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His palm rested on her chest, just below her collarbone, and he closed his eyes again. Verve held as still as she could, trying not to breathe, and watched him. His full lips pursed when he concentrated, but his hand was steady. Magic thickened in the air around him, beckoning, but not dangerously, like the other mages’ had done. No, Alem’s magic was a balm, a soothing grace, like nothing else in her adult life had ever been.
At last, the pain in her chest receded; the aches all over followed, fading to nothing. Alem drew his hand back and looked at her. “Better?”
Verve nodded, tugging at the comb in her braid again, but the sodding thing was well and truly stuck. “I tried just to talk to those mages, Alem, I really did. But my reputation got ahead of me. The mages… They might have listened, but that ummaroc shiftling was with them, and she knew what I was. The others figured it out soon after…” More tears sprang to her eyes and she couldn’t finish.
He was silent. What was there to say? She was a fool to think she could be anything other than what she was now. She braced for the inevitable.
“Have you seen the springs?” he asked instead.
She frowned. “It’s spring outside, yes.” Was he drunk?
He chuckled. “I meant Pilgrim Springs. Ivet says they’re healing springs, but that’s not quite true. Don’t get me wrong, they make for a nice, refreshing swim when it’s hot, but they won’t heal you… Just clean you up a bit.” Gently, he took her hand. “It’s an easy journey. I could use a dip. How about you?”
He’d not opened his heart to her now, but he didn’t have to, for she read the kindness in his expression as if he’d painted on the feeling, like raccoon whiskers: ridiculous, but sweet.
I love you. The words formed on her tongue, but she held them back. She was drunk and high and in no state to do anything so foolish as to admit the truth.
But she did smile at him. “I could use a wash. I stink.”
“Oh, yes,” he agreed, grinning. She stuck her tongue out at him and a deep flush crept to his cheeks. Quickly, he got to his feet and offered her his hand. She took it and he helped her up, pulling her easily.
“It’s not far,” he said, still holding her hand. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Teeth chattering, Verve summoned her courage and dunked her head again, allowing the fresh water to saturate her loose hair now that she’d gotten the comb free. She burst up out of the springs, shrieking. “What kind of cursed god makes such pretty water so sodding cold?”
“You’ll get used to it after a few minutes,” Alem said, laughter in his voice.
“Assuming I can survive that long.” Still shivering, Verve smoothed back her soaking hair and glanced around them at Pilgrim Springs. She’d never seen water so brilliant blue; towards the center, where the spring water emerged from underground, the blue deepened to a rich indigo. But on the rocky limestone outcropping she stood upon, the water was the same color as the sky on a summer’s day.
Limestone formations circled the springs, water reflecting off of the pockmarked stone in rippling bands of light. The trees were thick here, too, and some grew out of the limestone itself, clinging to the pale stone as they reached for the sky.
Alem meandered along the sandy shore. He’d shed his tunic and shoes, and his soaking trousers clung to his muscular legs. Verve had already caught him looking at her, too, but didn’t mind in the least. She’d kept on her small-clothes, but had left her tunic, pants, and boots on the shore.
The strange combination of Alem’s healing magic and the shock of cold water had kicked her back into a state of somewhat-sobriety. She shook out her hair again. The slap of loose, wet hair on her back was oddly unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. She scraped her fingers over her scalp, savoring the feeling—usually her braids got in the way—and sighed.
“Better?” Alem asked.
The water didn’t feel as horrifically cold now, at least, but Verve eyed her comb and hair tincture with reluctance. “Better,” she replied. “Almost too much. I don’t really want to leave.”
“Then don’t.” The sunlight glinted off of the water on his trim, muscular torso as he stepped further into the springs, then ducked beneath the rippling surface.
She sank to a squat, balancing on the limestone, submerging herself to her chin. Cool water surrounded her like a refreshing embrace. Damn him; he’d been right about this, too. When he emerged, she said, “I’m sorry about today. I tried.”
“I know.” He shook his hair, sending water droplets flying. “Will you try again?”
She studied her hands beneath the water’s surface, noting the distorted ripples. “Why bother?” She closed her hands into fists. “Why should mages trust me?”
Why should anyone?
He didn’t answer right away. “It’s worth another shot. You can’t just try a new thing once and give up if it goes poorly.”
“I assure you, I’m more than capable of that.”
He wrung out his hair and didn’t look at her. “So, your plan is just to keep killing others until you kill yourself with drink?”
Heat flushed through her face, despite the chilly water. “Maybe. What’s your point? Why do you care so much about… about other mages?”
