Page 18

Laurel

While plant and water channelers are the most well-known of healers, light channelers can also heal injuries. In fact, light healing is said to be the strongest of the healing abilities, as it requires a stronger concentration of aether to perform and thus passes that extra aether to the person being healed. However, it takes immense focus and control to heal via light, and very few light channelers throughout history have possessed the skill.

A Practical Guide to Magical Healing

“Prince Hawthorne, are you sure you wouldn’t like dancing lessons before the ball? Aria is a skilled dancer and teacher. I’m sure she’d be happy to walk you through the waltz we’ll open the ball with,” I say to the Prince and the room of advisors. We’ve been planning the ball this last week and decided to open it with a dance between the Prince and me. It’s a good opportunity for Silene and Fionn to sneak away, since everyone will be watching us, but I don’t want to do it. The Prince annoys me endlessly, always charming everyone with his dimple and his winks, despite being engaged . He’s a shameless flirt—it’s excessive . Never mind the way I feel when that flirting turns my way… If I allow him close enough to dance, he’ll use his stupidly handsome face to break through the carefully constructed wall I’ve erected around the Velmarans. The wall that is more difficult to maintain than I want to admit.

“Oh, my dance skills will measure up to your expectations, I’m sure of it.” He somehow makes the statement seem like an innuendo, and my cheeks heat slightly even as my blood boils in anger that he would say something like that in front of a room full of advisors. He truly has no shame as he leans back in his chair, smug and relaxed, clearly aware of how his statement sounds. This at least matches the rumors I know about him—a flirt, a womanizer, a handsome heartbreak. Aria, a young and pretty advisor, doesn’t seem to mind. She bats her eyelashes at him, and I want to roll my eyes.

“I would be happy to give you lessons, Your Highness,” Aria says with a sickly sweetness that makes something stir in my belly.

“I’ve been taught the traditional dances from many kingdoms. Even those I never thought I’d visit. I don’t need lessons.” His eyes shine as they lock on me, paying Aria no attention.

“Suit yourself,” I murmur, forcing myself to rip my gaze away from the way his rolled up shirt sleeves show off his strong forearms and large, calloused hands. The fact that his hands are rough instead of soft and smooth, like I’d expect from a Prince who does nothing but drink and flirt, affects me too much.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness, should we review the menu?” Lionel, another advisor who manages the kitchens, asks. I nod, grateful to change the subject and get my mind off the idea of waltzing with the handsome—and irritating—Prince. Lionel stands, but before he can continue, Carex bursts into the room.

“Your Majesty,” Carex huffs out, a panic in his voice that puts me on edge. “I just received a missive. There’s been another rebel attack. On Rusthelm.” My heart sinks. I’d just sent two healers there to help with the village-wide illness. Is the attack because of my assistance? How can I protect my people if any action from me spurs the rebels to retaliate?

The guilt and frustration force me into action. I’m immediately on my feet, ready to aerstep there and wipe out the rebel force. The room shakes with my power, and for the briefest of moments, I lose a tiny bit of my awareness, lost in rage and what feels like madness. But it’s so short I barely register it, too focused on the situation at hand. I scan the faces of every advisor in meticulous detail, looking for the smallest twitch of lips or lack thereof, hoping to find someone who doesn’t look surprised at the news and might lead me to the mole. But shocked and concerned faces are all that stare back at me, waiting for my orders. Carex places his hand on my arm, and I jump slightly at his touch.

“We’ve stopped the attack, and the rebels fled.” His lowered voice and attempt at a soothing touch tell me he’s trying to comfort me, but nothing can make this reality any better. “But there were many injuries. We need more healers. Quickly.”

“Let me help,” Prince Hawthorne interrupts before I can respond. “I’m a powerful healer. I heal with both water and light.” Carex’s furrowed brow matches my own skepticism, though I also can’t ignore the shock his ability to heal with two conduits brings. I knew he was powerful, but this is rare and unusual.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say firmly while Carex nods in agreement, though several advisors seem to purse their lips. The Prince has won them over these last weeks. It’s infuriating.

“How many were injured?” Prince Hawthorne asks. Carex hesitates. The Prince stands, his towering frame dominating the room. “How many? Tell me,” he demands, and I’m taken aback by the seriousness and authority in his voice. It’s the voice of a leader, a ruler, brokering no room for argument. He fills the entire room with his imposing presence, and it’s no surprise that Carex gives in to his command.

“Dozens, maybe more, is our best guess,” Carex admits. Anguish fills my chest. I must stop these attacks.

Prince Hawthorne turns back to me. “Let. Me. Help. Your healers can only handle half a dozen people at best before their magic is spent. I can do four times that, maybe more.” The Prince is confident, sure of his magic. Olive, mossy eyes plead with me. I want to help the injured, but what if this impacts Hawthorne’s ability to persuade the rebels that he’s on their side? What if this is some trick by the Velmarans? It’s too much to sort out this quickly, especially as my heart beats faster with every second we don’t move to action. “Can we speak about this privately?” the Prince asks. Carex interrupts before I even open my mouth.

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to leave you alone with Her Majesty,” Carex spits. I turn angry eyes on him. I wasn’t going to agree, but now I will, just to spite Carex and his protectiveness.

“I decide where I go and with whom I speak, Carex.” Before he can respond, I walk away.

Before following me out of the room, I hear the Prince murmur lowly to Carex with thick insinuation, “Don’t worry, we can bring you along another time.” Did he just imply that we’d have a threesome ? Right now, of all times? This male is absolutely insufferable.

When we’re in the hall outside the Council chambers, Prince Hawthorne smirks as he leans against the wall with a cool confidence that makes me hot all over, though with anger or something else I don’t want to admit. How can he be relaxed at a time like this? “Make this quick,” I hiss to hide my reaction to his imposing presence.

