Page 13 of Godsbane
Murphy grimaces. “That is a truly disarming facial expression. Try not to hurt yourself.”
“Okay, asshole,” I start, righteous indignation flaring to life. Men telling you to smile is bad enough, but being toldnotto smile might be even worse.
Something soft hits my cheek. I raise my hand to touch the spot and my fingers pull back red andsticky. Is that ….holy shit. That’s raspberry pastry filling.
“Did you just throw a tart at me?” I ask in disbelief. Surely I’m imagining this.
“You were being a tart,” he teases.
My chin is practically dragging the ground in shock. I’ve had a lot of things thrown at me in crowds before, but I’ve never had a grown man throw a pastry at me in jest on horseback.
“I don’t know what kind of backwoods hovel you were raised in, but those of us in the civilized world don’t throw food.”
“I may not have grown up in a tower, princess, but my home was plenty civilized.”
“And where exactly did the Captain of Corinth grow up?”
“Hegrew up on a battlefield. The man he was before was raised in the Diamond Region.”
The man behind the murderous reputation has barely crossed my mind before, but he’s suddenly all I can think about. I know who I was before Marks made me, but who was he? And can I use that to ensure he can’t revoke our alliance?
“Does that man have a first name?”
“He does.” Captain Murphy’s eyes meet mine in contemplation and my magic tingles oddly. A smile blooms across his lips, maddeningly white teeth flashing briefly. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you what it is.”
Without another word, the captain spurs his horse into a gallop and disappears over the cresting horizon.
CHAPTER 5
As the sun dips low in the evening sky, Captain Murphy steers us off the road in search of water, a task he accomplishes with an unnatural ease.
I make a mental note to watch his tracking habits more carefully in hopes that I might learn something valuable. Surely being able to find water quickly is a skill that will prove useful at some point.
While the captain pitches the canvas tent, I set out to find a secluded place to expend my magic away from his watchful eyes. It tickles relentlessly, like an unreachable itch that can only be scratched by growing life.
Despite the late hour, what remains of the sun is warm. It’s the first day that has truly felt like this winter might be coming to an end. I shed my cloak and wool sweater, letting the rays dance across my shoulders, now exposed in the thin cotton tank I wear underneath.
This area, ringed with evergreen trees and holly bushes, provides the best chance at privacy. I drop to my knees on the ground, eager not to pray to the gods who demand penance from this position but to connect with the life force that runs under our feet.
Eyes closed, I breathe in deeply, feeling the warming sensation of my magic just under the surface. I call to it on the inhale and let it trickle into my waiting palms. Pushing all the air from my lungs, my earth magic flows from my fingers in delicate green rivulets, gently waking the dead grass that lingers under the pine straw floor of the forest from its seasonal slumber.
I search the clearing again to make sure the captain isn’t lurking between the trees, and satisfied with what I find, I tilt my face towards the sunlight streaming through the canopy of leaves overhead. With my palms planted firmly on the ground, I close my eyes and imagine my fingertips extending deep into the dirt and becoming roots and vines searching for water.
In my mind’s eye, my body becomes the trunk of a tree, sturdy and strong, weathered and steadfast. My brown hair blows in the warm breeze like autumn leaves clinging to thin branches before they fall to the earth.
I am rooted.
I am grounded.
I am the earth.
Concentrated clusters of magic form dormant bulbs under the barren ground as power seeps through my fingertips and into the soil. In a few weeks, when the last dregs of winter disappear, snow white crocus and deep-purple godsbane will bloom in this spot. In this moment, under the sun’s rays and connected wholly to the land, I am at peace.
“What are you doing?” Captain Murphy’s booming voice startles me back to reality.
I jump to my feet, quickly trying to swallow down the panic that clenches my chest. “Meditating.”
“Meditating,” he repeats skeptically. “If you’re not careful, someone might mistake that for worshipping.”
