“Hey,” Nythir said gently. His voice felt strange in the quiet, too loud, too human. “Breathe. You’re all right.”
He approached slowly, like she was a trapped animal.
Every tutor Esther had ever had warned her that uncontrolled magic could corrupt the heart. But none had explained how to handle guilt. No one told her how to breathe after the first time magic didn’t save, it destroyed.
There was no etiquette lesson for this.
No elegant script for apologizing to the dead.
Her gaze flicked to him, unfocused and wet. “I didn’t mean to,” she whispered.
“I know.”
He knelt but didn’t touch her. Even at arm’s length, he could feel the poison of her guilt.
“Are you upset about turning the bandits into… confetti?” Lyssara asked. “You shouldn’t be.”
“Confetti?” Esther echoed weakly.
“They had a warrant.” Lyssara held a crumpled parchment inches from Esther’s face.
WANTED
Dead or Alive
Multiple murders, theft, extortion…
“Wanted posters actually exist?”
“Did you seriously just ask that?” Lyssara gaped. “These were posted in every tavern and inn for fifty miles!”
“That is so cool,” Esther whispered in awe. “So… they were really bad?”
“The worst,” Nythir chuckled.
“So I’m basically a hero?” Esther popped up.
“Something like that.” Lyssara ruffled her hair. “You did good, kid.”
Esther gawked at them, eyes wide like an owl. She didn’t feel right taking lives so easily. But as she read their misdeeds on the wanted poster… she felt strangely at ease with what she had done.
“She really did a number on your nose,” Vorrik laughed.
“Your commentary is not required,” Nythir grumbled.
“Oh my stars, I should have healed you!” Esther panicked, tossing the parchment aside.
“No—” He raised a hand.
Too late.
Golden light washed over him.
“Nythir!” Vorrik screamed.
“Hold,” Lyssara commanded.
“Still in one piece,” Nythir said as gold slid off his body like glitter. He tapped his perfectly straight nose.
