“Yes.” She nodded gravely. “The queen has squeezed all the resources out of us, hoarding it all for herself and her loyalists.”
The queen. I snarled, my hands curling into fists. Then I realized how terrifying I might look to Lilia, especially in our surroundings, and softened my expression. “Are you afraid of me?”
She stared at me and pursed her lips. “I was at first.”
“And now?”
She cocked her head. “Like I said, there’s no room for fear. Only survival.”
Gods of Stone, she had the attitude of a soldier, compartmentalizing what needed to be done for the mission. Begrudgingly, I had to admit I respected that.
But not to her.
She planted a hand on her hip. “Let’s start with sage.”
“Sage?” I repeated.
“Yes. We’ll burn it at the base of each marker to clean out corrupted energy.”
I grunted and crossed my arms.
“What?” she demanded, appearing confused.
“An herb,” I said flatly.
“Why do you say it like that?”
I snorted. “Because it’s just a plant. That’s not magic.”
She gestured with a raised hand before lowering it to her hip. “It’s not just a plant. Everything in nature carries its own energy. The right combination, placed correctly?—”
“The ward markers were forged with ancient magic,” I countered. “Not an herb for cooking.”
“Then why are they failing?” She stepped toward me, her chin tilted up with sassy defiance. “If your ancient magic was enough, you wouldn’t be standing here with me.”
My nostrils flared. I had no answer for that, which irritated me. “Yourplantswill not be enough.”
“You don’t know that,” she said, not backing down. She was so close now that I could feel her warm breath on my bare chest and see that unmistakable fire in her hazel eyes.
“I know magic,” I snapped.
“Then use it!” She spread her hands out in exasperation.
“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” I seethed, moving so close our bodies nearly touched, and stared down at her. “Night after night. And then you come along.” I gestured abstractly out toward the surrounding woods. “Thinking if you burn a few herbs, we’ll all live happily ever after.”
“That’s exactly my point.” She punctuated her statement by jabbing her index finger to my chest. “You stand here like a stubborn”—she pursed her lips—“monument. Hard as stone and waiting for defeat.”
I grabbed her wrist to drag her hand off my chest, but the warmth of her hand in mine stopped me. Her skin was so soft, like rose petals. I held her longer than I should have, then abruptly released it, somewhat rattled. Her tiny hand seemed to leave an imprint in mine, and I closed my fingers at my side to capture that sensation.
Her chest rose and fell with quickened breaths that came through her parted lips. Had that sensation jarred her as it didme? Slowly her gaze returned to mine. “You tell me the wards are failing, that there’s no hope, that you’ve tried. Do you know what I think?”
I straightened, determined to school myself not to react to this frustrating woman. “I suspect you’ll tell me, regardless.”
She didn’t react to my sardonic tone. “I think the problem with your magic isyou.” She said it quietly, which made it land with a harder thud than if she’d shouted it. “Magic requires energy. Belief. And you”—she gestured at me with a sweep of her small hands—“you’re showing none of that. If you are convinced of defeat, then guess what? You’ll find it.” She nodded once.
Her words struck deep. “Well, aren’t you just the model for positivity?” I scowled.
“Maybe.” She rolled one shoulder but held my gaze. “Or maybe a soldier who’s decided the battle is lost before it’s even started doesn’t have the same fight as one who’s sure they can win.”
