Page 27 of When the Sky Breaks

“Bad for the baby,” I reminded her. She glowered but didn’t protest further.

“If that burn slows her down I’m blaming you,” Ansel drawled as I returned his flask and went to boil water for tea.

“And if she dies of fever out here because of your ‘shortcut’ through the grass I’m blaming you,” I muttered.

“She won’t,” Ansel said simply. “She’s not made of glass.”

Late that night, just before I was due to wake Ansel and change the watch, I heard something strange and incongruous out in the scrub. I brought my lantern up to get a better view and saw the predatory glow of cat eyes gazing back. I reached for one of the revolvers at my waist as a bobcat slowly emerged from the shrubs and stalked toward the fire. It didn’t show any signs of aggression and padded over to Sorcha and lay down like a lapdog, curling around her.

I knew about Sorcha’s animal magic.

Everyone knew.

At least everyone knew how people talked about it. The nonchalant stories about bears and jaguars had to be an exaggeration though. Didn’t they? I’d watched her with the birds and house cats, which was impressive but hardly proof. I looked at the bobcat sleeping on her feet, and thought back to how bizarre it was we hadn’t seen a single venomous snake since we left Santa Fe.

Maybe we were all underestimating just how much power she could summon.

She was sweating in her sleep, trembling slightly. She was getting worse. So I let the cat be. Maybe it would help.

Ansel woke half an hour later, ready to take over and keep watch until dawn.

“Why is there a bobcat in my camp?” Ansel asked near immediately on waking.

“She called it.”

“She did what?” Ansel deadpanned.

“She’s got animal magic,” I explained. “Apparently, she’s sick enough tonight that it’s going haywire and summoning things while she’s out.”

“Is that how it works?” Ansel asked.

“You think I know?” I shrugged.

“You spent how many weeks in that girl’s bed? How am I to know what you two have and haven’t discussed?” Ansel replied.

“Aren’t the nobles supposed to be healers and seers?” I asked.

“Her mom had power like that,” Ansel replied. “I always assumed Cormac was exaggerating about Sorcha. Grieving Ebba’s death. Projecting onto Sorcha to self soothe. Making up stories how she was just like her mother.”

“From what I know of Ebba they’ve a lot in common,” I told him. “Besides the magic. Sorcha’s such a pragmatist, so unlike the noblewomen I worked for back in Europe.”

“Ebba was the same,” Ansel agreed. “Hated the title. Hated being pampered. Granddaughter of a lesser Steward line and a florist for one of Iksura’s high-ranked nobles. She wanted her flowers and to love her children and be left alone.”

A long moment passed in silence as the bobcat closed its eyes and purred itself to sleep, still nestled on Sorcha’s feet.

“Will it bite?” Ansel asked.

“You’re welcome to try and find out.”

Sorcha was worse in the morning. Pale and sluggish before she’d even properly woken.

She spent the hour leading up to dawn with her face buried in the bobcat’s fur, practically unresponsive. But as the sun crept over the horizon and we had to break camp I finally, reluctantly woke her entirely and shooed the cat away. It hissed and swatted and very nearly bit me.

Her hands were shaking as she tried to pack. She didn’t even try to eat breakfast. I noticed. Of course I noticed. And at first I tried to keep my distance. The tick last night hadn’t warmed relations. I didn’t want to push.

But I couldn’t just ignore her. And so I packed her things, helped her up, put a hand on her back when it looked like her balance was about to give out. I expected a reprimand, a snide remark, but she leaned in, head on my chest, soft for once.

Still not a word.