Page 77 of Blood of the Stars

“What about the dark spirits?” she whispered.

“They won’t come unless you use the blood for magic.”

“They came the last time I bled myself. When I killed that family.” Her words came out sharper than she intended, her fear tainting her tone.

He hesitated, making his previous confidence less reassuring. “It’s a choice to invite them in. You didn’t understand that, and you lost control. This time Velden and I will be here to watch you and protect you.”

She bit her lip, her gaze on the others in the group. Who would protect them? Holm and Iris leaned into each other, the subtle, constant love between them proof of what a bond could be, what it should be. Holm didn’t even need magic for his quiet, gentle presence to soothe Aeliana, which was why she preferred sharing chores with him each night. Would Iris still dote on Aeliana if dark spirits tore through Holm? How many people would be harmed if the spirits fused with Aeliana and drained the energy still growing within her?

She closed her eyes, attempting to block out the terrifying images of Cyrus’ and Jasperus’ bodies, pale and still like the family she’d killed at the farm. She couldn’t imagine letting a single person in this camp suffer just so she could be free of the pain building up within her veins.

“It’s killing you, Aeliana.” Sylmar’s words softened, and the shift nearly broke her. “I think anyone else would have succumbed to it by now.”

His words rang with a truth she didn’t want to acknowledge. She felt like her insides were near bursting. Is that how it would happen? Would she fill up with so much energy that her body would be unable to contain it?

She opened her eyes, holding his gaze. “Maybe it will kill me. Maybe that’s the best way for me to protect everyone from Mayvus. When she brands me, she’ll be able to override what’s holding me back, and then I’ll be a limitless resource to her.”

“You think we’d bring you all this way just to let you die?” Sylmar’s gravelly voice grew desperate, deepening to a hoarseness that made Aeliana want him to cough and clear his throat. “No. If we don’t see any improvement by tomorrow, we should consider bleeding you. We have to at least try.”

She nodded slightly, and he relaxed.

But she wasn’t agreeing with his plan. She was agreeing that she had to try something.

He headed for the campfire, but instead of following him, Aeliana let her eyes drift shut while tugging at her blouse and the new split skirt Iris had bought for her in Valorian. She’d been grateful for the swap, since the trousers had felt even more constricting with the buildup of energy inside her. Sweat dripped down her temples, its constant layer something she was quickly becoming used to. But the sounds of the jungle filled Aeliana’s ears like a symphony of foreign instruments. What had initially been soothing became more grating as everything in Aeliana ached, even her hypersensitive skin.

When Jasperus barked out a laugh, the others hushed him. Aeliana opened her eyes a crack, following the fearful gazes aimed toward where the waterfall must be. The sprites, who someone would have to be desperate to seek out for a wish.

This time Aeliana’s eyes came fully open, her senses on high alert.

How desperate was she?

Which was more desperate: blood magic or sprites?

Sylmar’s insistence that she bleed herself was already an act of desperation. The dark spirits would come. They would have her do blood magic whether she wanted to or not. But seeking out the sprites for a wish—even a wish to be rid of her magic—could have equally disastrous consequences. No. She couldn’t go to the sprites. But she also couldn’t stay here.

She let her gaze roam over these people she’d grown to care for. Friends she hadn’t anticipated making. She wasn’t willing to put them at risk.

Tonight’s desperation had to be dealt with alone.

Aeliana rose, determined, and assured the others she just needed to relieve herself. While passing their stores, she snuck a knife and bandages from one of the supply bags, her heart pounding, expecting someone to shout and ask what she was doing. She strained to hold her head high and back straight as she walked upstream until she rounded a bend and stepped out of sight. Then she let her shoulders slump and her back hunch as if her torso nursed a wound. She wrapped her arms around her waist, stumbling through the water as she picked up her pace.

Eventually they would follow, so she needed to move fast. As the voices faded behind her, blending into the burble of the water, she breathed in as deep as her tight chest allowed, relishing the small taste of freedom. The dark shadows and lush leaves around her were more comforting than smothering, but she was grateful for the water. She’d never find her way back without it.

If she was able to come back.

Eventually the stream met up with a larger river, and the sound of rushing water beckoned her. This time she stayed on the mossy bank, wary of what creatures might rest in the deeper waters. A soft chirp broke through the constant splashing. She strained her ears for a few moments before the noise came again. It trilled like a bird, but the notes were too perfect and the sound too human. The third call gained a response—deeper, fuller, like a delayed harmony. Were those the sounds of the sprites?

The calls came closer, one on top of the other, forming a song with the percussive rush of water as its rhythmic chorale. Despite her exhaustion, the music drew her in until the water crescendoed to a thunderous roar and the river made one last bend to reveal a massive lake and waterfall feeding into it. The pool at the base of the waterfall churned hard and fast, its power frighteningly mesmerizing, while the water lapping at her feet seemed remarkably still in comparison.

She scanned the water and its edge, noting a small winding trail leading straight up the side of a cliff that had to be nearly two hundred feet high. Her heart sank at its steep and treacherous angle. This was where the sprites had to be. The melodious calls increased in volume as if confirming her suspicion.

She’d come far enough.

She pulled out the knife, testing its weight as if it could tell her how to proceed. If she cut her palm, she could try to resist the blood magic. She could bleed out just enough before wrapping the wound. If that didn’t work, at least she wouldn’t be around to hurt the others.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she used the knife to slice her skin along one of the many scars left by Arvid and Vera.

The knife fell from her grasp, blood dripping down after it. A sense of relief spread from her arm, through her torso, then out to her other appendages. The heady sensation left her light and airy until the feeling grew even stronger.

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