Page 71 of A Tale of Mirth & Magic

The hoofbeats grew closer. Around the bend in the road, two horses flew toward us. One, a brown mare carrying a serious-looking woman, and the other, a familiar, truly massive gray horse. My heart leaped.

Barra galloped up on Pebble and had barely slowed her to a stop before he dismounted, unsheathing his sword.

“El,” he said, breath ragged. Scanning the scene, he took in Maerryl, dagger still drawn, Felsith muttering to himself on the side of the road, and me, covered in dirt and clutching my thin blade in one fist for dear life. I saw him notice the bruises and blood on my hands, my clothes and hair in disarray, the rage—and maybe some lingering fear—in my eyes. He stepped toward me, but I could see his internal battle as he held himself back from reaching out.

“What happened here?” His deep voice was so full of worry and anger, I was seized with the sudden intense need to touch him. I clenched my blade tighter and broke our gaze, turning again to Felsith. The mystery woman dismounted but kept her distance.

“Him,” I spat. “That little shit attacked me. Poisoned me with something”—I skipped over the part where Maerryl had done the poisoning—“drove me out here, and then tried to… he tried to…” My mouth dried.

Maerryl cleared her throat. “He was going to break her wrists, steal her belongings, and leave her here.”

In two steps, Barra was in front of me, looking over my body frantically for other signs of injury. “Are you all right? Please tell me you’re all right,” he said hoarsely.

I lifted my arms up for him to inspect, rolling my wrists. “I’m fine,” I said, only wincing slightly. “Nothing a few days rest and some salve won’t fix. Full arm function still intact. Speaking of—”

I turned and flung my knife straight toward Felsith’s face. At the last millisecond, I stopped it with a twitch of my finger.

Felsith’s face slackened, his mouth a gaping hole. The tip of the knife just barely touched the skin between his eyes, drawing the thinnest cut.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” I said to him. My blood blazed. Magic coursed through my veins, desperate to be used.

“El…” Barra cautioned.

My steely gaze bore into Felsith’s shocked eyes. Just minutes ago, he’d been laughing at the prospect of hurting me—now he looked like he was about to shit his pants.

I raised both arms, shaking but determined. My power called to the metal around me—my full rucksack on the ground; all the hooks, chains, and nails of the carriage and horses’ gear; the nose ring and dagger on Maerryl, two meager coppers in her coin purse; Barra’s large sword and the necklace I’d given him; the still-sheathed broadsword and boot knife on the mystery woman; Felsith’s glittering belt buckle, heavy coin purse, and my jewelry, stolen off my unconscious body and stuffed into his pockets.

To the trembling man before me, I snarled in a voice I barely recognized, “I’m going to crush you like the bug that you are.”

His panicked eyes widened, darting around for any possible escape, before coming back to me. I could see white all around his irises. He knew what was coming. Pinned by my razor-sharp blade, he shook pathetically.

Before I could move to attack, a small voice piped up in my head. Is this really what you want?

Yes. He deserves it. I tried to squash the part of me that was trying to rethink this.

To become a cold-blooded killer? Play into the stereotype that people like him think? You really want to let your anger take hold of your magic again, after finally, finally gaining control over it?

No. No, I didn’t. But the temptation to relinquish that control again felt so, so good. I wouldn’t have to worry or fight anymore—my anger-fueled power would make these hard decisions for me. And oh, how it desired that. I sensed it just below the surface, ready to take over. My magic wanted to slice, to punish, to explode. To melt away how it felt—the pain of leaving Barra, the helplessness of being kidnapped and hurt, the anger at Felsith and everyone like him. Melt it until I felt clean and powerful again.

The possibility was tantalizing. But I wasn’t that person anymore. I didn’t need to be. I could choose for myself, my future. Closing my eyes, I tried to clear the blind rage from my mind and focus. I breathed hard until the fog cleared a little.

I looked up at Barra. His strong jaw clenched in worry. Smoky eyes watched me—unafraid, just filled with concern and love. Love for me.

If I did this, if I let my power consume me again like I used to, there was no telling what would happen. I wanted to destroy Felsith with every fiber of my being—but not at the risk of Barra or anyone else being caught in the crosshairs. He would probably do something noble and stupid, and I might accidentally hurt the only person I truly loved.

At that thought, I blinked. My arms fell. The buzzing tension of my power faded to a dull hum. The thin knife dropped into the dirt.

A wave of tiredness washed over me, but also a rush of exhilaration. It was as clear to me as my own name, as right as the perfect clang of hammer to metal. I met Barra’s eyes in bewilderment.

“Holy shit, I love you,” I said.

Barra stared at me for a moment. Then a tentative smile touched his lips.

“You do?” he asked, hope glimmering. He reached for my hand, and I gripped back as hard as I could.

“Very much. I think… I’ve loved you for a while now.”

In my side vision, I distantly noticed Maerryl ducking around to a now crawling Felsith who was attempting to make a turtle’s pace getaway. She stepped firmly on his back. He fell onto the ground with an “oof!” and she efficiently began to tie his hands with rope.