Page 55 of Minor Works of Meda

We were surrounded by pirates. Another stone had broken. Kalcedon’s whereabouts were unknown. All we had to do was get back to the boat, I managed to tell myself. And yet telling my mind and telling my legs were two different things. I pulled back from Oraik and looked the way we needed to go.

“Come on,” the prince said, falsely cheerful. “I want to hear everything you’ve been up to.” He grabbed my hand and began to tow me towards the docks.

Our path was blocked, not just by the woman leaning against the house, but now by others behind her as well.

“Look at this little fish our luck brought in,” she said with a grin. “What’s in the bag, little fish?”

“I’d just like a moment to chat with my friend,” Oraik said cheerfully. She didn’t move. He turned and dragged me to the next gap between the houses. The men who’d been throwing knives gathered to block our way instead.

“Pardon me,” Oraik said. They started laughing and looking at each other.

The man wearing Oraik’s rings drew a knife. A big one. It didn’t look very clean. Then he reached forward and grabbed for my bag with a grin.

I didn’t want him touching the bag. I didn’t want him touching me.

I drew in a deep breath, and then my fingers twisted and spun. I didn’t even think about it. It just happened.

If I’d been thinking, I never in a million years would have chosen the spell that killed Eudoria. But it had been lingering beneath my skin for days, the fire sigil burning just out of my conscious reach. Now it erupted from my fingers, fueled by the outland burn of the breaking Ward. I shoved a ball of flame into the man’s chest, driving it in.

He screamed, a horrible sound. So did Oraik, though his was more of a startled yelp.

Witch, I heard someone yell.

There was no room to feel triumphant or even to feel afraid of the rest of them. As the fire left my fingers pins shot up my arms. The spell had swallowed most of what I had, and now a deep cold clawed at me like despair. Oraik grabbed my elbow and dragged me forward.

I ran with him. I could barely see where to put my feet. My head felt like one big scream.

We rushed through an opening onto the street, out of the wild behind the houses. There were shouts coming from behind us, but nobody grabbed me as I passed. For all they knew, I had other tricks left, though in truth I couldn’t have cast a single new thing. Then suddenly we reached the water.

“Come on,” Oraik said. He took me down to the dock to where my boat and Wave Dancer bobbed on the mooring. He looked over his shoulder, then at me in horror. The pirates had gathered and were heading towards us. Oraik cursed and started to climb into the Dancer.

I made a sound, not quite a word, and pointed. The Dancer was a rotting pile of wet wood compared to my little unnamed boat. He didn’t hesitate, and scrambled over to the one I was pointing at. I untied it with stiff and shaking hands. Oraik saw and helped.

We pushed off. I dropped the sail, turning it to catch the wind. My hands gripped the rope so tightly my joints hurt. I took one deep breath, then another, then a third. The wind snapped against me, feeling like claws on my face.

Oraik’s panic seemed to melt as the village shrank behind us. None of the pirates had followed, perhaps misjudging me as too dangerous to risk another confrontation with.

“Did you kill him?” he at last asked quietly.

I shook my head no. Then shrugged.

He rubbed his eyes. “So. You’re… a witch.”

I nodded and gripped the tiller tight. I braced myself for Oraik to hate me, but he didn’t mention anything about faerie blood. Instead, he changed the subject.

“Should I ask why you were following me?”

I closed my eyes and drew another deep breath. My head was calming, though in the space left by the panic I felt sheer, pure exhaustion.

“Because.” I took a deep breath. “You’re in danger.”

He only shrugged.

“I had it more or less covered,” Oraik said airily, and sniffed.

He didn’t realize I was talking about a new threat, but it annoyed me he couldn’t even acknowledge I’d saved him from the pirates.

“Did you? Nice clothes.”

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