Lora
Something stung Lora’s arm, bringing her back to consciousness in a disoriented flash. Her eyes focused on an unfamiliar face and she immediately tried to sit up, hissing as her body protested.
“Easy there,” the young man said. He was one of the prisoners they’d rescued. His eye was still swollen but his hands were free. Ashes were mixed in his short dark hair.
Lora turned around, her eyes settling on Elyssa and Jaspen tending to the human woman who was crying out in pain.
They weren’t out in the open anymore. No longer at the market, at their battlefield. The stone structure around her seemed familiar. Was it the same cave they’d been in before?
A flash of pain drew her attention to her stomach. Her now ash grey, bloody shirt was ripped and revealed a gruesome wound that was covered by some kind of paste. Her face felt badly bruised. The stab wound on her arm either hadn’t closed yet or had reopened, slowly dripping blood.
But beneath all that, she felt strange for an entirely different reason. She felt drained, but at the same time wired. There was power coursing beneath her skin, faint but unmistakable. Her hand flew to her neck. Where she’d usually find her pendant, there was nothing now. Nothing but dried blood and dirt.
She had really done it. Removing her almandine necklace had been unimaginable. She’d held onto it practically her whole life, holding onto her humanity while she disregarded her fae side in every way possible. She’d buried her powers so deep that having them felt like a distant memory—a nightmare she never wanted to experience again. She hadn’t even allowed herself to think about them, erasing any treacherous thoughts as soon as they sneaked up on her.
Who was she now? What would her family say? Would her mum be able to look beyond her disappointment?
She wondered what Eyden thought of her now. Did he suspect the truth behind their deal? Did their lies cancel each other out? Lora’s eyes searched the cave. She needed to talk to him, but there was no sign of him.
“Where’s Eyden?” she asked. Her voice was like gravel.
“I think he went to get more water from the stream,” the man at her side answered. Lora noticed he held a scrap of cloth that had turned bright red. He had been cleaning her wounds.
The woman cried out again, sobbing uncontrollably. They both turned their heads in her direction. “She woke up to find out her boyfriend’s dead,” the man said, grief twisting his features.
Lora met his dark eyes. “You mean the man who burned?” She’d wanted to save him. Her hesitation had gotten him killed. “I…I couldn’t save him.”
His eyes were kind and loaded with sadness. “You did what you could. We wouldn’t have escaped with our lives if it wasn’t for your fire.”
“I’d be dead too if you hadn’t intervened,” Lora said.
He smiled softly, as if trying to wash the tragedy away. “I’m Farren, by the way. We haven’t been formally introduced.”
Farren. The witch. She had guessed as much. “How did I get here, Farren?”
“We ran when you told us to. I wanted to turn back but Jaspen insisted we keep moving. When we showed up at the cave, you and Eyden were already there. So was Elyssa.”
He’d brought her here? A memory resurfaced. Eyden calling out her name in a web of smoke and fire. Her eyes slid to her hands. They were coated in blood. The red reminded her of fire before the image of burned flesh took precedence. Whose blood was staining her hands? Whose death was she responsible for?
“How many did I kill?” The question wasn’t much more than a shaky whisper.
“I’m not sure. It’ll depend on how fast they can get to a healer. But even then, the recovery would be slow and painful. You probably took out some of them.”
Lora grabbed the piece of cloth from Farren’s palm. She scrubbed at the reminder covering her hands. She didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to take it all in. She thought burning herself out was the price, but it was this feeling right now that was the real price.
Farren’s dark-skinned hand covered hers. “I don’t like the violence of it either. But remember, it was self-defence. We would all be dead without you.”
Lora’s hand stilled. Most of the blood had washed off, but some lingered under her fingernails. It would always linger, wouldn’t it? The back of her hand burned where she had roughly scrubbed over a wound. Fresh blood appeared. At least it was her own.
“I feel like someone drained all my energy.” She didn’t feel like herself anymore. That’s what she really wanted to say but couldn’t.
“I know the feeling. If they hadn’t taken my blood, starved, and beaten me, I could have used my magic to help. I’m not a fighter. Sleeping spells are my specialty, actually.”
“How does it work? Your magic?” She’d heard the basics before, but any distraction was welcome.
“It’s not as different from the fae as they like to think. The fae see us as rare—well,unnaturalwould be a better description. But witches are just born with a different disposition. Instead of having one or in rare instances two specific powers, we draw on and manipulate energy around us. We can pull from our own too, but that’s always risky. Witches often don’t even realise their power until something triggers it.”
She’d heard similar definitions before. In books, witchcraft was often described as cursed by the fae. But in the end, wasn’t it all the same? Some witches even looked like fae. Depending on their eye colour, they could blend in well, much like she could as a half-fae. Lora looked up into Farren’s dark brown eyes. She would’ve assumed he was human if she didn’t know better.
