them is flying a banner with the downward All-Giver sigil.
Order of the Wild devotees. The enemy.
Tinom motions for us all to get off the road. “Gather as closely together as you can. I’ll thicken the illusion as much as I have the strength for.”
Rheave shifts restlessly, eyeing the approaching soldiers. “We could overpower them.”
“If they try to fight us,” I say. “More likely, they’d see they’re outnumbered and ride off for reinforcements.”
Alek nods. “Our main advantage on this journey has been that no one knows where in the country we’ve gone.”
We nudge the horses across the field and bunch together in as tight a cluster as they’ll tolerate. Keeping an eye on Filip, I position myself near Petra and her siblings under the dour stares of her guards. Stavros follows suit, helping the guards form an inner ring around our most precious companions.
We can’t let enemies beyond our ranks or within them have a chance to strike at what remains of the royal family.
To my dismay, the Order squadron turns left at the crossroads, bringing them on a course straight past us. All of us hold terribly still, our mouths clamped shut.
As they approach, my magic flares sharper, prickling all the way up to my throat. It squirms through my chest and tugs at my heart.
Why am I just sitting here? I could be blasting them to bits or cloaking us so there’s no chance they’d ever notice us.
What if Tinom’s abilities aren’t enough?
Sweat breaks out on my skin beneath my cloak. My fingers clench around the reins, and I summon the imagery that’s helped me contain my power in the past: a thick vine winding around my body.
The four riders carry on by without more than a distracted glance in our direction. The pressure in my chest gradually eases, though not without a few final pokes at my innards.
Then a small, sharp jab of retaliation sears between my ribs.
It’s little more than a needle prick, there and then gone, easy to ignore. Nothing like the vicious fits that came over me in the past after years of restraining my magic.
All the same, a chill collects in my belly. Is my power already that impatient to be used again?
I can’t let myself be distracted by those kinds of worries.
Suppressing a shiver, I scan the faces around me for any concerning signs—and find Petra looking back at me with a pensive expression.
Her lips curl in a brief, muted smile, but her attention doesn’t feel entirely friendly. Was she thinking that I should have contributed my vast if chaotic magic to protecting her? Questioning my loyalty for not offering to?
A deeper discomfort seeps through me down to my gut. All the things she must have heard about the riven, all the attempts we’ve made to convince her family that I’m not a threat… What must she make of my hesitation to trust myself?
The Order’s riders dwindle from view and finally vanish down the road. Without a word, Tinom beckons us back onto our course.
I nudge Toast to keep pace with Petra’s steed: a black mare that’s not quite as elegant as a typical queenly mount. We’ll have to get the royal stables back for our future queen too.
Once we’re well on our way again, I pitch my voice low so as not to draw anyone else into this particular conversation. “I hope you know that if you were in immediate danger and the only way I could protect you was with my magic, I would. I just… don’t want to risk the consequences unless it’s necessary. Since my going mad wouldn’t be particularly good for your safety either.”
Petra blinks as if startled that I brought up the subject. Maybe I misread her expression earlier.
“Of course you should moderate yourself,” she says, matching my tone. “From what you’ve said, it’s understandable both for your well-being and for our security in general. I know my father was hard on you, but I trust you to know your limits.”
The thought of King Konram, of how instrumental I was in getting Lothar into a position to murder him—how close I came to murdering him myself—sends a fresh pang of guilt down the middle of me. “Thank you. You should never doubt that if I could save your life, I’ll do whatever’s in my power to accomplish it.”
Petra glances at me again with a similar thoughtfulness in her dark eyes. “But not to save your own life?”
My throat constricts. It takes me a moment to pull together my words. “What good would it do me to save myself only to lose my sanity at the same time? At least if I protect you in the process, I’ll have contributed something worthwhile. Balanced out the harm I’ve done a little.”
