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Ziven walks ahead of me, his hair almost golden under the sun, and yet for some reason I don’t find him fascinating the way I used to.
Odd. Did I only admire him when I thought he was a drunkard? And he saved me!
Then again, knowing that there’s something between him and Sayanne might explain my different perception.
Only after we walk some ten minutes, when I don’t think Marlak is going to attack us again, I dare exhale in relief.
Ziven stops and stares at me, his brows creased in worry. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do to you?”
Tons of imaginary things. Not that anyone will ever rip that information from me. “Nothing,” I say, then realize I need to elaborate. “Well, he tried to see my thoughts, but I didn’t let him.” The path is wider now, sloping down, and I move beside him, burying all memories of the way I “blocked” Marlak.
“What did he want?”
“I don’t know.” And it’s true. I didn’t get a single inkling of what his goal was. Perhaps I should have pressed.
Right. As if I was in any condition to try anything. The worst, the very worst, is that I’m still feeling wonderful. My body thinks I just had the time of my life.
“I got the chalice.” Ziven takes it from his pocket and holds it. “Not sure why he left it behind.”
“He gave it back to me. Didn’t want it.”
Ziven frowns. “What was the point, then?”
“Whatever he wanted to get from my mind, but I don’t know what.”
The prince bites his lip. “Maybe he found something. He left you and went for a swim in a pond. Who leaves a captive and goes for a swim? Unless he didn’t care anymore because he was satisfied with what he got.”
Satisfied. Oh, dear. Was he? I definitely want to disappear.
“Are you sure you don’t know what he wanted?” Ziven insists.
“I don’t think he got it. He left the cave annoyed. He’s probably arrogant enough that he didn’t think you would find me.” That’s my theory, at least.
Ziven’s face is thoughtful. “I don’t know.” He pauses, then asks, “And what was that magic you did?”
Magic? Oh. “You mean the light? A trick of faith. Any person can do what I did.”
“You really think that?” He lets out an amused chuckle.
“It’s what the priestess says. You can ask her. And what about your magic?”
His face changes all of a sudden, becoming that same indifferent, unfriendly mask he wore before. “You can’t tell anyone about it. I won’t tell anyone about your magic, either.”
“Mine’s not magic.”
“Oh. You want to put it to the test? Do you know anyone who can cast light like that?”
“I don’t know many people.” I shrug.
“It’s unheard of. You keep doing human magic without opus stones, they’ll think you’re a darksoul.”
I have to control myself not to tremble but I manage it, even if his words have shaken me to the core.
“Darksoul magic needs blood,” I say, keeping my tone light and disinterested. “And it’s dark. That’s not what I did, is it?”
