Page 70 of Blade of the Nightking

Sorrow. Helplessness.

I pulled back, heat rising in my face for an entirely different reason now. “It’s my fault, Hamish. I can’t control⁠—”

“That bastard,” he muttered, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, his fingers curling around the pommel as though resisting the urge to draw it.

I blinked, stunned. “Hamish⁠—”

But he was already gone, striding through the door and pulling it shut behind him, leaving me staring after him, confusion knotting in my chest.

What had I done? How badly had my magic marred my face? Was I disfigured?

I pushed myself from the bed and crossed to the vanity, tilting the mirror toward me. And when I saw my reflection⁠—

The breath left me in a sudden rush.

The left side of my face was flushed an angry red, the skin already darkening with bruising beneath it, the surface raised and blistered along my cheekbone and jaw—burned. I leaned closer, my pulse quickening, trying to make sense of it⁠—

And then I saw them.

Faint beneath the swelling, barely visible through the cracked skin and discoloration. Long, narrow, but unmistakable.

The shape of fingers.

The realization came slowly, sickeningly, settling into place piece by piece, undeniable.

The force that had thrown me into the sand. The pain. I’d thought it was my magic—but it wasn’t.

No.

Aedric—my Aedric⁠—

—had struck me.

CHAPTER 15

Night had fully settled by the time Aedric returned to our room.

A servant had come not long after Hamish left. In silence, she'd spread a salve that smelled faintly of herbs and tallow over the burn. It soothed the sting and eased the blistering, but it did nothing to lift the heaviness in my heart.

I couldn't get the face of that little boy out of my head—Dannis. I'd glimpsed the same memory within Rìan. Whatever happened to him, the truth was dangerous enough that Aedric had forced me out of his mind the only way he knew how.

He hadn’t meant to hurt me. The look on his face afterward had made that painfully clear.

I wasn’t blameless. I’d still slipped into his thoughts without permission. Invaded something private, something fiercely guarded. Actions had consequences, and I wore this one plainly—the faint outline of his hand still ghosting across my cheek.

And yet… I couldn’t stop the shaking in my hands.

I needed something to steady myself. A drink. Something to dull the edge of it all.

In Solmire, wine had come at a thought. Effortless. I tried the same here, focusing, willing a bottle into existence.

Nothing.

I even said it aloud, feeling foolish, adding a quiet please as though the castle might be persuaded.

Still nothing.

Noctharis, it seemed, was not inclined to offer comfort to Aedric’s Court—or to me.