As the short winter days slowly pass, I try to forget about hunting Solomon and killing an innocent man, but the memory refuses to be suppressed. Hector even assured me that the man who was with Solomon was a criminal, but it didn’t ease my guilt.
Anyone could have been in that room with Solomon, and my rage would have consumed them too. My Bloodstone magic is too volatile. Too unpredictable.
Now I must live with what I did, and the knowledge that Hector and Kheldar covered up my actions. Nobody else knows what happened. Well, other than Jasce.
The incident with Solomon marked the dividing line between before and after. Before Solomon, the darkness visited me periodically. After Solomon, the darkness is ever present.
I try to focus on the women who come to me for help, to immerse myself in doing the things a person of light would do. But the darkness refuses to fade. It’s always there. Always prodding at my temper.
I had even yelled at an innocent servant girl one day when she simply dropped a goblet, shattering it all over the floor. Horror had struck my chest when I realized what I had done.
As Hector spends more time with his council and training with his men, I’m left alone far too often. Alone to ponder everything. Not finding a way out beyond waiting until the snow melts. Not being able to stop my temper from amplifying.
Sometimes I even pour over the books I found about Kyanite magic in the library, trying to find a solution beyond the pool of Zalhandara, but I never find one.
There is no other way.
I even chant the ancient words, hoping that if I say them enough, my magic will return to me, but it doesn’t. It’s as cold as the snow gathering outside my window.
Five days after killing Solomon, I step out of the library after my meeting with Wrenley and come to a sudden halt as a terrible feeling strikes my chest. I raise my hand to the pain and let out a shaky breath.
Something has happened to Hector. I feel it in my bones.
I jerk my gaze around the corridor and try to decide if I should search the palace for him or go to our bedchamber.
Ragged breaths escape me as I settle on our bedchamber. I cut to the right and run—straight toward my room—straight to the man I married to avenge Mother. How things have changed since then.
He needs me, and I need him.
I jerk open our door and gasp at the sight of Hector sitting on a chair. Blood soaks his surcoat, and his eyes are closed, as if sleep or pain overcomes him.
“Hades!” I cry out. “What has happened to you?”
As I hurry to him, his eyes open to reveal the pain glinting there.
“It’s nothing,” he murmurs, his voice groggy.
“It’s not nothing. Let me look at it.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want you to try to heal me and hurt yourself.”
“I will not leave you like this.”
“You must.” He offers my hand a reassuring squeeze.
This is what I was the most afraid of. Not being able to help those I care about.
“Hector,” I say, the determination clear in my voice. “Iwilltend to your wound.”
“Fine, but you willnotuse your magic.”
I nod, knowing I have no other choice but to follow his wish.
Knots tighten in my chest as I walk to a shelf to collect the satchel of herbs I purchased from an apothecary in Karra a few days ago. These herbs aren’t as powerful as what they have in Kyanite land, but they will have to do.
I return to Hector and cut away his surcoat with one of his daggers. He doesn’t move or make a sound. After I pull aside the last of the material, I inhale at the gash slashed across his upper arm. A wave of nausea hits me as I rip my gaze from the wound.
Get it together, Sol.
