I placed my trembling, bloody finger on the bent curve of the wing, flinching when the bird squawked at my touch. I could feel the unnatural angle of its matted feathers, the fragmented bone beneath soft plumes.
I took a deep breath.
“Revie scurae.”
The healing spell flowed out of me like a shadow, into the trickle of blood, and over the little creature. I did what Theodore commanded; I envisioned the bone snapping back into place, pictured its wing restored and strengthened with my magic pulsing through it. As the tip of my finger throbbed with heat, I felt that same addictive, tantalizing sensation of every pore, every vein, every cell flooding with power, like a window being thrown open to let in the sun.
There was a small crack.
The bird flexed its wings and let out a caw as its feathers ruffled. It pushed out of Theodore’s hands and took flight, soaring around the room.
I tracked its movements with my mouth hanging open. It was perfectly healthy, as if nothing had even happened. In a heartbeat, in a single breath, I had taken away its pain. I had healed it completely.
“Impossible,” I whispered. Whatelsecould I do? What else could this amazing magic I’d once thought of as forbidden accomplish?
Theodore shook his head. “Nothing is impossible, Rose. Not anymore.”
51
Leo
“You havegotto be kidding me. You expect me to wear this?”
Rose laughed next to me on the settee. “It’s amasquerade, Lark. What did you think you were going to wear?”
“I look ridiculous.”
“Rose is right—you have to wear the mask. And you look amazing,” Rissa said, standing next to Lark and the full length mirror. Snapping at Horace, Chaz, and me with her fingers, my twin said, “Doesn’t she look amazing, boys?”
I eyed Lark in her pale pink gown and silver mask with light blue stones framing the eyes, a matching pink feather extending from the left side. To be quite honest, I didn’t care what any of them wore to the Decemvirate ball in a week and a half. The whole thing felt ridiculous, another way to turn the tournament into a pageant. But my sister thought we could all use a reprieve from the intensity of the past weeks, so here we were. Picking out ball gowns and masks for an evening only three of us would be able to attend.
Perhaps she was right, though. This afternoon was one of the first ones in recent memory where we were all together with nomission or emergency to discuss. I’d almost forgotten what it was like.
Chaz, who was slumped in the velvet chair opposite me, cleared his throat. “You look?—”
“Like a flamingo,” Lark finished. “I look like abird.”
Rissa pinched her lips together to keep from giggling. “But a veryprettybird.” At the glare Lark shot her, my sister lifted her hands in the air. “Alright, fine. Let’s try the next one.”
The two of them shuffled off into the back of the shop. Horace and Chaz struck up a conversation, and I looked over at Rose, who was smiling softly into her glass of sparkling wine.
“What’s that look for?” I murmured.
Trailing a finger along the rim of the glass, she shrugged and said, “This is…nice. Being with you all.” She met my eyes and smiled. “Being with friends.”
I would give the world for that smile. It got a little brighter, a little more genuine, with every night we spent together.
A small crease appeared on her brow. “Are you sure it’s safe for us to be here? Don’t you and Rissa try to stay out of public as much as possible?”
“In most areas of the capital, yes. But here in the south sector, we can roam a bit more freely.” I motioned to the front of the dress salon, where the owner moved about organizing her displays. “Mali is a close friend. We trust her. She’s a Sentinel, as are many of the shopkeepers and merchants around here. They’ve all been victims at some point or another and want to see change. Almost anyone who may walk through that door is someone who knows us and wouldn’t dare report us. And if we get worried, that’s what Horace is for.”
“Why, because he’s a member of the Guard?” Rose asked.
“That, and he’s an Illusionist. He’s used to disguising our appearances if we get in a tight spot.”
The color drained from Rose’s face. Her lips parted and she clenched the stem of her flute. “He’s awhat?”
Sensing a shift in the mood, Horace and Chaz pausedtheir conversation and glanced back at the two of us. Fixing Horace with an expectant stare, Rose asked, “Why didn’t I know you’re an Illusionist?”
