by Adalyn Grace
Kaven’s laugh is nothing more than a quiet huff of air. “Nothing will happen until you get back, you have my word.”
At the lip of the cavern, I turn over my shoulder to steal one more look at them all. “As I said, yell for me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The cavern’s darkness is blinding. A musty stench penetrates the air, thick enough to make me choke as I step inside.
Though the entrance is hardly large enough to fit one person, it widens the farther in I venture, expanding into a circular space just large enough to stretch my arms out. The only sound is the soft pattering of water droplets as they splash to the floor, and the only light is from strange translucent blue insects that hide in the far corners of the cavern’s jagged ceiling. A fog of light emits from each one, brightening the back space enough for me to get a glimpse.
Slabs of withered wood cover a small portion of the floor. Blankets of fur are tossed in heaps beside it, glistening with the fresh droplets of water. As I step closer, I notice that’s where the musty smell is coming from and scrunch my nose. But I don’t turn away.
Instead, I crouch to inspect the strange items littered across the insect-rotted wood. Sharpened metal scraps and makeshift knives are coated in thick layers of dirt.
I narrow my eyes on one knife in particular, rusted by blood and time, and the beastly magic within me pulses with longing. I try to ignore the magic that gnaws at my fingertips, luring me closer and closer. I know what it is without question.
This blade is one of legend and lore. One that saved Visidia; one that created it.
I have sworn on this blade and its owner time and time again—Cato’s skinning knife.
I forget how to breathe. How to stand. I sink to my knees, and set my hand atop it.
* * *
“I can’t do it!” the man snaps.
I’ve never seen the first king, not even in pictures.
King Cato ruled centuries ago, and though all we have to remember him by are the stories that have been passed down since he established the monarchy, I know without a doubt it’s him before me.
His complexion is a light olive and his build much slimmer than the grand figure I imagined. He sits cross-legged in front of me, only my body isn’t mine. This body has skin that’s several shades lighter than my own, similar to Cato’s, and her frame is petite. I know myself as Amora, but I’m also this young woman, living through her thoughts and memories. I have an abundance of dark curls plaited into an elegant braid, though a few of them have escaped, coiled tight behind my ears or hugging my forehead and cheeks.
I let myself sink deeper and deeper into this woman’s mind, until her thoughts are my own.
“You must relax,” I tell him. The words that escape my lips are soothing, though I’ve no control over them. “Curse magic isn’t as hard as you think it is, I promise. Just give me your hand.”
Cato nods as he gives it to me, but lines of worry embed themselves deep between his brows.
I draw his hand into my lap. “Think of what you want others to see. Think about it deeply, as if it’s a memory you’re recalling.” I press a needle into his finger. A small bead of blood bubbles to the surface, and I turn Cato’s hand to press his finger against a pebble laid before us on the stone floor. I dab the blood onto it.
Cato’s eyes squint shut as he focuses, only peeling his hand away after a hesitant moment.
“How did that feel?” I ask, and Cato’s lips twist into a small frown.
“It didn’t.” He warily eyes the pebble. “Did it work?”
I touch the pebble, waiting to see if a curse envelops me. When nothing happens, I fill my face with warmth and keep a small smile on my lips even as my shoulders slump, knowing this will upset him.
I don’t need to say anything for Cato to understand. He groans, fingers running through his chestnut hair and over his face as he pushes himself onto his feet.
“It’s nothing to get upset over!” I insist. “Plenty of people wield only one magic, don’t be frustrated.” But the truth is that his frustrations are something I’ll never understand.
When I was young, I discovered I had the ability to see souls, a magic no one else had yet discovered. And I learned that I had an affinity for other magics, too, like curse magic and the ability to heal.
For weeks I’ve been trying to teach Cato curse magic, but the only magic he’s been able to learn is the one I taught him when we were children—soul magic. Back then we kept the magic between the two of us, a bond shared between best friends. He used to love the idea of a magic only the two of us practiced, and begged me to never teach anyone else. But in recent months, our magic has stopped being enough for him. Now he craves more.
I try to set my hands atop Cato’s arm, but he jerks it away with a grunt.
“Says someone with an abundance of magic,” Cato scoffs. “If a woman can master more than one magic, it makes no sense why I can’t.”
I reel back as if struck, confusion twisting my face.
“You say woman like it’s a dirty word,” I tell him sharply. “Remember that I’m the one who taught you soul magic, Cato. I’m the one who discovered it.”
Cato takes one look at me and his shoulders sag. He steps forward, cups my face in his palms, and kisses my forehead. My skin warms from the softness of his lips, and I relax into him.
“I’m sorry, Sira.” His voice softens several degrees as he drops his forehead against mine. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I just want things to be better for us.”
“We’re fine as we are. We don’t need an abundance of magic to have a good life,” I whisper gently.
And though I mean every word, his jaw tenses. “Magic is power, Sira. It’s respect. How good of a life can I give you without that?”
I lift my hands to Cato’s cheek, gently stroking my thumb across his stubble. “You worry too much, my love.” I offer him a gentle kiss before easing away toward a door, knowing he needs time alone to work through his frustration. “We’re fine now, and together we will only grow. There’s no use dwelling on the things we’ve no control over.”
