Page 66 of A Sword of Ice
32
A Claiming
They landed against the deck of the boat with a thud. The impact jarred Iona’s knees, leaving her whole head spinning. It wasn’t that making her dizzy, she realized a moment later. It wasn’t the force of her fall, but the whole island, shaking, splintering. The waters rippled as Iona and Shula’s combined magic exploded above the cliffs.
Rocks broke off and fell towards them, and for a moment panic set in, and Iona was reminded of the catapults heading for the boat full of Fae. Of the storm that followed. Of the feeling of death.
She wasn’t sure if she screamed, but her nails grasped against the deck, clawing as if she could somehow get away from both her memories and the fear of the rocks falling towards her. Memories of the past collided with the present, a force so powerful, she couldn’t pick anything apart in the chaos of her own mind.
Her throat constricted, and she couldn’t breathe. Like she was being dragged under unforgiving depths to her death. How her last thoughts in that moment had been of her sweet sister.
Only this time, her thoughts strayed to others. To Julius. To her familiar. To Shula. Her friends.
Then a moment later she was hauled up in strong arms, a hand pressing into her abdomen, another closing over her fingers. They gripped, controlling her like an extension of herself, tapping a familiar figure against her thighs.
“Feel the pattern,” a gruff voice whispered in her ear. It took her only a moment to refocus her mind, to realize that the one holding her, pressing her back to his chest, was Julius. She could make out the angry flare of his nostrils blowing hot breath against her hair, of the rapid thumping of his heart. More than that, she could make out the gentle yet firm press of his fingers against hers as he forced her to trace that comforting design against her own body.
How do you know?
The question was heavy on her tongue. She tried to breathe, focusing on the web he was helping her trace. Like he’d watched her do it often enough now to know what it meant. That it brought her comfort, it eased the ache in her mind.
When her breathing finally steadied, he closed his hand around her fingers, pushing them into a fist.
“You’re okay,” he assured, his voice low. It took another moment to realize the boat was already moving and they were leaving the West Isles behind them. “We’re safe. You’re safe.”
His words slowly pulled her back to reality. She took a deep inhale and turned her head, looking at the islands they were leaving behind. From where she stood, she could make out the smoke and still scent the rawness of magic, pluming towards the sky like a promise. Of destruction. Of retribution.
She loathed to pull away from Julius when his masculine scent of leather and woods seemed to ground her, but she extricated her body from his, slowly turning, keeping a grip on his wrists, his hands, just to keep them tethered a little bit longer.
His eyes were bright as he looked down at her, silently asking if she was alright.
“I’m fine.” Her voice was a mere croak, and the words ached in her throat. She cleared it and looked around, suddenly embarrassed that everyone else had witnessed that.
But no one seemed to be paying attention. They’d all found something to keep themselves busy, tossing over broken bits of cliff that had fallen on the deck, tying the sails, steering the boat. Though she didn’t doubt they’d heard her, she was just glad they weren’t openly staring.
She didn’t like showing that weakness to anyone. Not even those who were her friends.
She leveled her breaths and forced herself to smile. “We destroyed the island.”
“Half of it.” Julius’ mouth twisted into a smirk.
“Good. That place was deplorable.” There was still an ache in her chest, though, tightening it in sharp bursts.
She pulled away from Julius, moving with purpose and determination to distract herself. She found her familiar sitting against the deck, staring at her with his one good eye worriedly. Ryker was next to him, his thick brows pulled tightly over his bicolored eyes. His hands slid across her familiar’s body. The black cat was at his feet, weaving between his spread legs and purring.
Iona approached and Ryker turned. He seemed angry, frustrated. “I cannot heal him,” he growled. “I’m trying but my magic does not seem to extend to animals.”
Magic always had limits. Iron, ashwood, the price to pay, who it worked on. It didn’t surprise Iona that his magic didn’t work on her familiar. He already bore the terrible scars of others, there was no need to give him more pain.
“I’ll heal him.”
“I can—”
“It’s fine,” she interrupted. She was familiar with his kind. The kind of person who wanted to save everyone; they were martyrs. Her sister was the same way.
She tried not to think about that as she smoothed her hands down her familiar’s body. He winced and she murmured her apology.
“Come on,” she urged. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
