“That is the second time you’ve touched me tonight without my permission. Do it again, and you will leave here with one less appendage than when you came in,” I growl as I face the man once more. His sapphire eyes twinkle, and he chuckles while washing his hand over his face, as if in disbelief.
“Please. Have a drink with me?” The dimple from his smile gives him an air of innocence, and I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or exhaustion, but I’m struggling to resist.
I heave a sigh and walk toward the bar, knowing the captain will follow.
It isn’t that I hate him. It’s worse. I feel indebted to him because he’s allowed me to train with his unit, and I don’t wantanyone thinking I have an unfair advantage in the tournament or that I somehow slept my way into the guard.
Phillipa raises an eyebrow at me as she sets our drinks on the bar, but I shrug. There’s no harm in having one more. Besides, between healing, training, and my extra shifts in the greenhouses, I’ve earned the right to let loose a little.
Eryk slides a few gold coins across the counter and winks at Phil before downing his drink in one swallow.
Just as I touch the smooth glass to my lips, shouting breaks out from the crowd behind us. The crashing of shattered glass, followed by a telling groan, makes it clear someone has been injured.
I fly from my stool, pushing through the crowd to find a young waiter, barely in his teens from the look of him, on the ground. A full tray of now broken mugs lay in a pool of ale beside him. The boy is nursing a bloody hand. Only a small cut.ThatI can handle.
I whisper thanks to the gods that it had not been something more complicated. Smaller flesh wounds are one thing I can heal on my own. Worse wounds and illnesses require more than one healer. It didn’t used to be that way, just one more thing the Smog has changed about life in Lukasia.
Kneeling beside the boy, I’m careful not to cut myself on any of the broken edges still glistening on the sticky floor.
“Give me your hand,” I command, and the boy obliges; bright red blood slides down his arm in thin streaks.
“I didn’t mean to,” he says, looking around frantically. “These two men were arguing. Something about the Rhiza and Queen Daphne turning people to stone. The bigger one, he pushed the other one into me, and—”
I turn to see if I can find the men he’s talking about, but the crowd that had gathered makes for a good wall, and as my eyesdart around in the weak lighting, it’s clear my searching is for naught.
Boiling hot, my temper threatens to spill over at the thought that there are members of the rebellion hiding in plain sight. Here. In Phil’s tavern. But I turn my focus back to the boy.
“Shhh. It’s not important. Let’s get you fixed up,” I soothe, gathering what little power lives inside me and concentrating it on the wound, I seal it one layer of tissue at a time until all that remains is smooth skin and just a little smattering of blood.
Satisfied with the work I’ve done, I give him a soft smile. “There. Go clean yourself up, and I’ll take care of this mess.”
The boy scurries off, and I’m acutely aware of the eyes on me as I carefully pick up the shards of glass. I tend to forget that others might not be as familiar with their magic as I am blessed to be.
Being born with any type of magic is a gift, but healing is quite rare. I don’t shy away from the attention. Instead, I make eye contact with anyone still rude enough to stare, and eventually they look away.
“You shouldn’t be on the floor cleaning a mess you didn’t make, Arina.” Eryk hovers above me, offering his hand.
“Gods know this lot isn’t going to help,” I say, loud enough for those nearest to hear the accusation in my tone.
Standing with the tray full of broken glassware, an unsettling shiver runs over my body, as if someone—or something—dark is watching. It’s a different energy from someone simply curious about my gifts, and a small seed of terror sprouts within my gut.
The noise of the tavern returns steadily, and with it, more commotion. Someone brushes past me, and I’m spun around. Another group, this time soldiers I recognize from training, pushes by me in pursuit of the stranger.
I keep hold of the tray, just barely, as I wobble about before finding my balance.
My head pivots in the direction they were going as they passed, but all I find is the tavern door swinging shut.
“Let me take that,” Eryk offers, and I don’t argue.
He gives me a funny look, as though he can see the tension in my spine as I attempt to stand a little taller.
“Thanks. I think I’m going to head home. Will you say goodnight to Phil for me?” The words are rushed. I want out of this place. Right now. My limbs are screaming at me to run. With any luck, I’m just being paranoid.
“Are you sure? I can walk you. Or you can come to the barracks with me.” He looks hopeful, and for the first time ever, I’m half tempted to agree. I’m not anyone of consequence, I have no reason to think they might come after me, but I still don’t want to run into the Rhiza if they’re hanging around here, and if whatever thisthingis decides to follow me into the night …Yeah, Eryk’s bed is sounding mighty comfortable right about now.
But it wouldn’t be wise, especially so close to the tournament. I don’t want to complicate this relationship or hurt my reputation before I even make it into the guard. “No, that’s alright. I’ll be fine.” I hope.
I’ve never been scared to walk alone before, not even in the darkness of the Smog. But whoever or whatever is watching me feels menacing and heavy, and the rebellion feels more hostile than ever. Something is wrong.
