Page 19 of Thorn Season
Then Goren jerked to a stop. Another stride—and he pitched away again, as if an invisible wall stood before him.
My eyes widened, searching what seemed like empty space. The Wielder must have erected his specter in front of Goren, obstructing his path. But unlike with my own specter, I found no ripple-shimmer to betray its position. I didn’t know how far this Wielder could stretch his power, or how he chose to mold it. It could be anywhere at any time—harmless under the Wielder’s instruction, but so was a fist before it swung. And, invisible to all but its own Wielder, a swing from a specter was one that nobody would see coming.
I hadn’t realized until now how unnerving that could be. How dangerous.
Goren rolled his neck. “We don’t know how she got out.”
“Apparently, our lovely friend can pick locks,” the Wielder answered smoothly.
Goren shot me a glare. I fumbled another step, wincing as I hit the Wielder’s armor.
The Wielder sighed, his chest grazing my back. “I’ll handle this, Goren.”
“She’s seen your face.”
My breath caught. I wasn’t supposed to escape that cell—to know my kidnappers’ faces. Now I was a liability.
“Yes, I noticed.” The Wielder shifted behind me. “An unfortunate complication.”
My muscles tightened to run, but I was caught between the men; moving away from the Wielder would mean moving toward Goren. And I didnotwant to move toward Goren.
“Can you draw, my lady?” the Wielder suddenly asked.
I spun toward him, and he reversed to allow room for my overflowing skirts. He looked a couple of years my senior, and, standing a whole head above me, with a powerful build and a golden, chiseledface, he should have made for an imposing figure. But his champagne eyes were soft and sparkling, his full mouth still curved with that disarming smile.
“Excuse me?” I must have misheard him.
“You’re from Vereen,” he said, “the province of craftspeople. Are you an artist?”
“No.”
“Excellent. So, you’re unlikely to render my face from memory.”
“She’s a noble,” Goren said, with an odd note of significance.
“Well, we can hardly hold that against her.”
“She could—”
“Thank you, Goren.” The Wielder’s expression remained amiable, but his voice deepened with warning. “You may go.”
I angled sideways to glance between them, goose bumps prickling my nape as the tension thickened. Then Goren marched away, head stooped against the low ceiling.
And I knew who was in charge.
I was still exhaling when warm fingers brushed mine.
“Your hand.”
I snapped out of the Wielder’s reach, facing him fully in the same movement.
He paused, then retreated. Offered a gentler smile. “Forgive me. It was bleeding when you arrived.”
The bandage. The salve.
My brows furrowed. “You tended it.”
“I expected you wouldn’t want to bleed all over your dress. And we truly never intended to cause you injury.”
