She’s standing with her arms crossed, watching me. As she lifts her head, the rising sun hits the collar, and I frown.
“Come here.”
“Why?”
“Because you won’t like it if I have to drag you to me.” I let my gaze run over her, pausing on her breasts. “Or maybe you will. Do you wish to find out?”
Her eyes narrow at that, but she comes closer. Once she’s within arm’s reach, I lift a hand and touch the collar with one fingertip, and send magic into it. The collar thins, changing shape, until it lies against her skin like a delicate silver chain rather than a band. When I pull my hand back, she reaches up to touch it, her fingers tracing the new shape.
“What did you do?”
“Made it less obvious. You still can’t remove it. I don’t want mages tracking you.”
She nods, fingertips lingering on the new chain. “So … training?”
“Training.” I move back a few steps, and snap my fingers. A simple bow forms in my hand, sized to fit her frame.
“Do you have to snap your fingers every time you do magic?”
“No.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because I can.” I arch an eyebrow. “Are you looking to bargain a truth for a truth again,Moirthalen?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “No.”
“Then may I continue?”
She glares at me.
“You can shoot a bow, yes?”
She nods, staring at it, eyes wide.
“Is there a problem?”
“You … you’re giving me a bow?”
“I can’t see how well you shoot without one.”
“But … the last time I held a bow, I was trying to kill you.”
“I remember. You missed.”
“I didnotmiss.” There’s a spark in her eyes now. “Youmoved.”
“Then don’t announce where you’re aiming this time.”
She laughs, a startled sound. For a second she looks like someone else entirely. Someone who hasn’t spent the last month being hurt, and collared, and terrified. Someone who used to laugh easily.
She takes the bow, tests the draw, and adjusts her grip. The wariness falls away as she settles into the stance, her body remembering what her mind has been too distracted to hold onto. I watch as her hands find the right positions, her shoulders drop, and her breathing slows.
Then I form three arrows and hold them out.
“That tree.” I point to a birch at the edge of the clearing, thirty yards out. “There’s a knot halfway up. Do you see it?”
She nods.
