The cold air helped cool the fire in her cheeks, but the energy still surged beneath her skin. She glared at the sea, and imagined reaching out and shoving the water with all her strength. Like a child in a bath.
She didn’t bother summoning any poems, didn’t expect the desire to actually take shape, but a second later she felt energy flood through her, and the water bucked and surged, the ship tilting violently on a sudden wave.
Cries of concern went up across the Spire as the men tried to figure out what had happened, and Lila smirked viciously, hoping that down below she’d toppled a few more of Alucard’s finest wines. And then it hit her, what she’d done. She’d moved the ocean—or at least a ship-sized piece of it. She touched a hand to her nose, expecting to find blood, but there was none. She was fine. Unharmed. She let out a small, dazed chuckle.
What are you?
Lila shivered, the cold having finally reached her bones. She was suddenly tired, and she didn’t know if it was the backlash of expended magic or simply her frustration burning out.
What was it Barron used to say?
Something about tempers and candles and powder kegs.
The fact that she couldn’t remember the exact words hit her like a dull blow to the chest. Barron was one of her only tethers, and he was gone now. And what right did she have to mourn? She’d wanted to be free of him, hadn’t she? And this was why. People could only hurt you if you cared enough to let them.
Lila was about to turn away from the rail when she heard a muffled sniff, and realized she wasn’t alone. Of course, no one was ever truly alone, not on a ship, but someone was standing against the rigging nearby, holding their breath. She squinted at the shadows, and then, when the figure looked more willing to collapse than step forward, she snapped her fingers and summoned a small, vibrant flame—a gesture managed with nonchalance, even though she’d been practicing it for weeks.
The light, which struggled against the sea breeze, illuminated the scarecrow shape of Lenos, Alucard’s second mate. He squeaked, and she sighed and extinguished the fire, plunging them both back into comfortable darkness.
“Lenos,” she said, trying to sound friendly. Had he seen what she’d done with the ship and the sea? The look on his face was one of caution, if not outright fear, but that was his usual expression around her. After all, he’d been the one to start the rumor that she was the Sarows, haunting the Spire.
The man stepped forward, and she saw that he was holding something out for her. His coat.
A refusal rose to her lips, automatic, but then good sense made her reach out and take it. She’d survived magic doors and evil queens; she’d be damned if she died of catching cold.
He let go of the coat the instant her fingers found purchase, as if afraid of being burned, and she shrugged it on, the lining still warm from Lenos’s body. She turned up the collar and shoved her hands into the pockets, flexing her fingers for warmth.
“Are you afraid of me?” she asked in Arnesian.
“A little,” he admitted, looking away.
“Because you don’t trust me?”
He shook his head. “Not that,” he mumbled. “You’re just different from us….”
She gave him a crooked smile. “So I’ve been told.”
“Not cause you’re a, well, you know, a girl. S’not that.”
“Because I’m the Sarows, then? You really think that?”
He shrugged. “S’not that, not exactly. But you’re aven.”
Lila frowned. The word he used was blessed. But Lila had learned that there was no English equivalent. In Arnesian blessed wasn’t always a good thing. Some said it meant chosen. Others said favored. But some said cursed. Other. Apart.
“Aven can be a good thing, too,” she said, “so long as they’re on your side.”
“Are you on our side?” he asked quietly.
Lila was on her own side. But she supposed she was on the Spire’s side, too. “Sure.”
He wrapped his arms around himself and turned his attention past her to the water. A fog was rolling in, and as he stared intently at it, Lila wondered what he saw in the mist.
“I grew up in this little place called Casta,” he said. “On the southern cliffs. Castans think that sometimes magic chooses people.”