Kaelzar’s silver eyes narrow, studying my reaction with disdain. His shadows coil at his back, curling around him like living things. They move at his command. Effortless, controlled.
I look down at my own empty, trembling hands. The contrast is smothering.
“Can I use only one part of the magic?” I ask, my voice tight. “If Decay only takes, can I just… use the Blood magic to restore?”
Kaelzar’s expression doesn’t change. “You cannot give what you do not have.”
The words form a fist-size knot under my breastbone.
“To give life,” he continues, “you must take it first. Once you do, it is yours to command.” He folds his arms, voice detached, factual, as if discussing the weather, not the act of killing. “After the Trial, you can keep it for yourself, give it to others, or scatter it to the wind for all I care. But right now,” his silver eyes pierce through me, “you will take and take and take, until you have enough to sustain yourself through the challenges.”
Is he really expecting me to stockpile the deaths of the innocent like some kind of ammunition?
A pulse of unease flickers in my chest. “How much of that lifeforce can I get from plants?” I ask. “Can I rot a log? Shouldn’t everything have some kind of energy I can use? Even a rock?”
Kaelzar exhales slowly, but the tension in his posture shifts. Irritation creeps into the set of his jaw.
“To wield Blood magic, you must rot something that bleeds,” he says, voice clipped. “As for the rock, it’s nearly impervious toyourDecay. Only the goddess can draw power from it. You’d need all of Calista’s magic to break it down. And she would never give it to you.”
I sigh and chew on the inside of my cheek. “My friend said I need prayers to receive more magic from Calista. If I could receive a large amount of it, would that mean I could stop drawing power from decaying things?” My gaze drops, shame rising at the fragile hope that maybe, somehow, I could avoid death altogether. “Or would it just let me decay more and faster?”
For a moment, he just stares at me, as if weighing whether I trulyunderstand what I’m asking. “You speak of avoiding death,” he says at last, his voice edged with scorn, “when you haven’t earned a single prayer to your name. And even if you somehow managed to gather a few, the rules wouldn’t change. You must decay to give life, with more magic from Calista, you’d only do it more efficiently.”
His gaze hardens. “But now, without a Church or worshipers, your Godbound thread is little more than a drooping stem. Flimsy. Weak. Barely up to the task.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the rabbit shift—its ears twitch, body tense. It’s about to move. Kaelzar begins to turn toward it.
And I panic.
“You sound like you have a lot of experience with drooping, weak, and flimsy stems,” I blurt, too quickly.
A beat of stiff silence follows, and my cheeks burn when I realize what I’ve said.
Kaelzar’s head snaps back toward me, offense sparks in his eyes, and my embarrassment deepens until I see that the rabbit is finally starting to hop away.
I take a small step back, the tiny bells on my sandals betraying me with a soft chime. His gaze drops to my feet, and something shifts in his expression, like he’s just remembered that a person wearing such ridiculous footwear couldn’t possibly mean true offense. That my insult isn’t worth the effort of taking seriously.
As his eyes begin to lift again, I tilt my head, my voice dripping with false innocence. “Maybe you can give me some advice. About overcoming the issue with my barely up to the task magical stem.” I flutter my lashes. “You know. From experience.”
Kaelzar’s shoulders stiffen, the movement running down his arms like a restrained quake. The rabbit, now forgotten, slips further away from us toward the brushes. And I smile, slow and wicked.
His nostrils flare as he slowly leans in. “Trust me,” he murmurs, voice low. “I’m far more familiar with stems that are strong, steady… and quite formidable.”
My breath catches. Heat rushes up the back of my neck and blooms across my cheeks. I have to look away. What is it about him that drawsthis out of me?
Weeks ago, I could barely speak to Ryker about something as innocent as a kiss. And now— now I’m out here in the woods, throwing around suggestive comments with a shadow-wreathed monster of a man, making lewd remarks about?—
Gods, I don’t even finish the thought.
Instead, I drag my fingers through my hair, feeling the familiar streak of red. Does the Crimson Tether curse affect my mind too? I think of Ryker. Would he recognize this part of me? Would he like it? Would he hate it? A low, aggravated sound pulls me back.
I blink. Kaelzar’s hand is raised, his fingers curved slightly, a wisp of inky darkness coiling towards the woods. I follow his gaze just in time to see the rabbit hop away, disappearing into the trees.
Then, suddenly, he drops his hand with a sigh and the shadows dissolve. I exhale, relief washing over me. But the moment is ruined by the ghosts in my mind.
All those people from the temple… their hollowed-out faces. The ones who hadn’t been as lucky as that rabbit. The ones who hadn’t escaped the claws of my magic.
The rational part of me insists it wasn’t my fault, that they were the same people who would have gladly dragged cursed women into Rust Hollows with grins on their faces. But the other part, the one that refuses to let go, knows better. I had a choice. I brought this magic into the world. And I failed to control it. Now all I can do is keep it caged.
