Chapter 30
Acker sits in a chair at the foot of the bed, head propped against a closed fist like he fought and lost the battle to stay awake. His upper chest and arms are bathed in dried mud and blood and god knows what other gunk, his hair crusty from where it’s matted against his forehead and temples.
Light pours in from the lone window behind him, outlining his body in a silhouette of gold.
He’s in sharp juxtaposition with myself as I pull the clean lace gown away from my body at the neckline, inspecting the pink scar that spans the space between my breasts, a singular line where the arrow pierced me. I’m in a small bed in the center of the room.
The creaking of floorboards sounds from the other side of the door, followed by a knock that snaps Acker awake. He stands when the door opens, the top of his head nearly touching the roof. The healer steps in, slow and measured as she looks toward Acker. There’s a tray of food in her hands.
She looks at me and dips her head and upper body into a bow. “I brought food.”
Acker shifts on his feet as the woman approaches the bed, settling the tray at the foot. My stomach growls at the smell of the chicken and rice and green vegetables. Acker’s nostrils flare, his stomach undoubtedly doing the same.
“There’s plenty for you both, and there’s more where it came from if you’re left unsatisfied.”
This is … odd. She’s acting as if we’re guests of honor. How much time am I missing? The last thing I can recall was … Being held to a stone slab. I wasn’t just healed but also forced through the last remnants of the awakening. The memories of screams that weren’t mine … She must sense my discomfort, or maybe it’s Acker’s. Neither of us is
demonstrating common manners.
I force a smile. “Thank you.”
She returns the smile with a much more genuine one. “Fia,” she says,
introducing herself.
I don’t hesitate. “Jovie.”
“You two are welcome to stay as long as you need.” She gives a pointed look in Acker’s direction. “The washroom is free if you’d like to use it.”
Then she bows again before walking back out the door.
Acker lets out a breath and runs a hand over his face, sinking back in the chair. His eyes scan the length of my body, scrutinizing every inch of me as if he’s checking to make sure I didn’t sustain any further injuries while he
was asleep. “How do you feel?”
I shrug. “Normal.”
He drops his gaze. “Just normal?”
Well, now that he mentions it, my magic … It feels … alert.
“Like I’m going to die if I don’t eat my weight in food.”
He smiles a little. “It’s a consequence of exerting your energy. Magic always comes with a price.”
I hold up my hands, inspecting them for a sign of my new gifts.
Narrowing my eyes on him, I throw an arm in his direction, aiming for the
dagger at his waist.
Nothing happens.
His smile tilts to one side. “Nice try.” I make a noise of disappointment.
He shakes his head once. “You’re not an elemental.”
“Then what am I?”
Breathing deep, his grin lessens a degree. “I’m not sure yet.”
“But you have an idea.”
Elbow resting on the arm of the chair, he bites the pad of his thumb as he further inspects me. He’s so far away. After being physically in contact with him in some way or other for weeks now, the eight feet of space between us feels like a chasm, like I’m being forced against my will to remain in this bed when I have the strongest desire to climb into his lap.
Then I realize his hands are clean. Too clean in comparison to the rest of
him.
“Who bathed me?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “I dressed you.” I blink in surprise.
“It wasn’t…” His brow furrows in the middle. “It wasn’t like that. You had … you had burned all the clothes from your body.”
“I—what?”
“During the awakening,” he says, struggling to find the words. “You lit up and were … bright. Like the sun. And your skin became hot enough that you disintegrated your clothes. Burned away all the blood and dirt along
with it.”
I’m struck speechless.
He looks down at his open palms. They’re scorched pink. “After Fia was able to heal you, I carried you here under a blanket, back to her home, and got you covered properly.”
I try and fail to digest the information he’s given me. It doesn’t feel real, doesn’t sound real if I’m being honest, but I trust Acker. Call it my gut or magic, I don’t care. I just know it to be true.
“Thank you,” I tell him. He doesn’t respond.
“I assume burning your clothes off isn’t a typical reaction to the awakening.”
He exhales through his nose, exhaustion lining every inch of his face and body. “It’s hard to say. The descriptions of late awakenings are few and far between. I’ve never encountered someone who’s experienced it themselves.”
I’m afraid to ask, but I must. “Could it … be my gift?”
“If it is,” he says, brow still furrowed, “it’s unlike anything I’ve seen before.” That’s not reassuring.
After a moment, he motions to the tray of food and stands, moving
toward the door. “Eat.”
“Where are you going?”
“To bathe myself,” he says with a playful smile. But … I have so many
questions.
“The sooner we get moving, the better.”
He shifts his eyes toward the hall outside the door, and I understand everything he isn’t saying. Fia has been accommodating, but we’re still in enemy territory. No one is to be trusted. There’s a pregnant pause before he places my dagger on the tray at the foot of the bed. I give him a single nod in understanding.
