I pulled up her sleeves and winced at the lightning-shaped marks on her arms, still glimmering with Aether. “I don’t want her marked by this.”
“I don’t think she’d care about scars.”
“No, she’ll probably think they make her look dangerous.”
“Probably.” But I wondered…Humans who’d been possessed were left with a surplus of Aether. If the Aetheric practitioner could pull Aether from the Aetheric, could I do something similar for humans? Could I pull it out of them?
“I’m going to try to remove some of it,” I said.
“You can do that?”
“I’m not actually sure.”
“Will it hurt her?”
“I don’t think so. It may not do anything, but she’d want me to try.”
“If you do it in public…” he said, and didn’t need to finish the thought aloud.
“They’ve already seen me face him down, heard what he said about using magic. There’s only so much hiding I can do.”
And if I had a chance to help Wren and the others, I had to try.
I moved to my knees, ignored the rocks that dug into my skin, and blew out a breath. Then I put a hand on her cheek. My heart shuddered, but I let the ember take control. I closed my eyes, gave over to the heat and pain, and flew through hanging stars to open the link.
“Your Aether,” I said silently to any who might hear, “which belongs to your realm, has been placed in this human without her agreement. Take it back, if you’re able. Please. And painlessly would be a lovely bonus.”
For a moment, there was nothing.
And then the ember warmed again, and Aether tingled at my fingertips. It moved across my body, a balm to my heart, as if I was now a conduit between the realms, my body a bridge, letting what originated there return to its source.
After a moment, the ember cooled. I opened my eyes and felther forehead. Her skin was cooler, too, and the marks on her arms were lighter than they had been.
She sighed. “I don’t like Anima anymore.”
“Completely understandable.” I leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “I’m glad you’re awake.”
She squinted one eye open and growled, “I need a drink.”
“You need rest and balm.”
At the unfamiliar voice, I glanced back.
The man who stood behind me had dark brown skin, and his black hair was straight and pulled back into a knot. He wore a long green jacket, the color traditionally worn by Carethian healers, and carried a leather bag on a strap across his chest.
“Sanj,” the prince said, “meet Fox.”
I nodded at him. “Nice to finally meet you.”
“Same,” he said with a smile, then crouched beside me. “What did you do?”
“Siphoned off Aether.”
“Well done. Damned effective.” He opened his bag, and scents of green and spicy things wafted out. He pulled out a round wooden container and removed the cork. I recognized the scent.
“Wren’s balm?”
“It is. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to try that siphoning on the others?”
