He tackles me into the dirt with enough force to drive me back a few feet. Rocks and underbrush dig into my neck. I grunt and swear and try to get my hand on a weapon, but he’s quick. Those talons sink right into my forearms, only an instant before his fangs find the space between my throat and my armor. The pain is so quick and sudden that I can’t think of anything else—except for the fact that Iisak once did exactly this to Grey, to prove to him that he could use magic.
Only Grey trulyisa magesmith.
I am not.
I can’t catch my breath. I might be whimpering. I might becrying. I’m straining against him, but my arms are on fire. My throat is on fire. My vision begins to darken.
His teeth let go of my skin, and I realize the last sight before I die is going to be my blood on his jaw.
“It’s in your blood,” he growls at me.
“If I were a magesmith, you’d be dead by now,” I growl back.
His fingers tighten on my arms. I swear I feel his talons touch bone. “Prove it,” he says.
“I can’t—I don’t—” There’s too much pain. I can’tthink. “I don’t have my—”
“Stop talking and use your magic!”
“I don’t have magic!”
He leans down close, until his black eyes fill my vision, and his forehead nearly brushes mine. “If you are unwilling to try,” he says softly, “then you deserve to die.”
I taste blood on my tongue, and it reminds me of the night Alek stabbed me in the side. I think of Jax leaning over me in the flickering shadows of his workshop, his hair unbound and panic in his eyes.
I think of his hands on a bow, the day I taught him to shoot.
What are you afraid of?
I think of my rings, taken. Gone. But I remember the feel of them. I remember reaching for the magic.
Like a pair of boots that don’t fit quite right, I remember saying. Because it’s not my magic. It’s Grey’s. It was in the rings.
It’s in your blood.
Is it? I imagine the rings on my hands, the magic at my fingertips. I try to remember what it felt like. Where it came from.
But my thoughts begin to drift and loosen, and I realize I’ve lost a lot of blood. Something soft brushes against my cheek, then my jaw, and then my hair. A warm burst of air fills my ear, and then a low nicker.
Mercy.
And then, I feel a spark. A tug. The tiniest flare of magic in my veins.
And then another. Andanother. The magic, slow at first, causing more pain as it tries to find the injuries. Then stronger, more sure. I can flex my fingers.
A moment later, I can sit up.
I stare down at my forearms. Blood is everywhere, but they’re unmarred. Whole. I slap a hand to my neck and feel no pain.
Silver hell.
Mercy is nosing at me again, her tether broken and dragging in thedirt. I lift a hand to stroke her muzzle, then stare across the fire at Nakiis, who’s keeping his distance again.
“Your horse was very worried,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. I hold up my hand again, as if I have to convince myself that it really happened. “Me too.”
CHAPTER 49
