Dazed, I lift my head to look at him as he hurries to his feet. His chest heaves, his eyes wide with shock. I watch the movement of his pale, freckled skin, transfixed for some reason. Dom says something, but the words don’t quite reach my ears over the rush of pain. His hands hover over me, as if he’s afraid to touch me.
It’s only then I realize what’s caught my attention so thoroughly. I was looking for a spell strand around Dom’s neck, but... he’s not wearing one.
Vaguely, I look down at my own. I never go without at least my emergency strand anymore. Not since Arlon was attacked. Yet as I lift one throbbing hand, feeling through my spells, there’s not a spent one among them.
I blink hard, snapping out of the fog. The pain gets that much more acute as I trulyfeelit, my skin throbbing in an uncomfortable harmony with my racing heart.
“How did you do that?”
Dom swallows, his eyes wide and panicked, like a deer caught in a hunter’s sight. “I-I don’t know.”
It feels like that time I used beeswax on myself. An experiment gone wrong. It hurts in a distinctlynotfun way, but it’s not too terribly severe. Probably won’t even scar, but the thought makes me grab one of Dom’s hands. My thumbs trace his palm, but his calloused skin isn’t even pink.
He pulls his hand away before grabbing the quilt to drape it over my shoulders. “C’mon - the infirmary.”
“For this? I’m notdying,” I say even as I search through my spells for a corpimancy. It’s a borrowed one from the Crux’s stores, but as I release it, it helps diminish the pain. The blisters are still raised, but I know Dom has a healer’s kit in his closet, becauseI’mthe one who put it there. Yet searching my necklace reaffirms that Dom didn’t accidentally release one of my spells.
So where did that magiccome from?
Dom’s hands slide off of me before he goes to sit on the edge of his bed. His face is pale, cradled between his hands, his eyes staring unseeingly at the floor near my feet.
I pull the quilt a little more firmly around me, careful of my wrists before I sink to crouch in front of him.
“Dom, how did you do that?”
His eyes gloss over before he covers them with his hands. His shoulders shake as he curls in on himself, and in that moment, he looks so small, so fragile that I’m afraid to touch him.
“Something’s fucked about me,” he says at last.
I frown. “What do you mean, love?”
Dom shakes his head, still not lifting it from his hands. “I-I don’t know if I’ve always been fucked or if being stuck in the silver... let it out, but...” He lets out a shuddering breath, and it’s like watching a dam collapse. “No one touched me while I was in the silver atthe Tower.”
It’s the last thing I expected him to say, but the relief that follows makes me feel lightheaded. Diran, Jaret, Lucien - they didn’ttouchhim. Yet relief is chased by something else as I have to rewrite the last couple of months in my head.
All the guilt and worry I’ve carried since he came back. The pain of thinking that he suffered as much as I did at their hands -worsethan I did.
I said no to the assignment out east. Have been holding onto the guilt of that decision formonths.I kept thinking of how things might have been different if I’d gone along.
And no one touched him.
It feels perverse to be so angry at that truth, yet a part of me is. For a moment, I’m not sure what to say as relief, anger, guilt -somuch guilt - coil, like a viper readying to strike.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask at last.
“Because no onetouchedme,” he repeats, lifting his head at last. His eyes are red-rimmed and wild. “Not when I dream walked to you. Not even to get me out.”
The bottom drops out of my anger, confusion filling the void. That... inescapable hold is what’s always scared me about divination. Ropes I can squirm out of, but the silver? There’s no escaping the silver on your own.
“A-and ever since, something’s -fucked.” His eyes clench shut before he drags in a steadying breath. When he speaks again, his voice is hollow. “My spells were all the way across the room when Demica caught up to me at the Tower, yet I still managed to blast her off her feet.”
“Where are your spells tonight?” I ask.
Dom swallows, fingers tightening in his hair. “Tucked in my closet.” He swears quietly before saying, “Arlon once told me that magicwantsto obey, but... ever since the silver, it feels like I’m losing control of mine. Iamlosing control of mine.”
Dom grips his elbows, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and I realize it’s because he’s scared to put his hands on me. Scared to hurt me again. It makes my heart ache, and I shift to sit on the bed beside him, tossing one end of the quilt out to cover his shoulders. I don’t take his hand or touch his knee, not wanting to push him, but I press against his side.
I don’t want him to be afraid to touch me.
