Page 9 of Swords of Soul and Shadow
She slid her fingers over the worn leather and hooked them underneath the cover. Running the pads of her fingertips over the edges, she found the place where she’d left off. But when she went to turn to the next page, a pinprick of pain bit the tip of her pointer finger. Parchment cut.
She cursed softly and sucked on it. In her time at University, she’d gotten used to the sensation; once, she’d even sliced herself with parchment three times in one sitting. Not her proudest moment. Someone had once told her parchment cuts only stung so badly because they ripped skin instead of cleanly cutting it.
She didn’t know if she believed that, but her stupid finger throbbed regardless.
Inspecting the page once more, Hallie ran her finger over the messy jargon on the page. This shouldn’t have been so difficult—she was a Yalven scholar, for stars’ sake. Did that not mean anything?
She pulled out her sketchbook and made a few notes. A few of these words could be translated in a few different ways. She would need to decipher what the woman was trying to say by guessing at context she didn’t have…which could, of course, render the entire thing entirely unhelpful.
But she had little choice. Not when—
Heat throbbed in her center. With it came a flash, a picture that made her gasp: the archway again, flickering through her mind like a flame.
It was the first time in three days she’d felt it. Seen it.
Hallie put a hand to her stomach as the heat died down and turned to ice once more. She looked at the page before her and noticed a small, infinitesimal streak of brown. Her blood—the parchment cut. The rusty smear struck through one of the first lines of script.
A coincidence, surely.
She leaned closer, analyzing the symbols there. It did seem to say something about a portal of some sort…in a certain context. She made a hasty note in her sketchbook.
A coincidence…but maybe not.
The door to the Gate Chamber had opened because of her Yalven ancestry; her blood had been the key. Could it open the door to her power, too?
She tapped her cut finger and her thumb together.
Only one way to find out.
She’d still be under her record of three papercuts in one sitting. Besides, this was for science’s sake.
Clenching her teeth against the pain to come, she set her middle finger against the parchment edge and sliced it.
“Blast, blast, blast, that hurts,” she hissed to herself. Inspecting her finger, she willed blood to appear. “Please don’t make me slice it again.”
A few more moments of pinching and pleading, and blood finally peeked out of the slender, stinging cut. She touched her finger to the edge of the page, then pulled back and inspected the faint, wavy imprint of her fingertip.
Nothing extraordinary.
She blew softly on the page, like stirring the dying embers of a fire. Maybe it needed a moment to work. Maybe she’d well and truly lost it.
Waiting, waiting…
Nothing.
Yep. I’ve lost it.
Laughter echoed through the cavern—Guy’s doing, most likely. She was surprised the bard had stayed here as long as he had; bards weren’t exactly known for settling in one place, after all. But she was glad, this once, to be proven wrong.
It turned out the qualities of a skilled bard and the qualities of a skilled leader had plenty of overlap: both required an abundance of charisma, a talent for public speaking, the ability to inspire particular emotions in their audience, and the kind of shrewd insight that anticipated trouble before it arrived. And he’d certainly proven his courage by stepping up after the attack to help keep the survivors alive.
Joining the others at the fire would’ve been easy. If she only put down the journal and left her father’s tent, she could pretend she wasn’t an Essence wielder for the night. She could pretend she hadn’t spent the last few years among the upper echelons of society. She could fall back into the mountain accent she’d tried so hard to suppress. Easy.
Nothing was ever easy.
Hallie no longer belonged among the people she’d known her entire life. She was different; not above them, not better than them, just not the same. She’d lived a lifetime away from the sleepy little village of her birth, and no one could rewind time.
Some might say she’d lost herself. Butsomewould be wrong. In fact, she had found herself in a messy-haired, cocky pilot with a heart of stardust and a penchant for dusty tomes.
