“Based on my experience with you, the absence of your magic removes the impressions you form as well. That means anyone who knows you only by their reflected perception won’t recognize your true face. Keeping your magic at bay is the only way the Hardings won’t see you as their version of Astrid Snow and spread word that the lost princess paid them a visit. But if you come with me, I can’t go as the Huntsman. It will be too suspicious if I’m rumored to have been investigating with a female companion. If we go together, we’ll need a ruse, and you’ll need to do the lying for both of us.”
I bite my lip, torn between my need to do whatever it takes to go with him and my stubborn desire to keep from admitting he’s right about my magic. While I’ve come to accept the dangers of Crimson Malus and the fact that I can’t rely on it to influence my mood, it still makes me sick to consider I have any sort of control over my magic. That I’ve had it all along. If I accept as much, then I accept responsibility for what Danielle did to me. For Lady Christine turning her back on me. For how Queen Tris has treated me.
And—ultimately—for my father’s death.
My heart plummets, sending a wave of grief crashing through me. It threatens to pull me down, to send me right back to the foyer floor like it did just days ago. My fingers flinch toward my skirt pocket, but I already know my tincture isn’t there. That relief is nowhere to be found. All I can do is feel it. Feel everything.
I close my eyes and take a trembling breath. Sorrow continues to writhe through me, digging its claws into my heart, clenching my lungs. I can’t stop fidgeting, can’t stop wishing I had my tincture. Even so, I remind myself I don’t need it.
I don’t.
I’ve felt this grief and survived. I’ll survive again.
Strong hands frame my shoulders. My muscles uncoil at the feel of Torben’s touch. At the earthy, woodsy scent of him. At his solid nearness. “Astrid,” he says my name like a caress.
I open my eyes to find him watching me with concern. Holding his gaze, I breathe deeply, slowly. Until little by little, my sorrow drains from my heart, my lungs, my soul. I still feel it lingering at the edges of my awareness, but it’s something that’s always there. Something that might never leave. It’s where my father’s memory resides. But I feel stronger in its wake. Or perhaps it’s Torben’s touch that’s making me feel that way.
Whatever the case, I grab hold of my strength and lift my chin with defiance. “I’ll control it then.”
He blinks a few times before his brows knit together. “What are you—”
“You said I could go with you if I control my magic. I’ll do it.”
Gently, he releases my shoulders and takes a step back, his expression turning steely. “Prove it.”
Indignation bristles through me. “You’re the one who thinks I can do it. You’re the one who’s seen my true face and insisted I have the ability to control my magic.”
“And yet, you’ve been using said magic nearly the entire morning.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he’s right. I hadn’t been aware of it until now, but I feel the hum of my magic dancing through my body, over my skin. It must have ignited without me realizing it. Probably during the conversation regarding our…relationship.
I clench my jaw, hating how powerless I feel with my magic. But if I want to convince Torben to let me come speak with the Hardings, I need to show him I’m the opposite of powerless.
I’ve done it before, I remind myself. I may not have been aware, but I have kept my magic at bay.
With a deep breath, I try to recall any instances where I didn’t feel my powers humming around me. I certainly didn’t last night when I was distracted by my own arousal. And I suppose I don’t feel it when I’m alone. Or when I’m with the kittens. What is it about those moments that diminishes my ever-present magic?
I feel safe, I suppose.
Keeping that feeling in mind, I try to shove my magic away. But it seems the more I shove, the stronger the hum grows. I bite back a frustrated groan and try again. This time I don’t pay attention to my magic at all. Instead, I turn myself over to safety and comfort. Torben’s strong touch comes to mind, so I bring myself back to a few moments ago when his hands were on my shoulders.
Somehow, he’s seen my true face more than anyone. Aside from Father, of course. With Torben, it’s been natural. Accidental, perhaps. I’ve shown him the real me with no conscious effort on my part.
Like when he kissed me last night. When he held me in his arms.
The memories are like a soothing balm that make me feel as if I’m truly living them all over again. I feel the hum of my magic begin to quiet, shrink, so I lean into those memories more. The reminder of this morning’s rejection threatens to shake my attention, but I refuse to dwell on it. Refuse to focus on anything but peace. Safety. Comfort. Pleasure.
I don’t know how long I stand there, whether it’s seconds, minutes, or hours, but soon I feel the hum of my magic dissipate.
Once I know it’s fully gone, I open my eyes and meet Torben’s gaze. A thrill runs through me as I find his eyes on my lips. I slowly tilt my head and don a careful smile, each move incremental as if the wrong breath could send my magic surging back. “See? I did it.”
He studies my face, expression suddenly soft. “This will be dangerous,” he says, voice strained. “Just because you’ve managed to control it now doesn’t mean you won’t slip up around the Hardings. You must understand the repercussions that could have.”
My pulse quickens, partly because I know he’s right, but also because he sounds like he’s truly considering allowing me to come. I keep my breathing slow and steady, focusing on the absence of my magic. “I know it will be dangerous, but I need to do this. Please, Torben. Let me try.”
He runs a hand over his beard, expression turning to steel, and releases a heavy sigh. “Fine. Don’t make me regret bringing you.”
31
