Page 27 of Thorn Season
Garret raised his scarred eyebrow. “Satisfied?”
“Not nearly,” said Keil.
My temper spiked. While they were out-posturing each other, Father awaited my return.
“This is ridiculous.” I bunched my skirts and marched forward, shoes sinking into the grass.
I made it five feet before rebounding off Keil’s specter.
The sensation was so shocking—sending tingles across my skin—that I almost didn’t notice Osana and Dashiel shooting ahead of me. They skimmed around Garret, opened the wagon, and climbed inside. Dust swirled out in a flash of lantern light before the doors slammed shut.
My specter pulsated near the surface as Keil slunk beside me, his hood rippling in the breeze. He’d claimed the Capewells had stolen something from him; judging by the wagon size, it had to be some kind of weapon.
I couldn’t imagine the depth of Father’s terror tonight—and all for aweapon?
I went to bite out the accusation when I noticed that Keil’s eyes had gone distant on the wagon. His fists contracted; his shoulders rolled. Was he... nervous?
Slowly, with my unbandaged hand, I reached in front of me. Keil and I jolted at the same time—him, at my unexpected touch. And me, as I met with his specter.
Having encountered various Wielders in Bormia, Tari once told me that specters weren’t equal in strength. Some were as thin as organza—a film of power, comparable to a weak muscle. Others rippled with force, far mightier than any corporeal limb. My initial contact with Keil’s specter had stunned me out of proper awareness. But now, I knew undoubtedly that his specter belonged in the latter category.
I could feel his energy within its contours, pulsing with a wild heartbeat, humming with inhuman strength. I drove forward cautiously, testing the resistance—the tensed spectral muscle barring my way.
Its rhythm flickered. Hesitated. Then I gasped softly as the power reshaped, molding like clay around my fingers.
Keil was reducing its solidity to allow me access.
He must have been watching me now—confused, curious—because the thrum of his specter slowed, the ripples lapping against me with a searching intent.
Being more accustomed to Wielding slim, sinuous tendrils thatflowed unnoticed through the world, I rarely stretched my power this way. It was magnificent...beautiful.
My own specter strained, aching to break the surface.
The wagon door thwacked open, and my head snapped up. Keil’s specter began peeling away.
No. I automatically grasped, clenching for a final touch. At my reaction, Keil paused. His specter enveloped my hand again, thin and uncertain, then pulsed gently against my fingers before threading past them in silent farewell.
I touched empty air and lingered, hollowed by a deep sadness.
Then the moment returned to me, as cold as the nipping wind.
Garret was looking grimly toward the vacant space I’d been exploring. But beside him, Dashiel was emerging from the wagon alone, moving stiffly as he closed the doors.
Something was wrong.
“He’s short,” Dashiel said, unleashing the wagon from Garret’s horse. “By many.”
I recognized Garret’s too-fast blink, that slight straining of his neck. He was suddenly unnerved.
“Where are the rest, Capewell?” Keil demanded.
“I emptied the hold, as you asked.” Garret’s voice remained deceivingly calm. “We don’t tend to...storeour acquisitions. You were lucky we kept these for so long.”
Dashiel stiffened further.“Lucky?”
I frowned toward the wagon doors—toward that hazy strip of light pouring from between them. How manysomethingshad the Capewells stolen, exactly?
“He’s lying,” Goren snapped from behind.
