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Rochelle could barely look away from the half-obscured circle beneath the man’s feet. She recognized it. Sheknewit was familiar … but how? How was that possible? Surely if she’d encountered him before, anywhere, she’d remember him. The man was so magnetic she could barely look away from him, even standing on the edge of a rampaging fire and amidst the chaos of what seemed like an invasion from another country.
He stood, rocking to his feet in a fluid motion, and the circle faded away.
Rochelle blinked, shaking herself back to the moment. How long had she spaced out? He couldn’t possibly be done. The girl had been near death! But even as her gaze shifted from him, she realized she was wrong.
The mother and daughter were finding their feet, even their clothing fully restored. Rochelle’s abandoned—no longer bloody—wrap gathered in the mother’s hands. The mother’s eyes were clear and bright, her face clean and free of tear streaks or dirt smears. Similarly, her daughter’s cheeks were rosy pink and her smile easy. It was the same friendly smile she’d offered that morning, in the store.
“Thank you,” the mother said. She stepped forward and latched onto his arm. “Thank you so much!” Fresh tears welled in her eyes.
Rochelle opened her mouth, unable to contain her curiosity. “Who—”
“Filthy fucking whore!” The rageful cry came from behind her, jarring Rochelle and making both the newly healed women startle into retreat.
Rochelle spun, knowing exactly who her attacker was and certain she didn’t have time to re-access her magic in order to defend herself. But then an arm curved around her waist, strong and comforting, and another arm stretched past her as she was pulled up beside a hard body.
“You should have stayed in Zrynia,” the green-eyed stranger said. His voice was harder than she’d heard it earlier, and as she watched, her attacker’s maddened lunge was forcibly reversed. He was flung backward, into the encroaching fire. With an upward twist of his extended wrist, all the visible flame rolled together into one spot, converging on top of the area where the attacking Zrynian had likely landed.
Rochelle found herself physically turned around as her rescuer snapped his fingers and a heartbeat later the crackling, sizzling sound of an active fire vanished. But her back was to whatever remained of the man who’d—again—tried to kill her. That was the second time this stranger had made an effort to spare her witnessing someone’s death.
He kept his hand on her hip, over the wide strap of the ribbon-thin belt that she wore with the simple dress, and held his other hand toward the wide-eyed women. “Come,” he said. “Let’s get you to safety.”
The mother nudged her daughter forward with her hands twisted in Rochelle’s wrap. As soon as the girl’s fingers settled over his palm, his magic circle appeared beneath their feet. It flared brightly, just for an instant, and then the light was gone.
As was the alley.
Someone let out a startled shriek a few feet away even as the green-eyed stranger’s arms returned to his sides.
Rochelle blinked, feeling faintly disoriented, and swiveled her head around until she realized where they were. He’d transported them inside Corast Hall. The large, open-spaced building was almost as full as she’d ever seen it, and at least twice as hectic. Villagers huddled together, many crying openly, while more were stretched out or propped up with half-treated wounds. A brunette woman Rochelle didn’t recognize knelt beside a man whose groans seemed to echo throughout the hall as she worked on healing him.
“You’ll be safe here,” the green-eyed stranger said, drawing her attention back to him. “There’s a barrier around the building and powerful soldiers at every door. I’ll be back to help with the healing once I’ve wrapped things up outside.” He inclined his head, tucked his hands into his pockets, and took a step away.
Something in her chest tightened. She hadn’t even learned his name! “Wait—”
A middle-aged man stepped up, not quite blocking his path, facing them. He had some scrapes and a bandage was visible through a tear in his sleeve, but he stood on his own power. And from his expression, he wasn’t happy. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We appreciate all you’re doing for us, Sentry, but you can’t bring her here. After today, she’s not welcome.”
Rochelle’s eyes widened as she attempted to process the man’s words. She knew him. Not well, but she knew his name. They’d chatted on occasion. He’d even offered to buy her a drink once, though she suspected he’d already had too many by that point. She opened her mouth to protest as his glare slid to her, making clear his meaning, but the green-eyed stranger beat her to it.
“What has she done wrong?”
The man who’d lived two streets over from the nice elderly couple who originally took her in scoffed and gestured to her with his uninjured arm. “Look at her! She’s a damn Zryn. How are we supposed to accept her with all that’s going on outside?”
“She saved my life!” The girl from earlier stomped up to Rochelle’s side. “Mine and Mom’s!”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me laugh. Everyone knows she can’t use whatever magic she has. She’s useless.”
Rochelle flinched. She’d exhausted herself already that day. She didn’t have the energy for this sort of argument, and she certainly had no desire to stay where she wasn’t wanted.
“You didn’t seem to have a problem with her yesterday,” the green-eyed stranger said. “And from what I saw out there, she was putting in a lot more effort to help her fellow villagers than most of you.”
“Like I would believe—”
“It’s fine,” Rochelle said. She didn’t want to hear whatever hurtful, hateful words he or any of her new-and-now-former neighbors felt like spewing. She drew herself up as tall as she could. “I’ll go if that’s what the village wants. I never intended to be a problem.”
Her words only seemed to make the man who’d previously tried seducing her angrier.
The green-eyed stranger turned to face her, a frown dipping the corners of his lips. “Do you have somewhere to go?”
She drew a breath. “I have…” The fire had undoubtedly destroyed the entire store before he’d extinguished it. Including the back room where her meager belongings were kept. “Two working feet and an average sense of direction.” And apparently some magic that, if nothing else, kicked in when she was otherwise about to die. Probably not the most dependable thing, but better than nothing at all.
