Page 80 of Beast and Remedy
“I amtrying!” I growl under my breath. “You need to go.”
My toes cave into my body as the claws poke through the edges of my skin. I fight to warn her one more time, but the small amount of control I grip onto frays away with my humanity.
“Please, go. You’ll only make me angrier in my bear form if you stay.”
My neck cranks, tearing my eyes away from my twin. The cracks ripple, the searing pain steering me past the breaking point.
The fissures traveling around my skull are the last thing I feel as my true self.
The moon takes over the night sky.
The crickets chime louder than the hooting owls.
And I look back to where my sister was seen last to see she heeded my word.
Spring, The Makers Year 1016
To Prince Beauvais of Torgem,
I’m not sure what I did to lose your friendship. But it is evident you don’t want to talk to me in person. And now through letters, I guess.
If hunting and spending time with your friends and brothers ever gets boring, don’t bother writing me.
I’ll be too busy reading and learning more than you.
From,
Princess Vivienne of Belmur
18
The Esprit
Icling to my body as tremors control me, and I breathe steadily, hoping to calm the rushing power coursing through my veins, my muscles—even my very own breath. The terrorizing transitions are getting worse, like my beast form wants to stay longer than my magic allows.
And it only adds to the torture of changing back to myself.
The unrest, the unbalance, and the unease magnified as I patrolled through the woods. The animal in me thrashed and bucked, seemingly lost in how to aid that which cannot be seen.
I couldn’t pick up even the faintest trace of any wolves.
And if I couldn’t track anything, how was I supposed to help the forest and my people?
Power slowly ebbs from my toes, my fingers, my ankles, my wrists, traveling up my legs and my arms. It pulls and gathers into my chest, humming in small satisfaction at once more completing a shift.
But as I lie there, becoming more me than beast, the magic’s unease still pulses within.
I rub my heart, a false balm of reassurance despite the anxiety growing in my mind. I don’t want to fail. I need help.
“Help is what you will receive,” a light bouncing voice sings from behind.
I gasp, rolling over to the esprit dancing above the ground. “You can help me?”
It twinkles.
I blink as it hovers higher above the dirt, and I check the tree hollow where my clothing is. Glancing back, I can’t help the flood of questions leaving my mouth. “How are you here? Why can I see you?Howcan I see you? No, wait. Why are you appearing now?”
But my answers do not come from the esprit. Instead, it drifts toward my spare clothes as if it wants me to dress. It twirls in a circle, waiting.
