Page 18 of A Court of Truth and Thorns
I choose my words as carefully as berries amidst thorns. “Her name is Jasmine. She has a fever.”
A hint of a smile. “She might die.”
Stars. “She might.”
Raza tilts her head. “So why has your loyalTracenot healed her?”
My heart beats hard, struggling to understand the direction of Raza’s thoughts. “His healing crystal is depleted,” I tell her.
She nods and I’m immediately glad I told the truth. She knew the answer before she asked. She leans in, bringing her face just outside the reach of my chains. “How did it get depleted? Not healing me, clearly. Who did Trace choose to save? You?” Her lip curls. “Did he healyou?”
I stay silent, which seems less provocative than confirming the sin aloud.
Raza rocks back on her heels and, before I can scream, presses the wand into my neck.
Knowing what to expect does nothing to lessen the shock of convulsing muscles. Through the haze of paralyzing pain, I see Raza adjust her hold on the stone, shoving the whole wanddown the front of my shirt. With no more need to hold on to the crystal, she stands and retreats to the other side of the tent to adjust her clothes.
My seizing muscles scream their agony, but it’s the burn in my lungs that sends waves of true panic through me. No air. I have no air. I am choking. I will die.
I strain to shift my body away. My muscles ignore me. Across the tent, Raza’s back is to me. I’m going to die and she won’t even notice. She will turn around, whenever that crazed brain of hers deems it right, and will stare at my dead body like a child frowning at a bug that splattered beneath her shoe.
My vision darkens, the world swaying around me. I long for the calm stillness of the shadows. Drowning must be like this. Unable to breathe, unable to scream, unable to fight. Some who drown breathe in water before they perish. I understand them now. A last chance to fill the lungs is so very tempting.
Tempting enough that I give in to it. Except it’s not water that enters. Nor air. It’s magic.
12
KALI
The oily magic flows into my lungs, my muscles, my skin. A coalescence of agony and bliss.
My body yields to it. Absorbs it into its pores. The fire blazing inside me turns to welcoming warmth, the magic a tangible thing. A familiar feeling surfaces, a memory. Magic has been inside me before, when Trace healed my injuries. That magic was different, still oily but refined and purposeful. The healing magic, tuned by Trace and filtered through the living crystal, had a mission. This magic is raw and untamed. It moves without purpose or direction. Stinging bees who don’t know where to settle.
Like the wild magical tufts inside a novice whisperer’s crystal. ExceptIam the crystal and the whisperer, both.
I grope for the words I’ve heard Leaf recite to novices, words she tried to recite to me in her trials.Concentrate. Feel the magic’s chaotic movements. Now envision how you want it to weave together. Coax the outermost strands toward the middle.I guide the bees. Not with any muscles I’ve used before, but with anotherpower inside me, one that is clumsy and uncertain from lack of use. I push, pull, coax. The roaming magic makes me scream in pain one instant and writhe from its tickling touch the next.
But I am screaming, I realize. I am writhing. I am breathing. I am moving. I am alive.
I take deep breaths. I stroke the bees lovingly. They are together now, but they want something to do. They want a purpose. They would like to make something whole, but doinganythingwould be better than doing nothing.
Calm. I need to stay calm. Closing my eyes, I imagine myself in the safety of the shadows. There are no shackles, no pain, no hateful eyes watching me writhe like a worm. I imagine myself absorbing the light around me so only darkness remains. I breathe in the darkness and breathe out the fear. In and out. Even the stinging bees seem soothed by the rhythm.In and—
The scream that shatters the tent should have belonged to me, but I’m fairly certain I was inhaling when it sounded. Opening my eyes, I find Raza pressing her back against the canvas wall. Her one eye is so wide with panic, I can see the white around her iris glistening from across the tent.
“What’s going on in here?” General Hewe’s deep voice booms from the tent’s entrance. Copa, Wil, and Trace file in after him and stop dead. All of them. Staring at me with eyes as wide as the princess’s.
Following their gaze, I look down at myself and choke on air.
Darkness as thick as night covers me like a blanket. Bringing my hand up to my face, I can’t see even the outline of my fingers. Yet the people standing just a few paces away are crystal clear. As if I’m looking from inside the shadows into a lit room.
“Kal!” Trace screams, wheeling about to face Raza. He advances on her like a predator. “Where is Kal?”
“I’m here.” My voice sounds too loud, my heart beating so quickly it hurts.
Trace spins back around, braces himself, and plunges into the darkness around me. His hands connect with my knee and shuffle quickly to my face. Warm, calloused palms touch my cheeks and smooth my hair. His forehead presses against mine. “Stars. Are you all right?” His voice is quiet, desperate. “Talk to me.”
“What did you do?” Copa demands of the princess. “Where is the wand?”