I mean it kindly, but Cato doesn’t know I can still hear him when I step outside.
“No control,” he grumbles under his breath. “We’ll see about that.”
* * *
The shores are flooded with people—some of them fishing and others climbing up giant trees, laughing all the while. My heart leaps into my throat as a young boy clambers up one of the tallest trees only to dive straight off it. But before he’s anywhere near the ground, he blows a gust of breath down at the sand and the air seems to thicken beneath him like a pad. It rushes to meet him, bouncing him back up a few more feet. But when he bounces back up, he slows his body with time magic. He laughs, flipping in the air, moving so slowly it’s as though he floats.
His skin glistens with sweat as the sun beats down on him. When he finally lands back on the ground, he scrambles for the tree once more. Beneath him, a tiny blond child tries to copy him, breathing air at her feet. She doesn’t get any higher than a foot off the ground.
I weave pretty stones and shells around thin pieces of leather as the children play. I prick my finger with a needle, smooth the blood across the leather as I attach a curse, and let it dry. I’m making cursed necklaces for the local girls, to keep them safe from anyone with foul intentions. As I’m bent over my work, three children flock around me, one redheaded boy and two twin girls with russet skin and tightly coiled curls—Lani’s girls and Markus’s son. They’ve given themselves brightly colored eyes—pink, purple, and gold—and giggle as they coat my hair with a lovely shade of lilac. I don’t mind letting them have their fun, laughing as they banter over what shade to try next. One of their parents can fix the color for me, later.
On the grass across from me, Cato skins a fish whose scales still glisten from the sea. He’s been in a mood today, so I try not to pay him too much attention as he continually flicks his focus to me, hi
s movements becoming progressively angrier until I’m too distracted to do anything but give him my attention.
When I do, he glowers. “Are you trying to make me feel bad about myself?”
I still, as do the children behind me. Gently, I press one of the girl’s shoulders and nudge them away with the promise of playing with them later.
“Of course not.” I look at him firmly. “Why would you even think that?”
Cato wipes away the sweat that’s pooled onto his neck. “Because you can sell your little cursed charms and protections, while all I have is the ability to fish. I already know you’re able to provide more than I can, so why do you insist on rubbing it in?”
I press my lips together and exhale a gentle sigh. “It’s not a competition. They’re just little protection charms. You’re the one feeding us, and your fish make more money, too. Hardly anyone is interested in my silly cursed charms.”
My stomach churns at the sight of the half-finished necklaces and bracelets in front of me. The shells that litter the ground are beautiful, just waiting to be cursed. I’d planned on making dozens of them, but now I can hardly bring myself to look at them, knowing how much they upset him.
Cato doesn’t say anything. He only glares for another moment before returning to his work. I continue with my curses, running a finger over the leather as I contemplate my words.
“Has something happened?” I make my voice tender, the way he likes it. “Have I done something? I don’t mean to pry, but you’ve seemed on edge lately, and when I happened to see a glimpse of your soul—”
Cato freezes. His head whips up, green eyes vicious daggers. I flinch back.
“We agreed to never soul-read each other.” Every word is enunciated, seeping with vicious poison.
A pale, sunburnt woman using magic to float a net over her head and into the water stills, turning to eye Cato. I don’t recognize her, though I do recognize one of the men who takes notice and steps forward.
“Everything all right here, Sira?” His voice is a soothing baritone, thick with fatherly concern. Wrinkles crease around warm amber eyes that melt into his dark brown skin as Basil assesses the situation, and my skin heats with embarrassment.
“Everything’s fine, Basil,” Cato growls. “Don’t you have babies to heal?”
I ball my hands into fists, hating that he speaks to someone I care about so cruelly.
Basil ignores the snide comment by looking at me expectantly.
“It’s okay,” I murmur quickly, because I don’t want to risk Cato getting any more upset. “Cato’s just been a little stressed.”
Basil doesn’t appear convinced, but he nods all the same. “Glad to hear it. How about we let him work off some of that stress, then? If you’re still thinking of trying your hand at healing, Sira, you could come sit in with us for the day.”
Cato’s lips twist into a sneer, but he doesn’t look away from his fish. I gather up my things with a swift nod. “I doubt I’ll be any good, but I suppose it’s worth the try.”
Those words are only for Cato’s benefit, so he doesn’t feel worse about his inability to learn other magics. But the truth is that Basil’s words ignite a sharp desire within me.
All my life, magic of all varieties has called to me, opening up for my exploration. Though I was able to teach Cato soul magic, he’s no idea the extent of the magic I know, or the others I intend to learn.
And because I love him, I’ll never tell him.
Basil smiles and guides me forward, down the path leading up to Arida’s main town.
“You know you don’t have to put up with that man,” he whispers after a long while of silence, keeping his voice low. “You deserve better.”
“I’m fine,” I assure him, as if saying it over and over will somehow make it come true. “Really. Cato’s just going through a tough time. Ever since we began talking about marriage, all he seems to think about is how to pave a better future for us. He feels people will respect him if he has more magic. He still thinks his soul magic is too weak. I’m worried that perhaps I’ve put too much pressure on him.”
