I feel Alastor’s eyes on me, and I wait. He’ll tell me what he’s thinking soon enough. He always does.
“There’s some people back in Filusia who’d find all this very intriguing,” he points out.
“You think that hasn’t occurred to me?” I ask. I know very well what he’s getting at, but I haven’t made any decisions yet. I have other priorities, and I’m still working out where the princess fits into my list.
Footsteps approach, and we stop talking as Ana appears. Even if she doesn’t want me to call her that, I can’t help using the name in my head. Morgana is the calculating, regal lady I met in the throne room, but Ana is the fiercely determined woman who confronted me in the inn to save her friend. That’s who I see now as she approaches us.
I hesitate, wondering what to say, and Alastor gets there first.
“Not sure if you’re still mad at him,” Alastor says, jabbing a finger in my direction, “But in case you’re going to get into another argument, I just wanted to let you know we’re leaving soon, so please make it quick.”
I think I catch Ana suppressing a smile as my friend heads back toward the horses. Often Alastor’s blunt honesty offends people, but she seems to appreciate it.
She takes a deep breath, then turns her gaze on me.
“Do you think there’s a way to train without that happening again?” she asks. “Getting stuck inthatmemory, I mean. Idowant to find my magic. I know it’s important.”
She shakes her hair back from her face, the sunlight catching the chestnut shine in it. I blink, distracted for a moment, then try to answer her question.
“I think that depends,” I say carefully. “I can try to keep your mind away from that memory, but if it’s what your magic’s hiding behind?—”
“I don’t think that’s it. That night—” She sighs and sits down on a fallen log, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Thatdreamis about the night my magic first showed itself. It’s about the guard I killed. Bede was his name. He came into my room and tried to…well, you saw.”
Rage rips through me like a wild beast, biting and tearing. I have to fight to keep my voice steady.
“He attacked you?” I ask. “One of your own guards?”
“Yes,” she says, matter-of-factly. “Ironic, isn’t it? He and his colleagues were supposed to be there to protect me, but as far as I know, they didn’t have to deal with a single thief or assassin or kidnapper the entire time I lived there. The only real threat to me came from inside the house.”
“Were theyallcorrupt? Why did no one else stop him?”
“He was clever,” she explained. “The new head of guards liked him, and Bede made friends with the others too. And he…he knew how to threaten me, making it clear he’d retaliate against my friends if I spoke out against him. He was patient, too, biding his time until he could arrange for a night where he’d be the only one outside my door. I knew it was coming, knew I couldn’t act against him directly—that’s why I left. The night you saw me in the tavern, I was supposed to be running away.” She smiles, but there’s no humor in it. “But that didn’t exactly go to plan. You were there; you know what happened. They found me, and when they returned me to the manor, he got his chance.”
My rage is shot dead in its tracks as I realize what her story means.
She begged me for help, and I turned my back on her. She knew what was waiting for her in the manor, and I was the reason that maggot got his chance.
Guilt is a much nastier emotion than anger. I still want to break things, but now I know all the splinters and shards should be pointing squarely in my direction.
“I didn’t know,” I say, as if that somehow makes up for anything.
She lifts her head and meets my eyes. I expected to see sadness and pain, but instead I’m met with steely resolve.
“I protected myself. I burned him alive until he was nothing but a smoking corpse on my floor.” She stands up. “Icanuse my magic. You showed me that before. And when I find it, and have a proper handle on it, I can make sure nothing like that ever happens again.”
This woman clearly doesn’t want comfort, nor does she need my sympathy, which is good because I’m terrible at both those things. What she needs is someone to believe in her.
“That sounds like a plan,” I say and am rewarded with a satisfied nod. For her, the matter is settled. I’m anythingbutsettled, but there’s no sense in revealing that.
We mount our horses, and as we ride out, I’m more aware than usual of her sitting behind me. I don’t think I imagine her arms holding me a little closer, tightening around my waist as we find the road again. It means I can feel parts of her at my back that I couldn’t before, the soft curve of her body fitting against mine.
Behave yourself,says the scornful voice in my head.That will only complicate things.
I ignore it, enjoying how every now and again the breeze catches her hair and carries her scent forward to me. It’s sweet and spicy like the banks of jasmine flowers that grow in the gardens at Lavail.
I think of the manor she mentioned. I assumed she grew up endlessly spoiled and indulged, but her description paints a different picture.
Guilt settles on me again like a black cloud. I sent her back to that place, and now I find myself trying to imagine exactly how bad it was.