Page 31 of A Court of Truth and Thorns
As many times as I’m told to do it.
We start by filling my reserves from light crystals that Bobenshish tunes expertly to my blood. I siphon the magic through a cut on my palm and practice concentrating and containing it. Unlike the oily magic of healing crystals, the magic from the light crystals is thin and pliable. It obeys my will easily and channels into a large shadow with great, but bearable, effort.
After three daysof nonstop labor, I manage to channel a darkness ten paces across and hold it for a quarter hour. I spend the next six hours unable to lift my head. When I do, Bobenshish scowls at me. “Candy and child’s games,” she informs me.
“It worked,” I mumble.
“You’d need to drink from more light crystals than you could possibly carry,” she scoffs. “All for a quarter hour of brute force. In your fighting terms, you pulled back a bow. Once. Is there an army in any kingdom that would call that anarcher?”
The next hours and days meld together as I siphon magic from every type of crystal we can find, from heat and healing crystals to the more exotic ones Bobenshish pulls out from somewhere. After some experimentation, the old witch concedes that light manipulation is most natural for me and redoubles her efforts on that front. She doesn’t just want darkness—she wants light too, and she wants it shaped solidly. A dagger, a shield, a spear. Each of my waking moments is spent either in the midst of trying something impossible or shaking in exhaustion.
At the end of the week, I’m competent in bending shadow from light, I can summon the occasional dagger, and most importantly, I have stretched my capacity for holding and controlling magical reserves to what Bobenshish declares passable levels. I can even ingest magic from several crystal breeds at once, though the viscous healing magic is by far the most potent and difficult to control.
Bobenshish, however, informs Rune that I am more powerful than she likes and she would like for him to conjure up a couple of years for my training. Either that or we can justslit each other’s throats now and save everyone the trip to Dansil.
Neither of Bobenshish’s alternatives is an option, of course, and when the clock strikes three in the morning on the ninth day of our stay at River Manor, I gather up my things and slip out into the dark.
21
KALI
We meet an hour before dawn at a trailhead half a league into the forest. The crisp night air prickles my eyes and mouth, and my breath mists in the full moon’s soft light. I hear horses’ neighs, heralding Wil and Rune’s arrival. Luca, Calvin, and the girls are already here.
“No problem getting the horses, then?” I ask, petting a mare’s soft flank. The thick, shiny winter coat feels wonderful beneath my palm.
“Turned them out in the far pasture last night.” Wil checks their tack. “The hostlers won’t know until the evening feeding. Our disappearance will be noted before the animals’.”
Jasmine appears beside us, handing out dark tunics and trousers. Luca passes out weapons, inspecting each of us to ensure buckles are tight and metal bits are muted with strips of cloth. His hand hesitates as he reaches to test the strap at my chest. I kick him in the shin and he grins.
Rune presses a small bundle into my hands. “Not your realones,” he whispers into my ear, his breath warm and tickling, “but perhaps they’ll do.”
I unwrap the gift and feel warmth of a different kind spread through me. A vambrace with throwing daggers. Looking up at Rune, I mouth my thanks. He nods, a few strands of silver hair peeking out from beneath a dark hat. Reaching up, I tuck away the stray hairs, letting my fingers feel the angled line of his jaw, brush along his high cheekbones. His skin has the clean roughness of a recent shave.
Rune catches my wrist, presses his cheek into my palm. One of the rare touches we’ve had all week. His chest expands and lowers with deep, even breaths. A mirror to mine.
“Are you two coming?” Wil says, letting his horse stick her large nose between Rune and me. I flush but Rune just chuckles softly before releasing me, the sound a soft rumble deep in his chest. I try to burn the perfection of this moment into my memory, a boon to hold on to through whatever comes.
Wil’s mare huffs.
Right. Taking the offered reins from Wil’s hand, I swing into my mare’s saddle and nudge the horse to the head of the line, where Calvin already waits. The man has the maps memorized and will be our navigator while I take care of the forward safety. Reaching into the well of magic stirring gently beside my heart, I pull out a small strand of red-tinged light. The colored shade protects our night vision and illuminates our footing enough to protect the horses’ legs, all without being the highly visible beacon that white light is.
Perhaps Mistress Bobenshish is more brilliant than I’ve given her credit for.
We travel all day, alternating between riding at a trot and dismounting to walk the horses. We don’t dare push them harder. If they go lame, our five-day journey will take threetimes that. As the sun begins to snake toward the horizon, we come to the stream Calvin pegged as our camping spot for the night. “Not bad, your planning,” I murmur to the old man, getting a hint of a smile in return.
“Wait until you see what the boys practiced while you played with magic,” he says with a wink. “I think they could storm that abbey blindfolded and never run into a single wall.”
We dismount in companionable silence, each member of the group eager to lend a helping hand. When Rune and I get up to do a security sweep and take watch, Luca rolls his eyes. Rune gives him a vulgar gesture that has Luca’s laughter following us into the woods. My face heats and I burrow deeper into my cloak. “One good thing about returning to Dansil,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “It’s warmer.”
Rune pulls off his coat and lays it over my shoulders. The thick cloth still traps his warmth and smells headily male.
I shake my head, but Rune touches a finger to my lips. His silver hair peeks out from under his wool hat to brush against his jaw. “I grew up in Everett. Even without the coat, I am better equipped for the weather. I would little put it past you to freeze to death before you realized you needed help.”
“Your faith in my survival skills is overwhelming.”
His brows rise together. “What survival skills, pray tell?”
I shove him. He shoves back, catching me before the back of my head can connect with a tree trunk. His eyes study my face, their dark irises kissed with a speckle of emerald. He swallows, as if just realizing his hands are still on me. The mist of his breath dances with mine. My heart gallops. I feel the reined-in strength of the arms supporting me, the warmth of Rune’s palms blazing through layers of clothes. An errant snowflake lands on Rune’s upper lip, and I am desperately curious as to what it would taste like. A tiny drop of ice on warm lips.
