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I shove all of my attention toward the metal structure—toward the lock that secures the grate—and thrust my hands forward.
The first smack of my magic warps the metal but doesn’t break it.
As I speed ever closer, I will another, sharper blast of the searing energy out of me.
The lock melts away, along with a significant chunk of the deadbolt it held in place. I tip myself backward and slam into the bars feet first, aiming one final surge of magic at the hinges on the other side.
The strips of metal sizzle, and the grate pops off. It rushes beneath the bridge ahead of me, tugged by the river’s current.
I right myself in time to see my companions gliding through the opening after me. Yells of frustration carry from the other side, but the scourge sorcerers aren’t going to follow us into the water—and they can’t jump right over the wall.
They’ll have to dash around to the nearest gate on the land. We can be far away from the city by the time they reach the river.
As we bob along in it, the waterway flows past a few farms and into a patch of forest we surveyed ahead of time. The log the now-dead soldier and I heaved most of the way into the current still protrudes from the bank where we left it.
I catch a branch and whirl around to help pull Petra over to safety. Casimir and the devout work their way along the soggy wood to the shore, pulling the sacrificial accomplice with them.
I stay in the water until Ivy reaches me. She extends her arms to stop herself against the log, but I wrap my arm around her first.
The question spills out shakily. “Okay, Little Vine?”
She peers at me, no mark on her except the start of a bruise where the knife hilt knocked her temple. “Just glad to be out of there. Are you okay?”
I push my mouth into a smile. “I am if you are.”
As true as that is, my heart thumps heavily against my ribs as we slosh to the shore and tramp through the forest to the waiting horses we hid. Toast snorts in greeting as if he’s as relieved to see Ivy returning as I am.
She is okay. But not thanks to me.
I almost put her in even more danger when I froze up in the river.
What’s wrong with me? Was that paralyzing mix of fear and pain some effect of my human body that no one thought to warn me about?
We set off for the temple as fast as the horses will run, the devout holding his armless companion tight against his chest to ensure his balance. An ache of desire and shame courses from my throat down to my gut—wishing I could hold Ivy like that, wondering if I deserve it after I nearly failed her so badly, hating that I can’t say I do.
The journey passes in a blur of tangled emotions. When we reach the temple stable, I slide off my mount’s back, planning to gather Ivy to me and hold her until everything inside me settles down again.
But Casimir grasps my arm first.
“Rheave,” the courtesan says in a quiet voice, “we should give the ladies a chance to wash off the muck of the river and the road on their own time. Why don’t we get ourselves cleaned up too?”
Something about his tone makes me think this diversion is important to him. He might know something I don’t.
When I look at Ivy again, one of those unsettling twinges that’s both devotion and horror shoots through my stomach. I don’t really know what I want right now anyway.
So I follow Casimir through the buildings to one of the temple’s bathing rooms, collecting a change of clothes along the way. My river-drenched tunic and trousers have stiffened against my skin.
From what I understand, Elox isn’t concerned about sensual satisfaction like Ardone, Casimir’s patron godlen. But the godlen of peace and healing does care about comfort. While the bathing room is small and plain, it’s filled with warmth, with ample towels stacked on a shelf. A lingering scent of lavender washing oil hangs in the air.
Rather than moving to one of the shower stalls right away, Casimir sits down on the smooth white bench. He motions for me to join him.
“Something’s been bothering you for a while now,” he says as I sink down at the opposite end. “You haven’t been back to your old self even after Ivy returned to us. I’m guessing your disorientation in the river is connected to that problem.”
An embarrassed heat prickles up over my face. I suppose if any of my companions were to guess at my feelings, it makes sense it’d be the man who’s so in tune with emotions and relationships. At least there’s no judgment in Casimir’s tone.
Maybe he can help me untangle the muddle I’ve gotten into.
I look down at my empty hands. “It doesn’t make sense to me. The feelings don’t fit together.”
