Page 28 of The Crown of Moonlight
I nod, my stomach churning.“I need to move most of our stock away from the keep, which means I’ll be gone late into the night.But how can I leave if there’s a chance the Butcher himself is coming?”
“Your instinct to save what you can is right.Whoever comes will leave hunger behind.They’ll steal your horses for Vheara’s army, kill the sheep and cattle, and foul the fields to keep them from being planted.And if you’re worried about leaving me here with a little fever, don’t be.”
His eyes glow even brighter, the honey colour picking up more brown and amber from the deeper layers.There’s such pain and defeat in him as he tries to push himself out of bed that I feel an answering echo in my chest.
Both of my grandmothers were healers, but only one had the gift of laying hands.She always said none of the Cailleach’s magic could be taught—that magic is less a skill than a pact between the land, the Great Mother, and the one who receives it.It’s a willingness to take on suffering that another cannot bear.
I’m not sure where the Cailleach’s magic ends and Siorai power begins.Now that I’ve felt the power flow through the Veilstones, I suspect my trick with the sword is a combination of the two.
The power in the earth feels different.But in this moment, it feels as if my grandmother is here beside me, whispering in my ear.
Try now.
I cup Chyr’s face in my hands.His breath hitches, and he shudders, but he doesn’t pull away.
Our breaths mingle, and for a moment of insanity, I wonder what his lips would feel like against my own.Drawing a deep breath, I push the thought aside.
I know how it feels to pull magic from the earth and push it back out into my dagger, shaping it into what I need.Sending calming energy out is similar.
Closing my eyes, I reach deep through timber and stone to search out the power that coils amid the thawing soil.The earth is ancient and waiting—eager.Barbed tendrils of magic rise to meet me, uncurling to fill the hollow spaces inside my body with sharp thorns of power.I use my own magic to shape it, but this isn’t a dagger in my hands, waiting to grow.It’s Chyr’s living flesh, and I need to pull the fever out instead of pushing and building.
Hesitant, I sift through what I sense in Chyr: the heat of his fever, the angry wound that wracks his body, the blood that moves slowly beneath his skin, carrying magic that lights up like sparks as my own brushes against it.There’s a deeper pool of magic that waits like a reservoir within him.I could take it if I wanted—I know that instinctively, just as I know that would be wrong on every level.
But there’s something else inside Chyr.Something dark and poisonous that rejects my magic and clings to Chyr’s flesh, starving it of blood and life.
That darkness makes my magic angry, and everything in me strains against it, wanting to escape.The pounding of my heart grows too loud.My control shatters, and all the power that I had sent into Chyr snaps back, pulling Chyr’s fever with it.Pain hits me like shards of glass raking against my skin.
Heat throbs in my palms and spreads from my hands to my arms, shoulders, and chest.It burns until I can’t breathe, until my lungs are drawing in fire instead of air.
“Flora!”Chyr yells.
I open my eyes and find him staring at me in shock and fear.
Dazed, weak, I wrench my hands away and give myself a mental shake.Chyr’s skin feels cooler, but my whole body aches, and my limbs drag as though they’re made of stone.
“What in the Pit was that?”Chyr rasps, throat bobbing as he swallows.“Didn’t you hear me calling?I couldn’t pull your hands away.I’m weak, but not that weak—it was as though they’d fused into my flesh.”
I try to focus.Rab presses against me, his body trembling.He whines softly, and I pat his head.
“Flora,” Chyr says.“Look at me.”
I drag my eyes back to his.“How do you feel now?”
“Better,” he says.“But also terrified for you.Whatever that power was, it was dangerous.I’ve never seen magic make smoke rise from someone’s skin.”
He looks as though I’ve scared him.
Him.He’s the Ever.AndI’mthe thing he fears.
“I need to leave,” I say, and my voice is hoarse.
“Don’t run.Don’t ever run.Talk to me.”Chyr tries to grasp my hand, but I pull away.
“Catriona will check on you while I’m gone,” I say, “and I’ll come back as soon as I can.Stay in the disguise.We don’t know when the soldiers may come.”
He calls after me, but I don’t stop.
I stumble out into the corridor.My hands still ache, and my body is strung so taut it feels as though it could shatter at the slightest tap.The corridor is silent, dust motes dancing like threads of magic in the air.I stop and lean against the wall, gulping breaths to calm myself.
