Page 20 of The Cerise

I don’t want to hurt anyone tonight. I just need to know if there are others in that room who mean to harm me.

Without the barrier I’ve built to hold my power back, I find my soldier. His heart beats steadily from within the darkness of the doorway. He’s watching me, arms crossed over his chest, head cocked slightly as his soldier friend, Riot, prattles in the background.

My vision is clear like this. The people caught in my webs near copies of themselves. Their bodies transparent phantasms with flickering hearts. The third heart, a woman, walks to the back of her house to a man who lies unconscious on a table.

Ezra.

Relief floods my senses and knocks the fragment of control I have out the window. A tiny ember of fire swelters in my palms, and all I can think about is how the soldier watches me. How, if he notices what’s happening, I’m fucked.

I imagine shoving the red burst of energy flowing in and around me back into a box in my mind. I pull at the power, dragging my magic frommy toes upward, and visualize it going away. Inch by inch, my body cools. The heaviness within me lifts, and my power is locked away again. The tiny bundle of fire extinguished.

I’m left with breadcrumb-sized power compared to what I have inside me. The mist that leaks from the keyhole of its confines. Just enough magic to find three silhouetted, flickeringhearts.

Idon’t know what I expected walking into a strange house in the middle of the night, in a town that shouldn’t exist, in the forest no one is allowed to enter, but I never dreamed it would belong to a healer.

Soft, ambient lighting emanates from strategically placed candles, casting a warm glow that dances along the edges of mirrors hung to amplify the mystical ambiance. The air is warm and thick with the aroma of dried herbs, most noticeably sage and lavender.

Four large tapestries hang along the far wall in a row, each more detailed than the last. It’s hard not to give them my full attention when there’s so much to be seen. I want to analyze each to see what herbs and symbols I recognize from my teachings, but I force myself to focus on my surroundings.

There are no tables, chairs, or even a couch in the main room, but there are two large bookshelves at the far end, each brimming with an impressive collection of glass jars and wooden boxes, all carefully labeled to display an array of dried herbs, roots, and flowers.

Being here and smelling all of these herbs is surreal. It’s like I’ve walked into a fragmented reality. Everything feels familiar and different, all the same.

“She shouldn’t be here.” Riot glares, his harsh tone pulling me from the quiet lull of my memories. His eyes narrow on me, emphasizing that I’m unwelcome. “If the others catch wind of her presence…”

“We’ll be gone before they return,” my soldier says gruffly. He hoversto my right, his body stiff and defensive. He’s a heartbeat away from an attack, but I’m not in his strike zone. Riot is.

“They’ll still know, Bash,” Riot presses, and while I should be focusing on who he’s worried about or what happens if I’m caught in this village, my mind trips over my soldier’s name.

Bash.

The man from the woods doesn’t look like aBash. I imagine someone with a name like that would be burly. He’d sit in the woods before a fire with a thick coat, shaggy hair, and stubble on his cheeks. I imagine someone with such a name to have a smile that would take a girl’s breath away and eyes as warm as a summer’s day. I can see dogs on his property, two big brown ones that love to curl up on his bed at night.

The image warms something in me but it vanishes, and I can’t see any of that in this man. His movements are too stiff. Each word from his mouth calculated. If Bash were ever to have been the free spirit his name suggests, King Travers’s army beat it out of him in training, and for some reason, that makes me sad.

“The only newcomer tonight is the infected.” Bash states in a tone that implies the discussion is over. “Understood?”

Riot steps close, until they’re nose to nose. His chest heaves with controlled chaos, brushing against Bash’s shirt with each inhale. Testosterone radiates off them in waves, and I’m surprised when neither throws a hand at the other.

Instead, Riot controls his rage and grits, “I’m saying this now, on the record, that I don’t approve.”

“Your opinion is noted.” Bash stares him down, not relenting to the power challenge. He’s higher in rank, although I’m not sure what regime they’re in or their status. Neither men have a brand on their forearms nor any markings on their clothes to identify them.

“And ignored,” Riot mutters. He shakes his head and retreats to the side of the room. He leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze trained on the floor.

“Enough!” a woman warns. The healer steps through a heavy curtain embroidered with symbols seemingly woven into the fabric with threads of moonlight. I recognize a few from the arch we passed under and from my studies with Mom, but I don’t know what most of the sigils mean.

“What’s done cannot be undone. Accept the circumstances and adjust. Or have you forgotten your training?” The woman levels an eye on Riot but doesn’t give him time to respond to the question before turning her attention to Bash. “And you! You brought an outsider into Tarrish. Have you lost your mind? Her presence threatens everything we’ve worked for!”

“I won’t say anything,” I interrupt.

“It doesn’t matter if you want to or not. The Crown has a way of weaseling information out of people that they would rather die than give,” Riot adds, and the deep rumble that resonates in Bash from that comment makes the little hairs on my arms stand.

The woman’s eyes widen, flashing a warning as she looks at Bash. He huffs in acknowledgment, but says nothing.

“Come, girl. It’s time to say your goodbyes.” She steps forward and grabs my arm.

I shift out of her reach and a smirk lifts her lips, one dark-lined eyebrow arching. She stares at me, taking in the dark coat, probably recognizing where it came from, and her curious look grows even more curious.

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