She gestured to the man in her arms. Fenrik’s breathing was ragged, shallow gasps that rattled in his chest. His skin was translucent, the veins dark and angry.
“This is not stabilization,” Kelda said. “This is acceleration.”
“I... I quieted the magic, it worked. I felt it.”
“You felt your magic interacting with the dragon,” she corrected me gently. I was a slow child, then. “You possess a rare gift, yes. But his condition is clearly more than you can handle. It feeds on emotion. It feeds on raw power.” Her gaze dropped to where my shirt was dishevelled, to the flush likely still high on my neck from the almost-moment in the study. “And you, my dear, are a storm of both.”
Fenrik groaned, his hand grappling for Kelda’s sleeve. “The letter,” he mumbled. “She found... the letter.”
Kelda shot a glance at the crumpled balls of paper in my fist. A flash of something sharp passed through her eyes before settling back into sorrow.
“Shh,” she soothed, stroking his hair. “It doesn’t matter now.” She looked up at me again. “He’s been fighting this battle for thirteen years, Lysa. We have managed it, kept it contained. It was a delicate balance, but he was alive.”
“He was dying. He told me he was dying.”
“He is dying fasternow.“ Her voice hardened a fraction. “He brought you here out of desperation, blind hope. But look at the evidence. Since you arrived, the wards have fractured. The aggressive incidents have tripled. And now,” she wiped another smear of blood from his brow, “he is bleeding out his own magic because he cannot process the volatility of yours.”
She sighed, a tragic, heavy sound.
“You’re not saving him, Lysa. You’re feeding the beast that’s eating him alive.”
I took a step back. Then another. My spine hit the cold stone wall. The logic was twisted, sickening, but looking at Fenrik, broken, trembling, leaning into her touch because he had no strength left to stand on his own, it was impossible to refute.
“I wanted to help.”
“I know,” Kelda said, dropping her voice to a conspirator’s hush. “It’s not your fault you’re incompatible. Magic is a fickle thing. But if you stay... if you keep pushing this bond...” She let the sentence hang in the air.
Fenrik’s eyes fluttered open, landing on me.
“Go,” he whispered.
I didn’t know if he was speaking to me, or to the monsters in his head, but it shattered the last of my resolve. I turned and ran. I stumbled into the Great Hall, my boots skidding on the stone.
A soft rustle of fabric was the only warning I got. I didn’t turn. I couldn’t bear to see the pity on her perfectly smooth face again. This Kelda Morvain moved without a sound.
“Lysa.”
Her voice was gentle. She stopped an arm’s length away. She wasn’t out of breath, and she still looked impeccable.
“He is resting, the spell I wove... it will hold the shadows at bay for a few hours.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” I said. “I thought the Quieting was helping him and the creatures in this house. I felt it working.”
“I know you did.” Kelda stepped closer, invading my space with her scent. “The tragedy of wild magic is that it feels like power right up until it destroys the vessel.”
She reached into her sleeve. She took out a small, stoppered vial. The liquid inside was clear, catching the dim light of the sconces. She took my hand and pressed the glass into my grip, then folded my fingers over it.
“This is Draught of Lethe-water, it will ease his pain. It will quiet the mind, soothe the memories that haunt him.”
I stared at her hand covering mine. “Why give it to me?”
“Because he will not take it from me,” she said, a sad smile touching her lips. “He is stubborn. He fights every cure because he believes he deserves the suffering. But you...” Her eyes searched mine. “He trusts you. If you decide to stay, the next time his monster jumps all over you, give this to him. Remeber, it’s not the man that wants you, it’s the beast.” She squeezed my hand, hard.
“I won’t stay.”
“Leave it on his bedside, then. After you’ve gone.”
The breath left me in a rush.After you’ve gone.
