Page 106 of Kissed By the Gods
“If I begin in time, yes.”
I steel myself to ask the next question.
“Tyrston?”
“Dead.”
I close my eyes. How did he die? I remember that crack as he hit the wall. Did I do that?
“Thalric and Nyrica?” I ask.
“Unharmed.”
“Thank Thera,” I breathe out. “Where—” I stop. I can’t quite bring myself to ask where Ryot is. He must have been a figment of my weird, wild dreams. And I don’t want anyone to know about my dreams.
Elowen refills the water cup and brings it back to me. “Thank you,” I tell her, and our fingers brush when she takes the cup back from me. The contact agitates her, and she slams the cup onto the worktable at the back of the room with a noncommittal “mmm.” I slant a look at Siofra and raise my eyebrows. What’s that about?
Siofra shrugs. “Elowen gets grumpy when people are hurting,” she says.
“Siofra,” Elowen says in a warning tone, but the girl ignores her.
“Not me, though,” Siofra whispers. “I don’t mind so much. Elowen says it makes me ill-suited for healing and that I should have more empathy.” She says empathy like it’s a dirty word and rolls her eyes. I’m taking a drink of water when she speaks, and I laugh so hard at her frankness that I snort water out my nose.
“Siofra!” Elowen reprimands, but my sniggering undermines the rebuke.
“I completely understand, Siofra,” I say. “I don’t think I’d make a very good healer, either.”
Siofra grins at me, coming closer to the edge of my bed. I guess we’re not enemies, anymore. Snorting water out of your nose—a tried and true trick to win over children, whether they’re serf or princess.
“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have the obligation of blood magic, Leina,” Elowen snaps. “But Siofra does. She is a gifted healer. And healers help when people are hurting.”
I sober. Siofra stops laughing, too, looking more contrite. I clear my throat, eager both for a way to ease some of the tension between the two sisters and to learn more about the gifted. It’s clearly much more complicated than I thought it was.
“What is blood magic?” I ask. Elowen looks taken aback. Either she’s unsure how to describe it or uncertain what to tell me.
“You don’t know?” she asks.
“No.”
Her eyes widen, and she doesn’t speak at first, but Siofra has no such problems. “Blood magic is from the True Gods, from literally forever ago. We all have different gifts.” She cuts a resentful glance over at Elowen. “Different obligations. Elowen and I are healers. Rissa is?—”
“That’s enough, Siofra.” The sharp command from the doorway has all three of us—Elowen, Siofra, and me—jumping.
Princess Rissa is in the doorway, flanked by two guards. I hate that she’s the royal emissary to the Synod. I don’t see her often—she’s normally closeted with the archons and the Elder when she’s here—but every time I do, part of me bristles.
I. Don’t. Like. Her.
Her ice-blue eyes settle on Siofra with the cold precision of someone accustomed to being obeyed. “You know we don’t speak of our gifts,” she tells the girl, her voice laced with hard reprimand. Her eyes find mine, and they’re hard and unforgiving. “Not to outsiders.”
Siofra’s lips seal tight, and she backs up against Elowen. The child tucks her hand into Elowen’s palm, and Elowen gives her a gentle squeeze before speaking to Rissa. “You know she doesn’t think about it,” Elowen says. Her tone is respectful, but not meek. “Healing isn’t a gift that’s hidden.”
My mind catches on that. I glance at Rissa again, but this time I really look—not at the polished exterior, the perfect posture, or the imperious tilt of her chin. What kind of gift needs hiding? For the first time, I wonder if Princess Rissa’s icy control isn't just about keeping others in line but keeping whatever’s inside her from slipping out.
Princess Rissa ignores her sisters, turning to me. She speaks to the room, but she doesn’t remove her gaze from mine. “Leave us.” Her guards obey without question. Elowen nudges Siofra toward the door, and the girl leaves with quiet reluctance, glaring at Rissa’s back as she closes the door.
Elowen, though, squares her shoulders, and stays. “Why are you here, Rissa? You’re disturbing my injured.”
Rissa’s gaze snaps to Elowen, and for the first time, fury flares behind those glacier eyes. “You think to be so informal—in front of her?” She points to me like I’m the trash someone forgot to take outside.
