A cool breeze swirls through the space, and I shiver. Igaa’s voice speaks to my mind again.—You cannot force it,she says.—Have you no training?
“No,” I say. “None.” I glance back. “The only time it’s ever worked on other people was when I was afraid.”
“Close your eyes,” she says. “Think of those moments. Allow the magic to respond.”
I obey, feeling a bit foolish— and a bit afraid, considering I’m not sure I should trust Nakiis. But I think of Nora bleeding in the underbrush of the forest, choking on her own blood. Dying.
My chest clenches. The memory is too hard. I don’t want to think about that. The sparks and stars that usually signal magic in my blood are nowhere to be found. I shift my hand, desperate, and the scraver jerks away, making a sharp sound of pain.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “It’s not working.”
“Good,” he hisses.
But it’s not good. I can see why Igaa is so worried.
“It worked when you savedme,” Alek says from behind me, and I realize he’s come closer. “Why?”
It’s a probing question, and I don’t really want to answer it.
Because the truth is that I’d begun to care for him. I’d begun tofallfor him.
But maybe thinking of that moment loosens whatever blocked my magic, because the sparks and stars flicker in my veins. As I watch, some of the infection melts away.
Under my hand, the scraver lets out a breath. Some of the tension eases out of his muscles.
“Yes,” Igaa breathes from behind me. “You’ve found your magic.”
The wound itself doesn’t fully heal, but when the pus and swelling are out of the way, I can see that the puncture is half- closed— and it’ll likely heal altogether now that itcan. I shift my hand to the next injury.
I wait for Alek to make another dig, or to possibly probe for an answer to his question, which I’ve left unanswered. But he says nothing, so I glance back over my shoulder. He’s standing in the shadows, his arms still folded. His eyes are locked on what I’m doing, and it’s clear that the tension hasn’t lefthisframe.
I’m so unsettled by everything between us, especially since I don’t know if he’s an adversary or an ally. Sometimes I think he’s determined to be both.
“Scared?” I say.
A muscle twitches in his jaw, and his gaze darkens. He probablyisscared.
But then I consider what he saidearlier, when Nakiis was flexing those clawed fingers in the dirt.
If you hurt her, scraver, I’ll rip you apart in a way that can’t be healed.
It’s vicious and terrible and so very Alek. He’s terrified of magic. He’s terrified of these creatures.
But he still came with me. He’s standing there ready to fight for me.
And I don’t know what to do with any of it.
So I turn my gaze back to my task and let my magic do the work.
Once I’ve healed as much as I can, Nakiis is asleep— or possibly unconscious. Every muscle is slack, his wings a bit splayed in the shadows. When I express concern, Igaa says, “He has been suffering for weeks. He is exhausted.”
I wipe my hands on my trousers, looking past her for Alek, but I realize he’s no longer in the narrow cave.
“I sent your companion to fetch water from the creek,” Igaa says. “He did not go far.”
“I’m surprised he came,” I admit. I’m also surprised he willingly accepted a task, but I don’t say that.
“Did he truly try to kill Tycho?” she says.
