Page 32 of A Court of Masks and Roses (Royal Scout #1)

KALI

“ K al. Kal!” The voice calling my name beats against me, demanding to be heard. There is a faint smell of lavender and blood. “Open your eyes.”

I do no such thing. Something very bad waits there. A distant part of my mind, one wrapped in dreamlike cotton, informs me that I should feel something about the voice’s appearance. That the voice belongs somewhere else. Not here with me. Wherever it is I am.

The voice curses.

My eyes slide open, just barely, but enough to see fading wisps of daylight reflect off silver hair. I try to focus on it, but the world it’s attached to swims away in a dizzying sea. The ground beneath me sways and I fall back into its abyss.

The next time I wake, it is to fires of scorching agony. I scream until my breath ends and darkness returns.

Water. Drops swatting like flies at my face. I try to pull away from the assault and can’t. Can’t move at all. My breath quickens, heart beating in concert with the pattering rain. My eyes fly open and I stare at green lit rock. I fill my lungs and—

A hand clamps over my mouth, silver hair flashing before my eyes again. “Stay quiet and still.Understand?” Trace. Of course it would be Trace here. Because whatever happened, it wasn’t bad enough on its own.

He keeps his hand tight over my mouth until I nod.

Releasing me, Trace returns to his task of layering branches atop each other to cover the entrance to what must be a cave that we are in. “Several wild boars trampled by an hour ago,” he says over his shoulder.“I little wish to attract their attention just now.”

The air hangs thick with earthy dampness and a green crystal provides faint but serviceable light.

The pouring rain outside drums a rolling beat, but finds its way inside less and less with each branch Trace adds to his barricade.

I’m lying flat on my back, the ground beneath me soft dirt covered with a blanket that scratches my bare skin.

I’m not wearing anything save for undershorts and my chest wrap—now loosened—though there is something heavy atop me that smells of maleness and leather.

A coat, I think. Or a cloak. I can’t lift my head to see.

I pull at the straws of memory to get my bearings. I was tracking Viva. I found whisperers being held prisoner. And then... A wall of obsidian slams through my mind, ordering my thoughts to go elsewhere. To never, ever come back to what happened then.

Trace places the last of the branches against the cave entrance, blocking water and moonlight both, and strides to my side. Even in the odd light, the dark circles of fatigue are stark beneath his eyes.

“How did you find me?” My mouth is dry, the words raspy.

He holds up a red living stone and the pouch I left in the fir tree.

“Leaf gave me her half of the love stone and I followed it. I told Luca my suspicions that you were off doing something stupid—he thinks I’m tracking you down in more civilized parts, but he’ll cover for my absence well enough.

You are fortunate your captors didn’t find the satchel you stashed. ”

My captors. I swallow. No, they hadn’t wanted my things.

They’d... My memory flashes, my heart quickening its beat.

With an effort that feels like it could crush boulders, I lift my wrist to grab at something, anything.

My fingers close around cloth—Trace’s pant leg.

He squats down beside me and touches my shoulder, sending a wave of fire through my muscles. What is it? his eyes ask.

“Viva Sylthia,” I whisper desperately. “That’s who caught me.

They were moving whisperers, a hundred of them.

I think they work for Bahir. Said something about the Messenger’s schedule and at least one of them was a holy guardsman.

Like Samuels. The roses... They were expecting prisoners, remember?

Stars.” My breath shakes as I speak. “I don’t understand how or why, but Viva Sylthia is in Bahir’s employ. Do you hear me? Tell me you hear me.”

“Easy.” Trace’s hand brushes my shoulder again. “I hear you.”

I let out a breath.

Trace studies me, his brows knitting together. “Is that why you left Delta? You wanted to rescue a hundred whisperers from Viva Sylthia’s clutches by yourself?”

I try to shake my head but it’s too heavy to move. “I was searching for Viva agents. I didn’t know Viva was trafficking whisperers. Only realized it... only put it together at the end.”

Trace’s eyes flash. “You left the palace alone to seek out terror mongers who’d already tried to kill you once?

” His voice rises, nostrils flaring more with each word.

