Callista swept her skirts out behind her as she made for the door. “Do not thank me yet. Nothing is certain.” She stalled at the entrance. “A gift for you. For your loyalty to your companions.” She waved her hand, murmuring, and Thia’s wrist gave a painful crack.
She bent over in agony, but then it was gone just as suddenly. And so was the fracture. Thia twirled her wrist in a few practice circles, pleased to find the bones fully healed, the swelling gone. “Thank—” she started to say again, but the sorceress had already departed in a swirl of sparkling pink.
It was a while before Dess returned. Thia stared at the barn door nervously while Oskaren continued to sleep, until the boy entered with an armful of carrots.
“Plucked these from a nearby field,” he said by way of greeting. “Thought you might be hungry.” He frowned, taking in the scene. “Where’d the sorceress go?”
“To gain us an audience with the king,” Thia said. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to stay behind.”
He put the carrots on top of a hay bale and raised his brows incredulously.
“He might recognize you,” Thia continued, and Dess scoffed.
“You said yourself I was a child.”
“But the moment we ask about your memories, he’ll know. Maybe he’ll throw you right back in prison.”Or worse,she didn’t say. “I could ask on your behalf. Find out why you were cursed, if it was an accident, and if it’s safe for you—”
“People don’t get cursed by accident,” Dess interrupted.
“No, but it sounds like he’s cursed a lot of people. Maybe he doesn’t remember you.”
“Then there’s no reason for me to stay away.”
“Dess—”
“Thia. I know what I signed up for.” Twin hazel gazes locked in silent battle, their conversation from Black Forest hanging between them.
Are you going to kill him?
Maybe.
Dess turned away first, and Thia softened. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m already hurt,” he told her.
Her chest panged. She understood that, understood the heartache that came from severed roots. She patted the ground beside her, signaling for him to sit. After a moment of indecision, he did.
“We could say someone else cursed you,” she said after a moment, when his back was comfortable against a bale of hay. “Is that possible?”
Dess shrugged. “I’m no expert, but I don’t see why a magician couldn’t do it, with the right spell.”
“We’ll say that then.” She paused. “Have you ever killed anyone before?”
His lips hardened into a flat line. “No.” He tangled his fingers together. “Do you think I could?”
She studied him, the broad shoulders and kind face, the pain that simmered underneath, the determination in the whiteness of his knuckles where he clutched his hands together. “I think you could,” she said slowly. “But I think the real question is whether you would still be you afterward.”
He blew out a long breath. “You’re right,” he said. “Of course, you’re right.”
She bumped her shoulder companionably against his. “Callista said Oskaren’s wanted,” she commented after a moment. “We should leave her here.”
He leaned his weight into her. “Good luck telling her that.”
“What do you think she did?”
He was silent for a long time, and she thought about changing the subject. But then he said, “I’ve considered it so many times I’ve lost count. I never have an answer, not one that could justify this anyway.”
“Did you—”
