“I heal, but I have never brought anything or anyone back from the dead. I have saved animals from dying, and you, but that is the extent. I am not very skilled. I thought my magick was secret. I taught myself.”
At first, he looks regretful, like he realizes he made me think of Mother yet again, but there’s a hint of surprise to his expression too.
“You’ve done well to make it this far with such complex abilities without a teacher,” he says. “And yes, being a Resurrectionist is a thing. It’s usually a darker type of magick and a form of necromancy. I wasn’t sure about you. The line between healing and resurrecting is often thin. It seemed that was what you were doing—or trying to do—with your mother.”
Resurrection. I can see the temptation. Being able to bring back someone you love? To rescue their soul from the Shadow World?
I shake my head, clearing away that thought, and let the moment pass. I can’t sleep, tired as I am, and an odd desire to keep talking to Alexus takes over.
“Do you still believe the Witch Walkers’ magick will not harm us?” I ask.
I have every doubt in that theory at this point.
“I do. I think the problem is that some of this is not their magick. Like the flowers dying when we entered the wood. My witches wouldn’t have us enduring such miserable conditions either. Unless the Eastlanders are closer than we think.”
“Then who is doing it?” I fist my fingers and bite my cheek. Like before, I know what he’s going to say before the words leave his lips.
“The prince, most likely. The question is, how does he even know we’re here? And did he leave that Eastlander behind to kill us? Or was that an unlucky clash with a rogue warrior?”
I clamp my eyes closed for a moment. It’s not the prince. The Eastlanders must have a sorcerer in their midst. That’s all. Someone with a tremendous amount of skill.
“Helena mentioned a general. General Vexx?” I spell the name. “It could be him.”
Alexus tilts his head, and his eyes reveal a contemplative thought. “Possibly. Unfortunately, I don’t think we can know until we come face to face with whomever it is.”
That’s nothing I want to think about, so again, I divert that line of thought. There’s a question burning inside me that I have to ask, and it has nothing to do with the prince.
“What happened to your magick?” I sign. “Why can you no longer use it?”
I imagine that he would be lethal if he could. He knows Elikesh so intimately, so completely, all the finer details, like he’s studied every word from every angle.
After a heavy sigh, he says, “It died. A long time ago.”
I didn’t even know magick could die.
“When you were a child?”
He looks up from my hands, and there, under the firelight, something moves in his eyes. I swear I see darkness there sometimes, bottomless and liquid.
Otherworldly.
“Something like that.” He leans back and lies flat on the cold ground, staring at the stone ledge above us. “Enough questions for tonight. You must be tired. Get some rest while you can.”
Much as I want to, I don’t press him for more information about his magick or his past. I’m curious, even more so thanks to his cryptic answer, but he’s right. I’m bone-tired, my hands too. And even if I wasn’t, I’m fairly certain he just ended our conversation.
When I lie back, the ground is as miserable as expected. There might be heat tonight—or today, whichever it is here—but without the gambeson there will be no comfort, and I’m sure I’ll never rest like this.
Beyond our shelter, a crow caws and a wolf howls, sending a chill across my skin. I can hear Alexus breathing, though, even from a few feet away. The steady rhythm calms me, and I think about his words, repeating each syllable in my mind, fluttering my fingers like I’d done when I drew threads from his chest. Fire of my heart, come that I may see you, warm my weary bones, be my place of rest.
Within minutes, after so many hours awake, I tuck my arm under my head and drift to sleep, the memory of Alexus Thibault’s heartbeat throbbing in my fingertips.
20
Raina
When I wake, it’s only because I hear a rat in the root cellar.
After opening my eyes, it takes a moment to gather my bearings. I’m not in the cottage, and that sound is no rat. There’s no root cellar anymore either. I’m in a dark, snowy world where time is nothing and survival is everything.
I’m also not in my bed with Mother. I’m on the chilly ground, folded up inside the Witch Collector’s arms, covered by his blanket. My head is nestled firmly against his muscled chest, my arms tight around his waist. Even our legs found their way to one another in the night, weaved like we’ve slept together for years.
I was already still—I was half-asleep—but I become even more motionless, locking down every muscle, even stilling my breath, like I can shrink from this moment without him noticing.
“Good morning.” That deep voice crawls over me, through me, and something firm presses against my stomach.
Gods! I slam my eyes shut and squeeze my eyelids tight. One of Alexus’s laughs—the low, deep kind that rumbles—radiates into me, sending a strange sensation straight to my stomach, making it flip.
“Breathe, Raina. It’s all right. The world isn’t going to crumble because you touched me. A lot, I might add, but still.” Unexpectedly, he dips his head, his beard and lips tickling my ear. “Also, you’re very warm, and I rather enjoyed your company if that’s not obvious, but now that you’re awake, could you please disentangle your legs from mine? If I don’t piss, we’re both going to be in trouble.”
My face has never burned as severely as it burns right now.
Mortified, I pull away and sit up, scrubbing my cheeks, only to meet Helena’s icy stare from across our shelter. She pokes at the ashes with a stick, jostling what’s left of the kindling. The sweet smell of woodsmoke lingers in the air, but it doesn’t mask the sulfuric aroma wafting off her.
Bent over to protect his head from the overhang, Alexus wraps the blanket around my shoulders, giving me the last remnants of our heat.
“What?” I sign to Helena once his back is turned and he’s stalking toward the forest. “You abandoned me.”
She raises a brow, not unlike Hel, but her lack of words is startling. She’s usually filled with witty comebacks or snide remarks, yet there’s nothing but silence between us.
Alexus can’t go far—to the edge of the dying firelight is all. The snow is deep beyond our shelter, and though it’s lighter than when we fell asleep, it’s still dark, like late dusk.
Scrubbing my neck, I look his way, noticing the loosening of his trousers from behind.
“He is your enemy.”
I snap my head around, caught in my voyeurism, but also surprised by Hel’s words and the sound of her voice.
“I am fully aware,” I reply.
Her dark eyebrow arches higher, and her nostrils flare. “Are you?”