“What did you bloody think was going to happen? Did you bloody think at all? You said you work for Firehorn—pray explain how your being dead would help the king.”

Considering the state I’m in, Trace’s scolding has little of its intended effect. I open my mouth to tell him so, but it’s difficult enough to speak without wasting breath. “They didn’t kill me.” I meant it as a question, but it comes out a statement, defiant.

“If you think that’s a credit to your luck or skill, disillusion yourself of that this damn minute.

You know how I found you? Hanging from a tree by your wrists, your shoulders dislocated, your—” He cuts off abruptly as blood drains from my face.

His voice reins itself in to an even calmness.

“It doesn’t matter. You are alive. Like you said. ”

It’s too late, though, the attempt at calm. My breath quickens, memories shoving against my consciousness. Knives. Ropes. A throat gone raw and bloody from screaming. A horrific pop of joints. The dull side of a heavy ax... I choke on air.

“They wanted an example.” The words bubble out, bile rising in my throat. I was supposed to help the whisperers. I became an instrument of fear instead. “They wanted an example. To keep others in line. I... I was the example.”

“Breathe,” Trace whispers. “Try to breathe.”

I try. Fail. Try again. My breaths come too quickly for the air to do me much good, but the faster I gulp, the worse it gets.

Trace’s hand hesitates above my face, then lowers slowly to my forehead.

Fingers calloused from years of training and holding weapons brush hair from my eyes.

“It’s over,” he whispers. The apple of his throat bobs as he swallows, tense muscles sharp against his square chin.

The silver-blond hair hanging loose from Trace’s bent head tickles my ear.

“You are all right now. I won’t let them hurt you again. I promise.”

I focus on the path of Trace’s touch, my flesh tingling at the lethal power caressing my skin. I won’t let them hurt you again. I grip on to those words. I’m not with Viva anymore. I’m not alone. Trace is here and I am safe. His touch is proof and it feels good.

Too good. Too safe. Lord Gapral’s warnings ring in my mind. The only person who can protect you—who will protect you—is you. Forget that and you are dead.

“It’s all right,” Trace murmurs. “You’re all right.”

I jerk my head away from him as if scorched. Swallowing painfully, I force my body to evaluate itself. It’s not all right at all. I can’t move. I can barely breathe. I’m as far from right as it gets this side of death. “Liar.”

Trace doesn’t deny it. He pulls his hand back and tucks it beneath his knee.

“How bad?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

Cold fear grips my chest. My heart speeds. “How. Bad.”

Trace sighs. “Lacerations. Two puncture wounds, one in each thigh. Multiple fractures.” His eyes survey my prone form, his voice matter of fact. “I set and splinted the bones in both your legs. Don’t ruin my work.”

Fractures. Splints on my legs. Trace’s words echo and the sleeping memories bang against my mind’s shield.

Stars. The panicked realization shoots through me like lightning.

They broke my legs. I can’t walk. Not now.

Perhaps not ever. Not like I could. Leaf’s useless clubbed foot flashes before my eyes.

Trace’s hands grip my shoulders, caged strength vibrating from his body as his worried gaze rakes me. “Look at me. Stay with me.”

I blink at the green-lit stone wall of the cave.

It’s cold and hard. I try to move again and can’t.

Panic creeps back in ragged breaths and flashing fear.

Something else , I shout at my mind. Focus on something else.

Anything else. “You need to go. Tell the king about the whisperers. Find them before they get to Bahir.”

Trace raises a brow. “You want me to leave?”

“Yes.”

He snorts. “And what is to become of you? Or is dying the point of this brilliant plan?”

“A hundred innocent people—”

“—are already with Bahir. It’s been two days since Viva discarded you.” Gripping my chin, Trace forces my gaze to meet his. “I’ve worked too hard keeping you alive. So you are going to stay that way, understand?”

I try to pull away.

Trace holds fast. “Understand?” he demands again.

Strength drains from my limbs. My eyes sting. I hate them for it. And I hate Trace for seeing the glimmer of tears. “They shattered my legs.”

“I know.”

“If I live—” The strangled words escape my throat, and I read the answer in his eyes before even asking the question. “Even if I live, will I walk?”

Trace looks down.

