Page 76 of Corrupted

When I asked if I might lay my hands on a boy with pneumonia, the mother clutched him to her chest as if I were a demon. In the end, she gave in. The change on her face was remarkable as she watched her son go from pale and lethargic to giggling and jumping around the room.

That’s when word of my skills spread like dragon fire.

As I worked the first day in my new calling, I considered what I might do to spur my own healing. My heart-center, my spirit, was marred, but not broken. As my father said, my light was tarnished—blackened. Even though I saw that my light was, the actuality made no sense. How could light blacken? He mentioned darkness. I didn’t understand what it was other than the absence of light. No one in Gorlassar carried darkness; how could they when it wasn’t a tangible element to carry? Darkness was nothing but space.

Emrys spoke of darkness in conversations about corruption, but no one actually knew how the concept worked. I saw darkness in the mortals. I felt it around my heart, and I never once considered it could enter a heart like mine.

The emrys were naïve. I was beginning to understand because I was experiencing what the emrys were too afraid to trifle with.

I was also confused. My intentions weren’t evil when I killed those men. My intentions were to protect.

No. I stopped in the middle of the street, vaguely aware of the few souls bold enough to be trudging through the snow, and clutched the fabric over my chest. In that moment when I reacted, I wanted revenge. I wanted to maim. Those men needed to pay for their crimes.

Was damaging my heart-center as simple as having unwise motivations—as desiring revenge?

I was taught that protecting the dragon realm, even by bloodshed, if necessary, was permissible. But that was in defense of a righteous cause—a duty. Was there a difference?

Regardless, my heart-center felt bound in ropes—ropes that squeezed. Ropes that symbolized my guilt. Cutting shackles wrapped my wrists as well. I was a prisoner to my own shame. So I had done something awry.

I considered what my creator would want me to do—save the lives of those sick in the city. Work to make my mistake right. I wasn’t sure how many lives I had taken, but eventually I’d save enough to ease the guilt. With each smiling face filled with gratitude, I’d picture a slash in the rope that held me bound until it fell away completely.

Yes. That was exactly what I’d do. The peace that warmed my heart told me Deian was satisfied with my willingness, my submissiveness. With my good will, he’d resurface my heart-center until it was pure again and I was not corrupted.

I hoped that was how forgiveness worked. I really hoped my father might someday see I could be pure.

I hoped Kenrik would be proud.

FORTY-SIX

I hurried down the hallway, lost in my thoughts, eager to tell Caedryn of my recent efforts over the last two weeks with the infirmary. I traveled all over the city, healing at least a dozen people a day. Sometimes my progress was slow because I needed to recover between healings. I taught Lowri how to make several salves and teas, and she became my willing assistant while I regained my strength. She went ahead of me and delivered the medicines and took note of those who needed urgent attention.

And every evening Caedryn and I sat in one of his libraries, either reading together or playing cards or chess. Once in a while I caught him grinning at me, and that’s when I realized I was reflecting on the day’s accomplishments. I wondered if he was assessing my emotions or if he was just studying the smile on my face.

I was amazed to be happy—amazed this man accepted me for who I was as well. And I wondered what the future held, especially with winter underway. Secretly I imagined Seren showing up and flying me over the frosty city to save me from tedious boredom. I’d even invite Caedryn. That thought surprised me. I was finding pleasure in his company. As I considered him, I realized I might not be bored this winter after all. He was still a mystery to unravel. Since Caedryn was fond of games, I’d make a game of him.

Caedryn talked of his homeland. He didn’t mention the specifics of his exile or the events leading up to it, but he spoke of the dragons and the half-emrys. He talked about the dragon armies and about how the empress ruled the seven lords. Each region offered a different commodity, and the empress forced them to trade together. The country wasn’t always that way. The frozen land in the north had been kept separate from the plains and the volcanic-ash country. The southern provinces flourished with greenery that the northern lands didn’t have. From what Caedryn told me, I understood that Morvith spanned a much larger geographic area than the three realms of which Rolant was a part.

I asked him to show me maps. Rolant was north of Sieffre’s realm, and Brenin’s realm was to the west. A sizable desert kept the empress safely away in the east.

I was pleased to regale Caedryn with stories of my youth. I even decided to tell him about Aneirin and Catrin. Caedryn laughed at how I was such a brash creature. “By the Masters, Niawen, I’d give away all my secrets to see Gorlassar,” he had said. “And to see you in it.”

I blushed as I remembered his words. At least he was keen on giving away his secrets.

Surfacing from my reverie, I rounded a corner to Caedryn’s wing. An agonizing roar and a crash of wood echoed down the hall, coming from Caedryn’s study. Despair followed the sounds. I lifted my skirts and raced toward the whimpering the roar had become.

His room was in disarray. A chair was shattered on the floor. The items on Caedryn’s desk and a tray of food on a nearby table had blown away from a central explosion. Parchment littered the carpet. The table and desk were askew from their original locations. A couch, which had been in the room’s center, was shoved against the far wall.

Caedryn was at the blast’s center, slumped against the side of his desk. His defeated cries jarred his chest. His eyes were pinched shut.

“What happened?” I crouched beside him and cupped my hand to his face. Oh, Deian. He’d had some sort of tantrum and destroyed his room, using his power.

With his closed eyes, he mumbled, squeezing them tighter as if forcing a nightmare away, as if wishing my touch away. “One of my men spotted a dragon.”

“Whose dragon? Why’s this news enough to bring on such distress?”

“It’s one of her scouts.”

I blinked, considering what he meant. “The empress’s?”

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