He reached for her, his hand actually shaking, but stopped himself short. She stared at him, stunned.
He didn’t mean to.
She knew he hadn’t. An accident, that’s all it’d been. She tried to speak, to tell him that, that she understood. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but none made it out. She turned away instead.
“I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly. “I didn’t mean – I thought–”
“I know.” Her eyes stung from the pain, and she looked anywhere but at him. “I startled you.”
She gathered the dropped food with her good hand and tried to keep it steady as she offered it to him. “Here,” she said, her throat tight. “It’s still warm.”
He took it without so much as looking at it, his gaze still fixed on her wrist.
“Is it broken?” he asked.
It was. She’d known immediately. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. She let her magic unfurl from her palm, the cold olive light seeping over the injury. Her magic still healed as it should, although bones always took longer. He watched every thread of it this time, and didn’t recoil.
Once the pain had disappeared, she let her magic fade back into her hands. She flexed her fingers slowly. “It’s fine now.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“Let me see,” he insisted.
His fingers closed around her wrist without waiting for an answer. Warm, light, and incredibly careful. He turned it towards the morning sun to get a better look.
The air shimmered.
It began at the point where his thumb brushed her skin: his crimson light blooming instinctively. Her tainted green flared in answer.
He tensed at the sight, but didn’t pull away. His magic entwined with hers like it had been waiting. It found the darkness within and burned it away, powerful and deliberate. His heat and strength filled her, piece by piece, snaking through her magic until the last cold olive shadowdissolved into nothing. All that remained was her true colour; a warm, shining emerald.
Healed.
She could breathe deeper, think clearer.
“How are you doing that?”
His focus was on their joined hands. “No idea,” he admitted. “It’s... just doing it.”
“But why does it do that?” she blurted out.
He looked up, searching her face, like he could find the answer written there if he stared hard enough. Their magic lingered, emerald and crimson dancing together without the corruption between them – threads of russet flickering where the streams touched.
He was so close. And still she wanted to be closer. Her heart hammered in her chest. His thumb was resting against her pulse – surely he could feel it racing? He had to know what his touch was doing to her. The glow around their hands finally thinned, retreating like it had never been there at all.
He let go. Slowly.
His fingers trailed across her skin, lingering a moment longer than necessary – reluctant maybe? At least that’s what she told herself. Her wrist felt horribly cold and empty without his hand on it. Neither of them spoke, just looked at each other. Sebastian cleared his throat, the sudden sound making her jump. He turned away abruptly – whatever mood had come over him had evidently passed. He busied himself with the valmares, packing up without so much as a glance.
“We should get moving,” he said, voice rougher than it needed to be.
Well, it’s better than yesterday. Broken wrist aside.
Today they would be leaving Hale territory for Fatàn. Yesterday’s route had wound through deep forest and countryside, but Kara knew there was no way to avoid the villages ahead. She prayed she wouldn’t be recognised. If they passed through quickly, maybe she’d be fine. Sebastian, however... they’d notice a Thorne. Even without his armour or Creststone, something about him radiated it – the way he carried himself. His crimson cloak certainly didn’t help. Sebastian was right: Henry would have gotten free and sent word by now. And a Hale and a Thorne riding together would draw attention.
“You look too much like a Thorne.”
His head came up, confused.