Basil purses his bottom lip in surprise. “There’s no shame in being able to soul-read. You were the first to discover this magic, Sira. You should be proud of it.”
I bow my head with a small nod. “I am, I promise. Cato’s just been obsessed with learning something new, but nothing’s working. It’s been ruining him, making him draw away from me. I’ve been worried about him for weeks now, so the other night I took a look at his soul…”
Basil stills. “Did you see something?”
I wind my arms tightly around myself, wishing I didn’t have to recall the images. A thin veil of sweat coats my skin as chills rush up my spine.
“It’s rotting,” I say, barely managing even a whisper. The words sink my stomach, making it burn. “And it’s getting worse every day. Pieces of it are falling away, as if it’s disappearing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Basil stretches a soft, wrinkled hand forward to take hold of mine.
“You be careful with that one,” he warns. “I fear no good will come from him.”
* * *
Late one evening, I wake to find that Cato is not asleep next to me, and the door to our spare room has been left ajar. I toe at it, trying to silently widen the gap before crouching to peek inside.
The space before me is dark, free from even the smallest oil lamp or an open window to allow in the glow of the moon.
As my eyes adjust, I make out Cato’s wide-shouldered figure seated on the floor. His back is turned to me, and as I silently ease the door open a fraction more, the small creature in front of him becomes clear—a rabbit.
It shakes fiercely within its cage, cowering in the corner as Cato reaches inside. In his hand is the same small blade he was using before to skin fish, and the rabbit’s squeals are deafening as Cato flicks it across the creature’s leg, drawing blood. He plucks a strand of fur from the creature.
I cover my mouth, whether to prevent myself from screaming or throwing up, I can’t be certain.
Cato coats the plucked rabbit fur with the blood on his knife, holds it between his fingers, and then dunks it into a small water bowl beside him.
I’ve never before heard a sound like the rabbit makes. The gurgled choking of a creature struggling to breathe, trying to figure out why it’s drowning when nothing but air surrounds it. It makes a desperate, almost childlike scream that sets my hands shaking.
I toss the door open and kick the water bowl across the room, and Cato jumps to his feet in surprise. The rabbit takes a desperate breath, coughing and trembling as I run for the cage and scoop it into my arms.
“The gods don’t give us these creatures so we can torture them!” My breaths are sharp and quick, and I’m unable to stop my trembling. “What were you thinking?” I draw a step back toward the door, fear and rage warring in my chest.
Cato grins. It’s one of the most gleeful expressions I’ve ever seen, and it looks wrong on his face. Until now, I hadn’t noticed how much life has been drained from him; his skin is pale and dull, and his body has withered, making his face gaunt and sharp. Just how many nights has he been sneaking off to this room, locking himself away in the dark?
“It’s magic,” Cato says, almost giddy. I draw a few more steps toward the door. The poor rabbit is still shaking within its cage.
“What magic?” Though every instinct wills me to run, the love for this man I’ve known since I was a child locks me in place.
I have to at least hear his explanation.
“Soul magic,” Cato whispers. “My magic. I decided if I couldn’t learn more magic, then I’d just have to change what I already had.”
I draw my own soul magic around me, comforted by its warmth. Its lightness. It welcomes me into it, flooding me with heat as Cato’s soul opens up to me, revealing stark whiteness. The sight of it steals my breath, as there’s hardly any color left; hardly a single trace that a soul was
ever even there.
“What happened to you?” My voice cracks. I clench the cage closer to my chest, as though it will somehow keep me standing.
When Cato closes the space between us, I do everything to keep my legs from buckling. “I did this for us,” he says. “For you, so you didn’t have to be embarrassed by me. So that we could have a better life, together.”
I shake my head, a few loose curls shaking free from my thick braid. “I was never embarrassed, not even a little bit. Cato, your soul—”
“Trust me.” His voice is sharp and surprisingly earnest. He tries to reach out, as if to take my hand, but the rabbit squeals in horror as he approaches. I flinch back, throat constricting.
“What have you done to your soul magic?”
Cato waves the question away with a flourish of his hands. “This magic has always been inside of us; I’m simply choosing to look at it in a different way. Sira, you’ve told me before that you love me. If you weren’t lying about that, then you should trust me. Trust that I’m going to pave a new way of life for us.”
I try to ignore my fear. This is Cato, after all. Cato, who was red-faced and shy as we shared our first kiss on the shores of Arida years ago. The boy I snuck out to visit while growing up, just so that we could hold each other and gossip beneath the moonlight. He was the same man I shared my bed with each night, and who woke me up with a shower of kisses each morning.
But he’s no longer that person, and hasn’t been for some time.
I say, “I trust you,” though it’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
“Good.” Cato reaches out to stroke his thumb across my cheek, and I try not to cringe beneath his touch. “For now, you and I are the only ones who need to know about this.”
* * *
Basil’s the fourth to die this week.
If it weren’t for the blood coating his lips and chin, he’d look peaceful here on the sand; almost like he’s sleeping. Almost like he’ll wake up at any second and tease me for staring.
