Page 22 of Magic Cursed
Kellan looks at me with creased brows. “For getting hurt? Yes, you should be.”
There he goes again. Being too damn good. I shake my head. “You know what I mean.”
A smirk plays at his lips. “Oh, you mean for hitting me with a sleeping spell moments after we started something I thought we both wanted? You know, all you had to say was stop, and I would have.”
“I know.” And I don’t doubt it for a moment.
He nods his head in understanding. “But you needed me fast asleep to take the bracelet.”
I crease my brows as I examine him. “Exactly, I stole from you. How can you still care about my well-being after what I did? You should be furious with me; you should want me locked up for my crime—not that I’m making suggestions.”
“Maybe,” he says. His thumb runs gentle circles over my wrist. He leans forward. “Or maybe I think you ran away in the night because you were scared of making a real connection with someone.”
I’m uncomfortable with how true his assessment might be. I gently pull my hand from his. “Or maybe I don’t want to make connections.”
His eyes hold humor, and he slowly closes the distance, like he’s testing to see if I’ll stop him. I should stop him. Instead, I hold his gaze and my breath. He brushes his lips, a feather of a kiss, over my cheek. My heart hammers in my chest. Kellan’s warm breath is on my ear and the goosebumps return. Then he whispers, “It’s too late for that.” He backs away, leaving me to my jumbled thoughts. “Get some rest,” he says and walks toward the door.
I release my breath and rub the goosebumps from my arms, irritated with myself for not shoving him away. Even if I do like him, and his stupid hero complex, I’m leaving the first chance I get.
“Kellan,” I say, stopping him. “Don’t send any more healers to me. I can take care of my own wounds.”
He nods, understanding softening his features. “You’ll use magic to help your healing along, and you don’t want anyone to know. Don’t worry, I’ll only allow an attendant to help you. She won’t know how far into your healing you already are, so she won’t question it.”
“Thank you,” I say.
He gives me a wink and leaves.
* * *
I try to get up to explore the room, but again, pain slices through my body, reminding me I’m still too injured to get around without help. I sigh in frustration. I hate being helpless. However, there are things I can do to speed up my healing. Years ago, Desmira taught me the spell to aid in recovery. It’s a strong spell and will take all my energy to accomplish, but if it’ll help me get back on my feet faster, then it’s worth it. Besides, magic depleting me or not, I’m stuck in this bed.
I wonder what Des is thinking right now. She would have discovered what happened at the black market. Will she know I made it out alive, or will she think I perished with the rest? Will anyone in Hydenglen mourn me? Will they even care? More likely they’ll mourn the fact that they can’t use me anymore. I shake my head. No, Des will care. Tuuk and Elsie would too. They care about me. . .I think, I hope. Either way, a hole in my heart aches for Des’s homemade soup, and no-nonsense attitude. I miss her stories and even her incessant lessons. I even long for Elsie and Tuuk’s jokes and laughter. I hadn’t expected to miss them so much.
My eyes prickle and my face warms. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the feeling. I don’t have time for self-pity. I got myself into this mess and it’s up to me to get out of it. The first thing I need to do is heal. I place my hands over the wounds on my thighs and say the incantation the way Desmira taught me to. I concentrate and pull the magic from deep inside me. To my surprise, it answers instantly, like it’s been eagerly lying in wait. I focus on sending healing energy to my injuries. The warmth in my body flows through my hands to my wounds, warming and tingling under my palms. My magic now is different, stronger, and more intensified. It first comes as a trickle, then it surges like a wave, threatening to engulf me entirely. I gasp and pull my hands away, ending the spell before the full force of the magic surfaces. I look down. Tendrils of black mist, tinged in blue curl and twist inside my palm, like slithering serpents. Slowly, they fade to nothing.
What was that?
I breathe heavily and stare at my hands in disbelief. I’ve never seen that from my magic before. And the ache in my thighs is almost completely gone. My fingers scramble to my nightgown, tugging it up until the bandages are exposed. I lift the blood-soaked gauze. My heart skips a beat. A thin layer of tissue has already reformed over my wounds, pink and shiny. They appear as though they’ve been on the mend a week past. I’ve never been able to heal myself that quickly before. I slowly replace the bandage, remembering the magic that came when I’d battled the shadow demons.
My magic has changed, evolved somehow. The image of the dragon comes to mind. The immense power I’d felt when I touched him. What did he do to me? And yet, the black tendrils didn’t start until after my encounter with the shadow demons. It felt like the dragon opened a door, and then shadow demons woke what was beyond it. And I have no idea how to get it back in and safely locked up once again. Is this similar to what my father experienced? Is it only a matter of time before I lose my mind and turn evil as he had?
Even now, I can feel the power of that magic, just under the surface, waiting like a beast ready to pounce. What would have happened if I hadn’t cut off the spell? Would I have healed completely? No one can mend themselves that quickly. Even if another magic user was doing the spell, they wouldn’t be able to heal me that quickly. Or maybe darkness would have flowed out of me like it had with the shadow demons. Either would be bad. If I heal too fast, everyone will know I’m a magic user. And who knows what that darkness will do. One thing is certain, the magic is more than I can handle, which is terrifying.You control magic or it controls you. Des’s words echo in my mind.
I’m nervous to use the healing spell on my shoulders, but I can’t be here any longer than necessary and I’ll need my strength back before I can escape this place. I just can’t heal so fast that it’ll bring too much attention to myself. It should be easier this time, because I’m already fatigued from healing my thighs, and now I know what to expect.
Still, my hands shake when I cross my arms and cover the wounds at my shoulders. I whisper the incantation again, slowly, tentatively calling up the magic. It responds as it had before, only this time, I cut it off well before the surge surfaces. The tingling warmth lets me know it worked. I slump into the pillows, breathing heavily, sweat running down my temples. The pain has eased from my wounds, but I’m completely drained from the spellcasting. Closing my eyes, I fall asleep immediately.
* * *
I wake to a knocking on the door and groan.Desmira never lets me sleep in.I peel open my eyes and slowly my vision focuses. I stare at the inlaid shells on the bedpost.That’s not mine.Fear twists in my stomach. I reach under the pillow for the blade I hide there, but it’s gone. The events of the past few days rush in and fear has me jolting upright. Have they finally discovered who I really am and are coming to lock me up? My eyes wander the room, searching for a weapon.
A moment later, a woman in a servant’s apron opens the door. My fear fades away and my jaw drops. I recognize the woman, Mrs. Dower. She was my handmaiden in the castle before the night of the Blood Moon. The plump woman’s once brown hair now pokes out from under her bonnet, silvered with time. She looks at me with kind eyes and smiles, deepening wrinkles that weren’t there before.
“Oh good, dear, you’re awake.” She hurries in, shutting the door behind her. “You must be hungry, but first we’ll get you washed up.” She disappears into the bathing chamber, leaving me staring after her. I hear her moving things around, followed by the sound of water splashing into the tub.
Mrs. Dower was a kind yet stern woman. She always had candy in her apron pocket for Daimis and me, and a rag to whack us with when we were naughty––which, I admit, was often. I don’t know why I’m surprised to see her here. I guess I just forgot that others’ lives went on after that dreadful day.
Mrs. Dower hustles back into the bedchamber, wiping her hands on her apron. “Do you need help, miss?”