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“Stay away from her. I won’t let you touch her. Not anymore.” A territorialism that I didn’t expect exploded from my lips as I pulled at my power, pulling all of it forward. Except there was no burn. There was no spark of fire in my veins, or flame between my fingers.
There was nothing.
No magic.
Nothing inside of me.
The snakes continued to approach, one rushing to grab Elara. I grabbed him before he could get too close. His skin was fire beneath my hand as I pulled at my magic, pulled at his magic, at his life, at his time.
Still, there was nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
I could still feel the burn of their magic, still feel the pull that told me exactly what they were, and what they were capable of, but my magic was gone. All of it.
It had vanished completely.
Chapter 51
Elara
Iwas getting used to waking up in pain. Although, it took me far too long to figure out why I was in pain this time.
I woke with a start, my hand screaming in agony, my entire body on fire. I nearly screamed as I jerked awake, the carriage that had been my prison rocking and shoving me into the padded side-wall that was coated with dried blood.
“Boy,” I moaned, turning to the other side of the carriage where my Boy usually sat, only to face a shadow of a different sort.
The man from before sat there in stained black leathers, the slight curls of his hair sagging over eyes the color of ice in the far sea. He didn’t shift as the carriage rocked again, the ride rough as we were carried away, back to the Runturin.
“You are not the Boy,” I mumbled, wincing as I pushed myself up to face him, the pain from my palm screaming up my arm.
“No, I am not. Although your Boy is fine.” His jaw stiffened, stopping himself from saying more. It set me on edge, even as my heart tried to burst its way out of my chest in worry and panic.
The Boy.
He had been kept from me, locked in my carriage as I had been dragged to the temple. Clearly, someone had wanted the man sent to kill me to look like the Boy, for me to think that it was the Boy who attacked me.
But it wasn’t him.
Where was he?
“Who are you?” I looked up from my hand, from the blood stained cloth that was wrapped around it, the matching one on his hand, to the sharp features that were looking at me with a dangerous edge.
I must have inhaled as everything came back, his lips twerking into a smirk.
“Caspyn.” I said and he nodded, his hands drifting to a sword belt that was conspicuously empty. “How do you know The Boy is alive?”
My voice shook at the question, the pressure on my ribcage still boiling.
By the Goddess, please let him be safe.
This man, Caspyn, had said he knew where the Boy was when I was attacked. He may have saved me, he may have fought against my mother; but I had seen how he moved with those blades. He sat, his face pulled into a scowl so deep I wasn’t sure he knew how to make another expression. Nothing about him told me that he was trustworthy, except for the fact that he had saved me from the army of shrouded imposters.
That alone should be enough.
It was. I had chosen to trust him.
He had asked me to trust him, and I did.
