Page 20 of A Court of Truth and Thorns
Raza crosses her arms. Her question hangs in the air like a lit fuse.
The memory of Trace’s calloused hands cupping my face in the darkness echoes through my heart. Our foreheads touching, our energy merging into a whole greater than either of us alone. Then another memory. One outside a cave in the darkness of night, when I asked Trace to stay with me. And he did.
For the first time since hearing Raza’s accusations, something inside my chest stirs, tentatively wondering if the princess might be right. That Trace did choose me.
Trace’s gaze darts to the floor. Then to his sister. “Second,” he says in a cold, powerful voice, “I am back because I cannot permit the woman you’ve become to sit on my people’s throne.”
Reality’s chill percolates through me. Trace—Rune—is the crown prince of Everett. Of course his kingdom’s welfare, not some girl, guides his hand. And certainly not a girl who masquerades as a boy and conjures darkness. He told us all as much around the campfire, said outright that the man who entered Everett would not be the Trace we thought we knew. I raise my chin, force a smile, nod along.
General Hewe pinches the bridge of his nose. “My tent, if you please, Your Highness. Both of you. All bloodythreeof you.”
“My cousin—” Wil starts to say, but Hewe is already a step ahead, nodding to Copa to open my manacles. The relief I should feel when the metal falls away never comes. “It’s all right now,” Wil says softly, offering me his hand. “They can’t hurt you anymore.”
Apparently, I’m not the only one good at deceiving myself.
“Follow me, please,” Copa instructs, leading me backthrough the camp to a large tent where Calvin, Luca, and Alexa are waiting.
The old me, the Kali who left Lord Gapral’s estate, would be counting soldiers and steps as we walked, but I can barely keep the ground from swaying beneath my feet. What does it mean that I’m a mage? Might it be a temporary condition? No, of course not. Even I know that much about magic.
Copa clears his throat and I realize I’ve not been listening. “I said that, for the safety of both you and the Everett soldiers, you may not wander the camp without a male escort. The same is true for the other females in your party.”
“I don’t believe Jasmine will be doing much wandering just now,” I say dryly.
Copa nods politely and leaves.
Inside the tent I find a table with a pitcher of drinking water, a platter of dry bread and cheese, five chairs, and a set of pallets with woolen blankets. Taking one of the chairs, I recount what happened to the others, but I can only barely pay attention to their discussion. Luca is speculating whether Trace always planned to reveal himself or made a decision at the spur of the moment, while Calvin wonders whether Bahir might have suspected the full extent of my powers. And I count the seconds until I can be out of this place and as far away from Raza as my feet will take me. When Wil and Trace finally return to the tent, my palms are sweaty with anticipation.
“Well?” I ask, rising to my feet. “Do you know where King Owain is? When are we leaving?”
“We aren’t,” Trace says flatly. “A message has been sent to the king, and we are waiting for a reply before we may leave the camp. A soldier will be posted outside the tent to ensure that no one harasses you while you are here. Raza included. The men may walk around camp so long as you do not handleweapons or approach any locations where weapons might be stored.”
My eyes shift to a sword strapped to Trace’s waist. Apparently, the disarming didn’t apply to him. In fact, with his widespread shoulders and clean shirt, he seems to have already changed from the man I saw not two hours ago. More regal, with wisps of power flowing off him, making him equally more aloof and attractive. Tantalizing. My heart stutters.
“Are we prisoners?” I ask, my chest tightening when Trace’s full attention finally turns to me. “Because staying in a place with guards and no weapons feels a great deal like prison.”
Wil takes a chair beside me, his face low. “We are guests,” he says bitterly, making the word sound like an insult.
“You are not just guests,” Trace says. “There is also the matter of who—or what—Kalianna has turned out to be. We’d thought Bahir was the only mage on the continent, but seeing what Kalianna did with that stim crystal, we were clearly mistaken.”
“Can we talk?” I say, crossing my arms. “Alone.”
For a heartbeat, I’m certain that Trace will say no, but he nods his head to the exit and walks me several paces from the tent, acknowledging the saluting Everett guard with a dismissive nod. His sharp, intelligent eyes survey the camp even as I open my mouth to speak. As if he is doing many things at once and this conversation with me is just a small branch of his responsibilities. A delicate, sinister pain creeps through me at the realization thatthat—my demotion from relevance—is very likely exactly what’s happening.
I swallow. “Trace.”
“Rune,” he says softly, his face a mask of resolve mixed with a hint of apology. “Or Your Highness.”
I take a step back.
Trace—Rune—no,His Highness—follows. “All choices have costs, Kalianna. I did not ask to come to Everett, but I am here now. And it is how it has to be.”
My hands are cold as I bow my head and shoulders crisply. I willnotlet him see the slap his words delivered. “You’ve called me a mage several times now, Your Highness. I’d like to know what the bloody hells that is, exactly. What it means. How I control it. If it’s Your Highness’s damn pleasure that I don’t cause some catastrophe by accident, Your Highness might be required to condescend to speak with me.”
A sigh. As if he isn’t the one driving this dance. “Given that you’ve been a mage all your life and have never caused a catastrophe before, I believe the camp is safe enough,” Trace—Rune—says dryly. “Having studied Bahir, I can tell you that mages don’t generate magic themselves, but rather draw it from a source. I did not realize your nature when I healed you because the reaction was small and reflexive. In the incident earlier today, however, you clearly manipulated the magic your body ingested. You made the magic your own. Used it. Speaking of which, I meant to inquire as to whether any of the magic you absorbed in the prisoner’s tent is still contained inside you.”
Incident. Is that what we are calling Raza’s torture now? I school my face. “It is.” A cocooned beehive buzzing in a space it found for itself. Somehow living both in and outside of my body at the same time. I’ve tried to avoid thinking about it. Childish, perhaps, but too much is happening already without reliving nightmares. “I feel like a human living crystal now.” I’m uncertain why I bother adding the latter.
Rune nods, unsurprised. “I imagined the same analogy. Though a crystal’s nature stays constant, whereas you were able to use the unrefined magic of a healing crystal to manipulate light.” Clearly, Rune has given this more thoughtthan I have. “Perhaps your eventual spectrum will come from the combination of the type of magic you absorb and the manner in which you are able to channel those magical reserves.”
