Page 44 of Daughter of the Dark

“Says the man who received a fully rounded education. Who knows what I might have become had I been taught any of”—she gestured to the books and tools—“this. More than a hunter, I’d assume.”

“Then the world would have been robbed of a great service.”

The sincerity in his eyes hit her like a punch to the gut. She waited for him to huff, to make a sarcastic remark, to minimize or downplay and set them back on the right foot, but there was nothing. Suddenly floundering beneath his gaze, Solana cleared her throat and walked over to the table in the center of the room. It rattled when she hopped onto it.

“Well?” she said, holding out her arm. “Do you want more blood or not?”

“Very much so,” Reyes said. “Do you want to go back to the infirmary?”

Solana shuddered. “Here is good,” she said, and meant it. There was a kind of power in reshaping her memories of this room, in seeing Reyes, hair mussed and feet bare, she noted, at peace in a place he had made his own.

He nodded and turned to the shelves lining the wall next to him, plucking a cylindrical tool from a glass jar and a bottle of clear liquid next to it. Solana stayed relaxed as he turned to her and drew nearer. Even when he placed the syringe and bottle next to her and the clank of glass and metal rang out, she did not flinch. It was only after he wiped her arm with the liquid from the bottle and placed the tip of the syringe to the inner corner of her elbow that she twitched the tiniest bit.

Reyes pulled away immediately and peered down into her eyes. “We don’t have to do this right now. We can wait.”

“No,” Solana said quickly. “The more blood, the better, yes?” Reyes nodded, gray eyes swirling in the dim light. “Then this is good.”

It was gentle, the needle that dug under her skin and tapped into the stream of blood running beneath the surface. Usually she looked away, but this time she watched the syringe fill and marveled at the depth of it, the color and the possibilities. If Reyes was right, her blood could save lives. People wouldn’t have to die like her mother had, feverish and festering and forgetful.

In those last few hours before her mother’s death, Solana might as well have been alone. She could still hear Lucia wailing for Masimu. Could still feel the sting of her mother’s absence as she turned to Solana and said, Tell her I love her. Wherever she is, please tell her I will never hurt her.

It was the last time she heard her voice. Somehow, Lucia had kept her promise, but selfishly, a part of Solana had hoped her mother would one day return. That Solana could have the honor of ending her misery and absorbing it into herself. One last connection with the woman who had sacrificed everything for her.

Reyes held the syringe of her blood up to the light and eyed it with something like wonder. Then he placed it on the table behind him and turned back to her.

It was now or never.

“I’m ready to imbue himaya.”

With gentle fingers, he placed a small bandage over the dot of blood lingering in the crook of her arm. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“If I’m telling you, it’s because I am.” When he glanced at her entwined fingers, she loosened them and shoved them underneath her legs. “I think you’ll be disappointed with the results, but I’m willing to try.”

“I won’t be disappointed,” he said softly, the words dripping in sincerity.

From his pocket, he pulled out a solid black stone the size of a coin. When he extended it to her and it caught the light, it flashed from black to a color she couldn’t describe or name. Iridescent in a way that hurt the eyes.

“Himaya,” she whispered reverently, only fleetingly familiar with the stone that held magic and gave Supay its greatest source of trade. It could be imbued with a gift and used indefinitely, if taken care of. Nobody she had ever known had one. They were as elusive as the Medallion in Qhilli.

“How exactly does it work?”

“Blood,” he said simply. “A small amount goes a long way. The effects vary, but I’ve found that holding the stone makes for a stronger result.”

Cold fingers touched her arm, softly coaxing her hand out from underneath her leg. They trailed from elbow to wrist and then to the center of her palm, where he pressed the stone. Solana winced. It was bitingly cold and sharp, but not physically. It sent a surge of wrongness through her. Like it didn’t belong there in the room, in her palm, but somewhere else. Somewhere darker and farther. Like it had been stolen.

Solana watched as Reyes produced a small blade from the pocket of his pants and held it over the same finger he had used to take her oath to the king. It hovered there, waiting for her permission.

If she did have the ability to imbue this stone, what kind of power would she be giving to others who used it?

It was a question that could only be answered after it was done.

Like with fighting, Solana instinctively knew what to do once the blade pricked her finger and a bead of blood bubbled at the tip. She curled her fingers into a fist, the stone wrapped in the center of it, and closed her eyes.

“There you go,” Reyes breathed, his nearness grounding her. “Now I need you to remember what you felt before, that first time you intentionally used your gift, and hold it close.”

The force of those emotions was dangerous.

With Sami, it had been unbridled terror. Something primal and raw that had lit a blaze within her. With Reyes, it had been spite and determination. With those children in the cellar, it had been complete and utter desperation.