Page 107 of Winter Gods & Serpents

Even I had broken down and given up in training not even half an hour through it. Empath infliction was banned in Adriata, no one was allowed to procure the blessing or train it. Adriatian court had a special team of two dozen empaths called the Eldritch order, and he was not one of them. This one must have slipped through the cracks, unnoticed, trained away from the eye and right under Silas’s wing. The princess had been right to worry and inquire through this so persistently.

“He was not a very good Empath then, now will you unhand me, you’re hurting me.”

I had not noticed how hard I was holding her, my fingers had left red marks on her face.

“How did you do it?”

She barely stood up, and went to retrieve her sword from the dead man’s body. “I do not know,” she answered, her voice monotone.

Lie.

She was probably still suffering the lingering anguish of the infliction. I was being harsh in questioning her this persistently. What answers was I looking for anyway?

Once she settled down avoiding my suspicious stare, I went to release the men’s souls from their bodies.

“From gods we descend, to gods back we ascend. From heaven’s we heed, to heavens back we seed,” I recited for each in holy prayer as they floated in orbs of light towards the sky, to Cynth.

She stared in wonder through the whole process, curious but refused to let herself ask.

“Was it worth it, putting yourself in danger for precarious odds?” I asked, reliving the thought that she almost died.

She stretched in a yawn. “I don’t fiddle with odds, just with men—and men have never prevailed over aught in regard to the lengths of danger they present.”

I scoffed and shook my head at her thick stubbornness, the confidence she exuded with that answer was impeccably hale for someone who had almost died a few moments ago.

Her long moments of quiet scared me so I asked again, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I could be better and less cold, fed and in better company.” She sighed and sniffled gathering herself tight. “Damned hells, a lemon cream puff. I’m terribly craving a lemon cream puff.”

She was alright, but how was she this calm?

She spun around noting the wall I’d lifted, poking it with her fingers and blinking surprised once it bounced back on her, still refusing to ask questions her curious glance instigated.

I noted her hair had turned a murky dark burgundy mated to her back. “You are covered in blood,” I stated, and she startled forward when I moved her long hair away from the gushing wound on her back.

She peaked back and snorted. “Yes, so it’s come to my attention.”

I peeled the cut back and revealed a gnarly slash tearing her flesh. “You’re hurt.”

“No, I usually spurt blood from my back.”

Gods, could she not joke for a second. “Take your jacket off, let me see.”

“At every opportunity you try to undress me.”

A heavy sigh followed by a groan unwillingly left my body, the range of annoyed she had created in me would be historical. “This is not funny, not the slightest.”

“I’m stuck with you so I’ll take all entertainment I can find.”

“You almost died on me.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Blessings never come for the wicked.”

Her words from that day still clear in my head. I shook them away before they dove me back to overthinking. “Jacket, off.” I ordered, ignoring her incitements.

Cautiously she finally pulled her jacket off, then her white shirt leaving her in a thin almost sheer strappy top in the middle of the freezing forest.

Going around behind her, I untucked my shirt from under my jacket, tearing straps to put over her wound. A thin slash had ripped the sheer blouse right in the middle of her back. Her clothing had not helped at all, the jacket was magic threaded meant to keep you warm but not thick.