Felix lifted his hood just enough to glare up at her. “I do, yes. I took it because it pays well. Any other questions?”
“See!” Luella snapped, whirling to face Garren. “He’s only in it for the gold. He’ll turn on us at the slightest opportunity!”
Felix chuckled, leaning back against the bench. “Highly unlikely. The pay would have to be better than what I’m getting now, and that’s a bloody tall order.”
Luella narrowed her eyes at him. “Hmph. Well. Are you any good?”
“The best you’ll ever have.” He winked at her.
She threw her hands in the air and uttered an exclamation in a language he didn’t speak, but he understood the meaning well enough. He grinned and closed his eyes again, hoping that was the end of her interrogation. He’d met women like her before in mercenary companies – tough, distrustful, and quick to anger. In his experience, outrageous flirting was an easy solution. They’d dismiss him as a fool and leave him alone or rise to the bait. Either way, it was a win.
As he’d hoped, he heard her huff, turn around, and walk away.
4
Safe travels
Isolde woke up with a start. She was outside – no, she was in a tent? There was the sound of canvas moving gently in the wind, birdsong, and the shuffling of feet behind her.
Wild, erratic memories of the night before flooded her mind before she could take the time to figure out where she was. There had been magic, so much of it. It had hurt, taken hold of her and suffused her, like it needed something to latch onto. Then, when there was nowhere left for it to go, and she could no longer contain it, it had just… exploded.
She kept silent, not wanting to alert whoever was in the tent with her, and slowly brought her hand up to her face. There it was, the marking. A shimmering, pale blue line that ran from her index finger into her sleeve, a miniature version of the ley line she had admired all her life. These markings ran all over her body. She knew because she could feel them there, the pattern on her skin tingling with power, like a second heartbeat. Leytouched, the mage had called her. She attempted to recall what she knew of the subject, from books or lessons...
It was no use. This wasn’t academic; it wasn’t theory. There was an enormous source of magic within her. All her life she’d idly wished to be a mage, tomanipulate the world with magic like mages could, but this… this was not what she meant! People died last night. A rush of terror ran through her, causing her to make a small, involuntary squeaking sound.
“My lady? Are you awake?”
Leni’s voice. Of course Leni would be here. She turned over to see her lady’s maid standing nearby, hands clasped together.
“Oh, my lady,” Leni said, her eyes glossy. Her lips were pursed and quivering, her gaze drawn not to Isolde’s eyes but to her neck, where she could feel one of the blue lines curling up around her jaw.
Isolde tried to sit up, regretting it immediately. Her head pounded something fierce, and the world spun, churning her stomach. She’d killed people. How many? Who were they? What would happen to her now?
“Could I have some water…?”
Leni rushed over to a small table and returned with a full cup.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Leni wrung her hands together. “It is a sorry business, and no mistake, but this whole plan is not right, my lady. Surely his Lordship can think of some other –”
Isolde’s father strode into the tent, interrupting Leni. The maid quickly moved off to the side, her head down.
“Father!” she exclaimed, trying to stand but staggering and sitting back down. “I –” She stopped herself. Her father hated displays of emotion.
Lord Trevalyan did not meet his daughter’s eyes. He rarely did, but she’d never felt it so keenly before now. He stood stiffly by the table, placing his hand on the water pitcher. His expression was hard to read.
Somewhere inside, something surged, a current. It was the magic. She couldn’t let it out again. Pressing her lips together tightly, she stared at the ground and took deep, slow breaths, like she had been taught.
“I am glad to see you awake, Isolde. Do you understand what has happened?”
Isolde nodded, keeping her eyes downcast. She killed people. Would she go to prison? Would the mages demand her execution again? A shudder ran down her spine.
“I have spent a great deal of time this night speaking with mages who are experts on the magic of the ley lines. They believe they can cure you of this curse.” Lord Trevalyan circled the rim of the pitcher with his index finger.
Isolde looked up in surprise. She’d killed mages, yet they wanted to help her?
“However,” her father continued, ignoring her shocked expression, “the ritual required must be performed in some old temple far to the north.” He made a vague gesture. “You’ll travel there. Garren and Luella will accompany you.”
