“See how the ground all around here is still bare? No weeds, nothing, even though there’s all that open space,” Lowe said as he picked through the remains of a medical kit.
“Enchantments still in the ground?”
“Maybe. For the size of this place, there must’ve been more equipment. People. They saved most of it instead of abandoning it like this thing.” He nodded at the shack.
Finding an old roll of bandages and cleaning lint, Lowe came back to where Calya rested. There was nothing but the water in the skin he carried for cleaning her wounds, but only the one on her side was somewhat deep. Nothing a mender back in town couldn’t right… once Calya managed to hobble back.
She didn’t fuss as he tended to her, quietly grateful to just sit and try not to flinch as he worked on her side.
“Thank you,” she said softly, looking down rather than meeting his eyes. “I’m not sure I’d have known how best to do this myself.”
“Always,” he murmured. “You never have to ask.”
There was a sincerity in his voice, in the way he spoke, that evoked a sense of yearning in her. It made her want to fall into him and the inherent promise in those words with a reckless abandon that should’ve unnerved her. They were feelings too much like sentiment, yet the part of her that was usually repelled by such things stayed quiet.
Lowe mashed a few herbs he’d taken from a pocket on his shoulder harness with some of the water, the pommel of his knife serving as a crude pestle. “Tell me something about yourself.”
Calya shook her head, chasing away the inexplicable feelings that had jumped on her moment of weakness. She raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not a child. I don’t need to be distracted from the pain.”
“Humor me,” he said. “A piece of Calya Helm beyond the thorns.”
“Ah, a secret, then. One of my little-known facts.” She leaned toward him. “I admit, I’m not exactly what you would call outdoorsy.”
Lowe snorted. “I’d’ve never guessed.”
“Tell me something of you, then,” she said. “Your origins. You’re Valley-born?”
He shook his head. “The Fahr Squall, a long time ago. My family managed the pollination of particular stands of trees in the taiga for generations.”
“You have family in the Valley?”
Another shake of his head. “The Eyllic Empire would’ve taken a tacit interest in us, since the Emperor tracks all mages as potential threats. But a diviner? Remaining in the Fahr Squall all but guarantees conscription. I’ve been in the Valley over twenty years. My family were living in the mountains near the border with Rhell, last I heard.”
He spoke of the separation easily enough, as if it didn’t bother him. As if the Eyllic emperor’s obsession with others’ magic hadn’t forever altered the course of Lowe’s life.
Freedom or servitude—hardly a choice at all. A cruel twist for one whose gift was reading possibilities.
“Do you miss them?” she asked.
His hands stilled, and Calya wondered if she’d overstepped. Broken some unspoken rule between them, asking something so personal when she’d hardly given him an equal-value answer. They’d shared in each other’s bodies by mutual, unsentimental accord. But now she asked for a piece of heart, and she found she cared more than she should for his answer.
“It’s easier this way,” he replied after a moment. “Divining… it’s hard enough for me to read the wind. It gives, but not unconditionally. Not without cost. And the more you push about an outcome—you remember how I mentioned bias? You risk not reading the wind anymore but your own head. Your own wants and worries, and that leads you astray. But that’s a… difficult… concept even for a diviner to grasp, much less someone who only wants the benefits. It can be hard to break from the wind, once you’ve had a glimpse of what it can do. It’s hard to be content with only that.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” she said.
He looked at her, and though he didn’t speak, Calya could feel the turmoil stuck behind his clenched teeth. The hesitation struggling against a long-held wariness. Burdens and grief her gruff ranger hid behind an aloof stare.
She said nothing, either. But when she placed her palm against his cheek, he leaned into her touch, eyes closing.
“When we were still young, my little sister asked for my wind. I was in my teens then, and old enough to know better, but she kept nagging me. I was young and stupid. I caved.”
“Was she hurt?”
Lowe shook his head against her palm. “No, it was something good. Helped her win a silly bet against her friend, I think. I don’t really remember the start anymore, just how it went after. Pain would’ve been better. It might’ve taught her something. Been a warning for all of us. But no, a little win, it felt good. Got her fixated. It hooked my whole family. That’s the thing about the wind—it feels so good to be right. To hold that power. Even if it’s for some small, stupid thing, it makes you feel invincible.”
Calya’s fingers tensed at the anger that leached into his voice. Lowe’s hand came up to cover hers, holding it against his cheek as he met her eyes.
“They kept asking. For little things, of course. Predict the weather, best spot for work, which path would be fastest. People started noticing. Eyllic mage corps heard whispers, so we moved. I started saying no, but they’d ask for new things instead. They were my family. Always small things, but it was never enough, and I started to fuck those up, too. Couldn’t trust the wind anymore.” The bitterest smile in the world crossed his face. “You asked if I miss them, but I…”
