Page 127 of Thorn Season
Their weapons scraped back into their sheaths, but they didn’tquite relax. Dashiel was watching me in awe; Osana, in something closer to discomfort, her hands twitching at her sides. Lye was the only one grinning—I could tell from the deep creases around his eyes. And as Goren labored to his feet, he looked me over with wariness and slight alarm. I imagined it was the same look others gavehimwhen they crossed him in the street.
Satisfaction flared through me. If I were more like Carmen, I might have blown him a kiss.
“When you’re ready, then,” said Dashiel, still dazed. He gave me a last broad glance, then shook his head as if to clear it. I almost rolled my eyes. I wasn’t the first Wielder they’d ever met.
But as they shuffled toward the trees, Lye leaned close to Dashiel and asked, “Did she just—?”
“Yes.”
“And how many people can—?”
“Not many.”
Lye whistled. “Well done, lockpicker.”
“She can’t really pick locks,” Osana muttered.
Then they disappeared into the foliage, out of earshot. Before I could wonder what Lye had meant, Keil turned to me. That same strange awe glazed his face.
“Don’t tell me,” I said dryly. “Goren has a fancy title too, and now there’s a price on my head.”
Amusement cracked his odd expression, then his wicked grin stretched wide. “You’d look ravishing on a wanted poster.”
“I bet you say that to all the Wielder girls.”
He brought his hand to my face again, grazing the dimple that must have creased at my smile. “No,” he murmured. “Only you.”
The words twisted inside me, and my smile faded.
Keil’s gaze became mournful. “I really can’t steal you away?”
I wavered—because Keil was offering everything I’d always wanted. A chance to Wield uninhibited... a chance to be free.
But within my mind wriggled the image of those prison tunnels. Of Marge’s tooth, and my attacker’s swinging fist. Of all the Wielders who would buckle under similar blows.
And of the last clothes my father had ever worn, dyed with his own blood.
Father would’ve begged me to leave his death—alltheir deaths—unavenged. To leave this kingdom forever. The person I’d been one month ago might have begged, too.
Yet where my power would have once reared up at the idea of true safety... it now remained curled inside me. Hardened by my determination.
“Not this time,” I replied sadly.
Keil nodded, throat bobbing. He went to pull back.
But before I could contain it, my specter reached out, lacing between his fingers. He stilled; his breath caught.
And slowly, Keil’s specter poured against mine.
The sensation hummed over me, somehow more vibrant than skin on skin. We were hesitant at first, twining nervously like hands in their first clasp. But soon the tendrils were braiding together, thrumming at the contact, spilling warm and fast into the cool night air.
Then I was laughing, half crying, as my specter ran frantic—fluttering in the blaze of my joy. In its shimmering waves, I could see the indents where Keil’s specter pressed close, and I wondered how the sight appeared to him—if, like me, he could see the shape I’d made against his power.
I tipped my face toward him and smiled wider at his expression: soft and joyful and amazed, all at once. He touched his forehead tomine, and I took a deep inhale. My sigh gusted across his lips. This was everything I’d always wanted.
And it was happening with Keil.
“I’m glad,” I whispered, “that it was you.” I meant it in every sense.