He turns to leave but lingers with his hand on the door handle. The urge to go to him comes back in full force. Not just to go to him, but … for him to pull me into his arms and keep me there, like he did through the storm.
Acker breaks the spell first, finally walking away. I lean to peek through the open doorway, and I have a direct view of him speaking to Fia in the kitchen, their muffled voices filtering down the hall. He asks for a change of clothes and follows her out of sight. When he reappears I can see he’s carrying a folded pile of fabric, before he disappears out of sight into another doorway.
Fia pauses at the end of the hall. She smiles before moving away.
I’ve never given death much consideration, but I can’t deny the gratitude I feel to be alive. I pull the tray of food toward me and am equally as grateful Fia can cook a decent meal, although I’m sure anything would appeal to my empty stomach right now. I open my mouth to shovel in as much food as I can, then I blink and the poised spoon is gone.
Everything is gone, I realize. I’m in another room. It’s a washroom.
There’s a basin filling with water and a sink and— I don’t have control over my hands or where I look. I’m sitting on the edge of the basin as I bend to untie my boots.
Acker’s boots.
Not my hands, Acker’s hands.
I watch as he takes off his shoes and places them under the sink, one next to the other. Unlike the memory of him and Hallis, I’m not privy to his
thoughts and emotions. Just a voyeur behind his eyes this time.
He stands and unbuttons his pants, shoving them past his hips.
In a panic, I attempt to squeeze my eyes shut, and I’m thrown back into my room, back into my body. I’m staring into empty space, breathing hard as I calm the panic racing in my chest. The food that was on the spoon in my hand is now in my lap, the warmth of the meal seeping through the
gown.
I shake my head.
I’m imagining things. Lingering effects of the root Acker gave me, undoubtedly. I need to fill my stomach with something more substantial.
The food is divine. I scarf down the entire plate and am licking the remnants from my fingers when Fia appears in the door. She has another set
of folded clothes in her hands.
She motions to my chest. “May I?”
Nodding, I slide the blade under the fold of the blanket under the guise of making room for her to sit. She sets the clothes down as I remove my gown, shoving down my worry about propriety. According to Acker, she’s seen it all already.
“I was spent by the time I finished healing the vital parts. I didn’t have the energy to seal the wound as well as I would have liked.” Her fingers are cold against my chest as she inspects the flesh. “Would you like me to remove it?”
It’s angry and red but no longer than my smallest finger. “Will it hurt?”
“It would be mild, but there would be some discomfort, yes.”
I shake my head. I’ve had enough experience with pain as of late. “I’m fine with it.”
She smiles. “As you wish. Here is a change of clothes. You’re close enough to my size.”
I retrieve the trousers she brought me and stand. They’re light as a feather and a deep russet color, reminding me of the dresses of the girls at the Market. I slide them on, relishing the softness of the material. The brassiere and tunic are just as delicious against my skin. My frame has thinned a considerable amount, but the clothes fit well.
Fia smiles when I’m done. “That color suits you,” she says. “It brings out the color of your eyes beautifully.”
My stomach rumbles.
Fia smiles. “There’s more food in the kitchen. Come get a second helping.”
I hurry to pocket the blade and follow her out of the room. The home is modest, but as small as it is, it’s warm and comfortable, inviting even. The food is left on a spindle table in front of a window overlooking the dense forest beyond.
“I wanted to prepare enough to send you two on your journey back to Kenta,” she says, noticing my attention. “Fix up a plate of whatever you like.”
I pick a slice of bread from a loaf cooling on a cutting board. It’s almost too hot to consume, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“When was the last time you had bread in Alaha?” Fia asks.
I’m not sure what Acker has revealed to her regarding who I am versus what she may have pieced together herself. It’s obvious she knows who Acker is. He is known by more than one name, it seems, but I don’t want to volunteer information.
So I rip off more bread with my teeth and shrug.
“Smart girl,” she says, fixing herself a plate. She sits at the table, unconcerned as I inspect her home.
The kitchen makes up the majority of the main living area. Tapestries hang from various walls, ranging in colors and designs. The far wall is lined with shelves of vials filled with different colored liquids. Feathers and strips of leather hang from the doorways. I peer through a window on the other side of the kitchen.
“We’re a little less than a day and a half from the Kenta border. There are not many homesteads between here and there due to the years of conflict within the area, but the region’s full of soldiers. Best to stay away from the windows.”
I nibble on another bit of bread. The door to the washroom opens, and a fresh Acker pauses in the doorway, head quickly swiveling from the now empty bed where he left me to find me in the opposite direction. Hair wet
and skin clear of debris, he looks amazing in a pale blue shirt that offsets his features. Handsome doesn’t even begin to cover it.
He strides into the kitchen and I tear my gaze away first this time.
“May I?” he says, motioning to the assortment of food.
“Of course,” Fia says, pointing to a cupboard. “Bowls and cutlery are over there.”
