When we’re back on the cliff, Chors lying unconscious and wet in the grass, she stares at his throat that’s singed black. Steam sizzles out of the charred mess even after being submerged. Her jaw is slack, eyes dim.
“Heal him.”
She looks up at me with lack of comprehension. “I… I have little magic. Shouldn’t you…?”
“For fuck’s sake.”
I grab the back of her head and seal my lips with hers, forcibly breathing in. This is different from sharing magic. My breath is the soul giving power, and I have plenty of air as long as I breathe in. By giving her this, I don’t deprive myself.
Jaga’s soul brims red.
She pushes me away, and I land on my ass, laughing. She’s extraordinary. Why did she keep this a secret—a thing so perfect?
“You’re Weles, the god of healing,” she snaps at me, wiping her lips as if my touch disgusts her.
“I’m tapped out. You heal him.”
Chors moans softly, a frown tightening his forehead. Jaga swears under her breath and takes his face in her palms, closing her green eye to study his wounds. I sit back, wet and uncomfortable, and happier than ever. This is my family, all of us together, and it’s utterly perfect.
We fought together, united against a common enemy. It must mean something—all three of us being on the same side for once.
“I know it hurts,” she murmurs, her obstinate hostility gone. “Let me take out the pain.”
“You don’t have a container,” I point out.
But Jaga has already coaxed the hot, burning coal of Chors’ pain out of his throat. She takes it in her palm with a grimace and flings it right into the sea.
“He can fish it out after I’m done. Or grow a new one. Chors doesn’t lack for pain, does he?”
“He’ll grow a new one,” I confirm when his charred skin bubbles and sheds, Jaga’s magic speeding up the growth of healthy tissue underneath. “I used to take out his pain every new moon until he begged me to stop. He said it was worse to have it back after a period of ease. Let your soul spread out, love. I’ll take a look while you work.”
Her jaw clenches, and I expect her to deny me. But Jaga sighs in frustration and nods sharply, her eyes never leaving my son’s face.
“Fine. Since you saw it anyway. By the way, you lied, you slimy snake. You said you didn’t want to go with us.”
I laugh, leaning back on my hands, my face turned up to the moon. “I believe my exact words were,‘Go. I have things to do.’It was a completely true statement. I deceived you, but I didn’t lie.”
Her lips purse, and I’d like to believe it’s a sign of her fighting a smile.
“You’re a disgrace.”
And yet, her soul comes free of its bounds a moment later. I gasp, taking it in. It’s a shimmery, fiery thing, like rubies and polished copper bathed in fire, like molten metals colored with blood, like wine and poppies. It smells like herbs and storm, and I sit up, tracing the fluttering edges of it with my finger, minding not to touch.
It’s like fabric fluttering in the wind, a divine cloak made of magic, yet it doesn’t obey the movements of air. It undulates and shrinks to Jaga’s private rhythm, something sacred and shamefully intimate.
Chors takes in a rasping breath. His voice is gritty, but at least, he can speak. She healed him.
“It’s bigger.”
I nod, measuring the longest tendrils with my gaze. Jaga is done with her task and watches me, mistrustful and angry like always. I make sure to let my awe show on my face.
“Yes, it grew, but not much. I’ll hazard a guess the biggest moments of growth happen at full magical depletion. The first time in your grave, the second—when you died in Nyja’s arena. Let me give you a breath, love. Just one. We’ll see what happens.”
“Oh, you just love this,” she hisses. “Experimenting on me.”
I look into her face and smile. “You asked for help, and I am the most qualified. But even I haven’t seen anything like this before. Only a very unique set of circumstances could have led to someone unlocking their soul like this. They are heavily guarded.”
“A unique set of circumstances,” she scoffs with a baleful glare. “Meaning you screwing with my life. I’ve had enough.”
