“Your ability,” he says. “You’re a seer, a healer,anda resurrectionist? What is that like?”
I make a face.“Seer, yes. Healer, yes. But resurrectionist? No. Is there such a thing?”
He laughs, but his face falls more serious. “But on the green, I saw you…”
He pauses, though I know what he was going to say.
“I heal, but I have never brought anything or anyone back from the dead. I have saved animals from dying, and you, but that is the extent. I am not very skilled. I thought my magick was secret. I taught myself.”
At first, he looks regretful, like he realizes he made me think of Mother yet again, but there’s a hint of surprise to his expression, too.
“You’ve done well to make it this far with such complex abilities without a teacher,” he says. “And yes, being a resurrectionist is a thing. It’s usually a darker type of magick and a form of necromancy. I wasn’tsure about you. The line between healing and resurrecting is often thin. It seemed that was what you were doing—or trying to do—with your mother.”
Resurrection. I can see the temptation. Being able to bring back someone you love? To rescue their soul from the Shadow World?
I shake my head, clearing away that thought, and let the moment pass. I can’t sleep, tired as I am, and an odd desire to keep talking to Alexus takes over.
“Do you still believe the Witch Walkers’ magick will not harm us?”I ask. I have every doubt about that theory at this point.
“I do. I think the problem is that some of this is not their magick. Like the flowers dying when we entered the wood. My witches wouldn’t have us enduring such miserable conditions either. Unless the Eastlanders are closer than we think.”
“Then whoisdoing it?”I fist my fingers and bite my cheek, frustrated.“Who is the prince’s sorcerer?”
He shrugs. “Probably the same person who built the boundary in the valley. The question is, how does he even know we’re here?”
“Hel mentioned a general. General Vexx?”I spell the name.“It could be him.”
Alexus tilts his head, and his eyes reveal a contemplative thought. “Possibly. Unfortunately, I don’t think we can know until we come face to face with whomever it is.”
That’s nothing I want to think about, so again, I divert that line of thought. There’s a question burning inside me that I have to ask, and it has nothing to do with the prince.
“What happened to your magick?”I sign.“Why can you no longer use it?”
I imagine that he would be lethal if he could. He knows Old Elikesh so intimately, so completely, all the finer details, like he’s studied every word from every angle.
After a heavy sigh, he says, “It died. A long time ago.”
I didn’t even know magickcoulddie.
“When you were a child?”I inquire.
He looks up from my hands, and there, under thefirelight, something moves in his eyes. I swear I see darkness there sometimes, bottomless and liquid.
Otherworldly.
“Something like that.” He leans back and lies flat on the cold ground, staring at the stone ledge above us. “Enough questions for tonight. You must be tired. Get some rest while you can.”
Much as I want to, I don’t press him for more information about his magick or his past. I’m curious, even more so thanks to his cryptic answer, but he’s right. I’m bone-tired, my hands, too. And even if I wasn’t, I’m fairly certain he just ended our conversation.
When I lie back, wrapped inside his cloak, the ground is as miserable as expected. There might be heat tonight—or today, whichever it is here—but without the gambeson, there will be no comfort, and I’m sure I’ll never rest like this.
Beyond our shelter, a crow caws and a wolf howls, sending a chill across my skin. I can hear Alexus breathing, though, even from a few feet away. The steady rhythm calms me, and I think about his words, repeating each syllable in my mind, fluttering my fingers like I’d done when I drew threads from his chest.Fire of my heart, come that I may see you, warm my weary bones, be my place of rest.
Within minutes, after so many hours awake, I tuck my arm under my head and drift to sleep, the memory of Alexus Thibault’s heartbeat throbbing in my fingertips.
When I wake, it’s only because I hear a rat in the root cellar.
After opening my eyes, it takes a moment to gather my bearings. I’m not in the cottage, and that sound is no rat. There’s no root cellar anymore, either. I’m in a dark, snowy world where time is nothing and survival is everything.
