My magical wellishealing, but slowly. If she can give me this little bit of normalcy back, it’ll make joining the UAA next semester much easier. Perhaps it will even trigger my elusive memories from the last ten years.
Halinor wasn’t impressed when I told her I had no idea what went on for all that time. She wants justice, and to make an example of whoever took me to protect the clan. If she goes after Carlton and they weren’t the perpetrators… or they have allies we don’t know about…
It would be bad.
The book in Kyrith’s hands falls open on a page with a complex runeform. I recognise a lot of it—restoration magic remains perfectly familiar to me even if I can’t use it without damaging myself right now—but some of the constellations contained in the magical geometry are outside of my purview.
In seconds, a sheet of thickened paper appears, the runeforms for preservation and strengthening already written in the corners.
Oh. She doesn’t have a grimoire, so she’s working on the equivalent of a reinforced scrap. My face falls, because I can’t imagine life without the tan book currently holstered against my leg, but she misinterprets my expression as doubt.
“Ready?” She double checks, as the spell copies across.
I give her my best smile. “Sure. I trust you.”
More than anyone, except perhaps the arcanist at my side. Kyrith and Dakari have been there for me since I woke up. I really do need to find a way to repay both of them.
She starts chanting, but I can’t pay attention to that because her blanket has slipped with the loss of concentration. Are her skirts…?
Magic slithers under my skin, glowing golden on the page, before winding up in a trail of smoke that goes straight for my fingertips. It makes sense. Arcanists draw power through their hands by force of habit, so the pathways there are already well established. Air hisses through my clenched teeth as the sensation of using magic returns after so long but reversed. The closest thing I can compare it to is the opposite of a release. The spell winds up inside me, like a spring, walling up inside my chest until the pressure is pulsing at my ribcage.
“You good?” Dakari asks.
I can’t speak without unclenching my jaw, but I jerk my chin down in a nod. It’s not painful, just…crushing. Like she’s forcing the energy inside me to rebuild the walls around it by pure will.
Still, it takes alongtime. Longer than I think I can stand it.
When she’s done, I fall forward, catching myself at the last minute as I try to breathe through the retreating strands of her magic. Or is it the Arcanaeum’s magic? I don’t know.
The paper she was using has warped, and as I watch, it disintegrates through her lap and onto the blanket below.
Which just draws my focus back to the cracks. I don’t think Dakari has noticed them, but Kyrith hastily drags the thick fleece back up and over her skirts before I can say anything. Followed quickly by Lambert’s jumper floating back over her shoulders.
When I meet her eyes, she gives me the subtlest wee shake of her head.
She doesn’t want anyone to know?
I shift closer, but not close enough to touch her, in silent support as her motives become painfully obvious.
Offering Dakari money. Pushing us all away. Trying a Hail Mary to fix my magical well.
Those are the actions of someone who doesn’t think she’ll be around much longer and is trying to put things in order.
“Kyrith,” I begin. “Lass, are you…”
But she hushes me, muttering a divination spell under her breath as she focuses intently on my chest.
“It’s repairing itself,” she finally says, leaning back like she didn’t just perform an incredibly complex master-level spell. “With any luck, by the time you go home, you’ll be entirely healed.”
She jolts like she’s just remembered something. “Oh, and Eddy has designated a time for gift opening.”
Shit. I didn’t get her a gift. From the look on Dakari’s face, he didn’t either.
“How’s that going to work with your…” Dakari asks, trailing off.
“Don’t let me stop you.” She waves her hand. “Celebrations are for the living, anyway. In my time, we didn’t do gifts. Just feasting.”
I suppose that makes sense. Still, looking at the pile of gifts in the corner makes me feel a little guilty. Maybe I can sneak her a book or something later?