I nod, my hands gripping the dirt, letting it press beneath my fingernails. A single tear slides from the corner of my right eye, slithering down my cheek.

Trace tightens his jaw, as if determination heals bones. “You’ll walk,” he whispers .

“Ah.” My voice is flat and so lifeless it frightens me. “The power of hope.”

“No. There... Hope isn’t going to suffice. Not with this damage. Healing magic may work, though.” He sighs and sits back on his heels, pinching the bridge of his nose as he studies my body. “I’ve just never tried something this complex before.”

“Feel at liberty to start making sense anytime now,” I say after a few minutes of silence. “Trace? Trace.”

He startles free of his thoughts. “Do you remember anything after I found you?”

I dig through my memories, careful not to stray too deep. “My name being called. A blaze of searing pain. That’s it. Probably when you set the bones. Or my shoulders.”

“No. That pain was me stopping the worst of the bleeding.” His gaze finds mine. “Do you remember what your sister said about the magic in healing crystals? How potent it is, how it penetrates through the crystal’s walls and into the body? That pain you felt, that was healing magic.”

I’ve the oddest experience of hearing and understanding each word without grasping the meaning of their combination. The way Trace is talking, it’s as if...

He nods. “Yes, I’m a whisperer. A trained healer.”

I move my mouth, but it takes a moment to make sounds come out. “But we’ve no healers in Dansil,” I say stupidly.

He gives me a hard look. “There are a lot of people in Dansil you think don’t exist.”

I close my eyes, my mind racing as I try to put the pieces together. “When you asked Leaf about using the healing stone... you were really checking to ensure she knew its dangers.”

“Yes.” Trace sighs, his fingers brushing my forehead again.

“Look at me, Kal. What I did earlier, that was rudimentary. To mend the bones properly is... It’s the difference between painting a fence and a portrait.

I can’t promise I’ll succeed, but I can promise to try if you want me to. It will hurt, though. Very much.”

I nod, a small bud of hope blooming in my chest. Of course I want him to try. I set aside my roiling thoughts and questions for later—walking comes first.

Unbuttoning the top of his shirt, Trace removes the thong holding the blue healing crystal and wraps the leather around his hands. The small crystal appears to be in tune, with the magical tufts already woven together in its center. Probably from the previous healing Trace performed on me.

“How...” I massage my words, trying not to sound like the coward I suddenly feel. “How will this work exactly?”

“I will press the crystal between my hand and your body.” Trace uses his teeth to tighten the last of the knots that secure the stone to his palm.

He nudges down the cloak covering my body and probes the space just below my right collarbone, the touch expertly professional.

“There is a plexus of energy pathways here, which the magic will enter through. The healing crystal will connect our bodies, letting me wield its magic against your injuries.”

“All right,” I say, though it’s anything but that.

“The magic will flow but I’ll stay right here.” Trace offers a hint of a smile. “No needles, though. That’s something, right?”

I try to nod, but my bravery is failing more with each heartbeat.

“Just keep breathing,” Trace tells me as his hand finds my chest again and his eyes take on the glazed look of concentration I’ve so often seen on Leaf’s face.

Stinging bees swarm into my blood. I gasp and it’s all I can do to keep from pulling away.

Trace’s face hardens. “Both femurs are intact,” he says through clenched teeth.

“But the lower legs... I think I can work with them.” His words are strained .

“Are you...” My breath catches as I realize what’s happening. “You are feeling what I feel. The wounds. Their pain.”

He nods roughly.

“If you feel my sensations, why don’t I feel yours?”

“I’m keeping the magic focused inside your body,” says Trace. “Brace yourself.”

I’ve no chance to ask what I’m bracing for before a sudden agony, like on oily fire, engulfs my body. The viscous flame pools in the crevices of my shattered right shin and starts to sear the bone. I dig my nails into the ground, my back arching as a whimper I can’t bite back escapes my lips.

“I know,” Trace whispers, his free hand finding mine. “But this is the only way.”

I try to settle, but everything inside me rebels against the pain. Pushes against it. Against the magic melting my bones.

The magic pushes back, worming its way in. I push harder.

Harder still.

And the magic... It recoils. Right back into Trace.