I keep my back toward them as I continue to peruse Fia’s home and trinkets. It’s more out of a need for distraction than actual interest, and I still can’t help but listen out for the sounds of Acker’s movements. The chair as it scrapes the floor, the clinking of silverware against a plate, the gnashing of teeth, the bliss when the spices hit my tongue— I spin in place.
Two sets of eyes look up at me, confused by my sudden movement. I don’t hear Acker enjoying his food; I feel it. Taste it.
Acker does a quick scan over my person before returning his attention to his meal. It’s the first time he’s been able to eat real food in weeks, yet he somehow manages to not look like a scavenger as he sticks a modest portion of meat in his mouth and chews. He’s even using a fork, for god’s sake.
There’s no denying I’m jumping inside Acker’s head. My powers might be manifesting of their own volition. My gifts might be more reminiscent of Vad’s—the oracle in the woods—than Acker’s, like I was hoping for.
Acker’s mind must be the easiest to leap into considering he’s who I’m closest with here. I can’t imagine a worse gift.
That’s a lie—not having control over my body and it regularly lighting up until it’s hot enough to obliterate my clothes would be the worst gift.
Being an oracle is a close second. A very close second.
The door to the cottage opens, revealing an older gentleman and boy I deduce are Fia’s husband and son, if Acker’s lack of concern regarding their arrival is any indication.
“Good news.” The older man who comes through the door halts when he spots me standing in the living area. He pivots with a hand to his chest and bows in my direction, deeper and longer than Fia did, and it sends a
tendril of trepidation down my spine, like I’m missing something. “Name’s Jorgen,” he says as he straightens. “I’m happy to see you’re doing well.”
Unsure of the custom, I bow in return. “Thank you.”
His son is less enthused, his greeting a mere dip of his head, and for that I am relieved.
Fia stands to greet her husband with a kiss on the cheek, then directs her son to eat. He can’t be more than sixteen but has the appearance of a man.
He’s blatant in his dislike of Acker and me as he skirts by us.
“Tell me about this good news,” Fia says, pulling a chair out for her husband to sit at the table.
He shakes his head and removes the knit cap from his head, using his fingers to push the errant strands of gray hair back down. “We found a couple of horses.”
That gets Acker’s attention. Fia is skeptical. “Found?”
He gives her a look as if to say, don’t ask because you won’t like the answer. Sure enough, her responding tsk is pure displeasure.
Acker tears off a piece of bread and dips it in the drippings. “What’s the bad news?” he says, popping the bread into his mouth.
“Word has spread about the boat that crashed offshore and the rebels that were found dead in the forest.” He shares a look with his wife, sharing a whole conversation with just their eyes. “Ten men. Half of them were mutilated. Their eyes and tongues were plucked out.”
There’s a stony silence between them.
Acker’s eyes dart to me. That means one managed to escape, and it means Blue is a truly special kind of terrifying. Acker lets out a slow, growing smile as if to convey a big, fat I told you so. And, if I’m not mistaken, something like pride shines through.
“Some of the townspeople have gathered together to send out a hunting party. There’s fear of Kenta invading again.”
Again?
He delivers the last bit of information like it should be concerning to us, but Acker doesn’t so much as blink at the news as he continues to sop up sauce. “Technically, we did,” he says, giving Jorgen a look that says
something along the lines of let’s be real. “We’ll only take one horse, and we’ll be gone by nightfall tomorrow.”
Jorgen cocks his head. “That’s if you’re not caught.”
“We won’t be.”
“Mighty sure of yourself considering the state she was in when you brought her to us yesterday,” Fia says. “You should let Jorgen and Sven accompany you the rest of the way.”
“That was before Jovie had completed the awakening. We’re in better shape, with much thanks to you and yours, but we’ll fare just fine by ourselves.”
Jorgen rests an arm on the back of Fia’s chair. “You’re headed into the king’s most guarded territory. It’s not a matter of if you encounter problems, but when. If you’re not clocked on sight, they’re going to know who you are just by the nature of you being alone with one girl. It’ll be less suspicious if we travel as a group.”
Acker wipes his mouth and pushes his chair back. “I mean this with no disrespect, but you’ll only be a hindrance.”
“We promise to carry our weight.”
“You’re confused,” Acker says, holding the man’s gaze as he stands from his seat. “I don’t need the added worry of whether or not I’ll need to kill you or your son if one of you decides to do something stupid while my back is turned.”
Jorgen’s face turns red at Acker’s accusation. His son, Sven, smirks.
“The metal slinger is right,” Fia says. “That’s why you’ll both give blood oaths to do no harm to either of them.”
Sven begins to argue, but Acker cuts him off with a hand. “I don’t care for sworn fealty.”
“You can’t deny the truth—there’s a better chance of you two making it to Kenta if you travel with us,” Jorgen says. “The oath alleviates any of your concerns.”
“And, with all due respect,” Fia says, turning her attention to me, “it’s not your decision.”