“I know what’s going through your mind, witchling.” He reaches for my face, as if he’s going to touch it, and I step out of his reach. He drops his hand quickly, trying to cover the gesture by running his hands through his hair. I’m not affected by the way the movement makes his hair fall back so perfectly across his handsome features. I can’t be.

I scoff to hide the awkwardness of the situation. “I highly doubt that.”

He leans against the wall again, crossing his arms over his chest casually, eyes sparkling. “You’re wondering whether bringing me will hurt our chances to convince the rebels of the ruse. And whether you can trust me. But you also see the sense in another jaw-droppingly powerful healer there with you. And you’re annoyed at how protective Carex has been acting lately. Plus, you can’t keep your eyes off my handsome Velmaran face,” he says with a grin.

My mouth opens. I want to protest, but he very accurately summed up every thought I’ve had in the last five minutes. “I wasn’t thinking you are jaw-droppingly powerful,” I say to spite him, and the words come out more defensive than I want them to. I don’t even address the handsome comment. He just keeps smirking.

“Look, if the rebels ask me about it, I’ll just tell them you asked me to come, and I had no choice if I was going to keep up appearances with you. And now would hardly be the time for me to betray you, right before we’re about to implicate ourselves in a heist that would easily give you an excuse to have me killed if we’re caught. I can help.”

It’s convincing. But what if I’m the one being played? What if he orchestrated the attack, and he wants to go to help the rebels get away, or for some other duplicitous reason? Or, what if this is just a way to get close to me, to build my trust in him so I spill all my secrets? I can’t forget that Nemesia thought Mazus wanted the Prince and I to meet. There’s got to be a reason for that. I study his features. His eyes are pleading, open and genuine. And it would be the worst possible time for him to show his hand and betray me. It’s a risk, but we’re already in this, and I can’t deny the injured. But I don’t plan to take my eyes off him while we’re there.

“Fine,” I relent. “But you heal people, and you stay where I can see you. If I suspect you of doing anything other than healing, I will rip the air from your lungs until you suffocate to death.” He only grins, the bastard unafraid of anything I say.

“You know, my father makes these kinds of threats all the time, too. Maybe you have more in common than you think.”

I pull the air from his lungs instantly, then flood them with water for several seconds. When I release the magic, he chokes, spitting water and gasping for breath.

“Point made?” I ask.

“Clear as ice, witchling,” he replies, eyes somehow twinkling with mirth, as if he enjoys my threats.

Now it’s my turn to grin, a feral expression that’s more bared teeth than smile. “Good.”

I aerstep four healers, the Prince, Carex, and six guards to Rusthelm. Thick smoke immediately fills my nose when we arrive, quickly followed by the sounds of groans and screams. Most of the village is on fire and black clouds rise high above into the sky. I steel myself, locking the mask of the Queen in place, ready for anything.

Prince Hawthorne runs into the village the second we appear, gathering a massive orb of water around him and dousing the first building he reaches. Without missing a beat, he drops more water onto the next building, then yells for the healers to follow him. Within seconds, he’s disobeyed my order to stay in my sight. I sigh. It’s not the time to fight this.

“Guards!” Carex yells. “Four of you should follow Prince Hawthorne and search the buildings that are no longer on fire for any survivors. Bring them here. The other two—stay here and start helping the healers set up a makeshift infirmary.” They nod and immediately follow orders. “His power will be helpful here,” Carex admits to me, nodding to the Prince. I reluctantly nod my head in agreement, but say nothing, just calmly walk into town to assist with finding the injured.

“Over here,” a guard yells, and I aerstep to where he stands in front of a partially burned home before he leads me inside. Huddled together in a corner is a family of fae—two children and their parents. It’s incredibly rare for fae to have two children, especially two who are so close in age. They’re burned severely, and only the father appears to be conscious.

“Please, help us,” the father croaks out, lips cracking as he speaks. These injuries might be beyond even my own healing power. Though I can theoretically heal with any conduit I like, I haven’t mastered any of them. It’s time to see if Prince Hawthorne is as powerful a healer as he claims.

“Get the Prince,” I quietly tell the guard before crouching in front of the family. I hide my cringing at their charred skin. “What’s your name?”

“R-R-Russell.”

“I’m going to heal you first, so you can help calm the rest of your family when they wake.” He nods. I place my hand on his forearm, and he moans in pain. I want to jerk away, but I keep my hand steady. Conjuring cool, healing water, his blistered and cracked skin slowly reforms under my touch. He hisses. “I’ll work as fast as I can,” I whisper. “Tell me if you need to take a break.” He only nods, eyes shut tight against the pain.

“Aethers,” Prince Hawthorne says from behind me, voice reverent. Russell’s eyes snap open and lock on Prince Hawthorne, and his already tense body locks up.

“Vel-Velmaran,” he whispers, fear in his eyes.

“It’s okay, Russell,” I tell him. “Prince Hawthorne is a powerful healer. He’s only here to help.” The Prince crouches beside me and reaches for the first child. Russell hisses.

“Here, Prince Hawthorne,” I motion him toward me, scooting over to make space for him next to me. “Heal Russell with me. It will go faster, and then he can help us with his family.” He nods and sits next to me, his large frame crowding my space. Despite the circumstances, my body reacts to the nearness of him, goosebumps breaking out across my flesh. I’m acutely aware of every line of muscle that presses in against me, of the heat of his body as it wraps around me.

Russell still eyes the Prince with fear, but allows Hawthorne to place hands on his chest, where melted clothing sticks to his skin. Bright, warm light nearly blinds me. I look away, keeping my focus on the water I’m running across blistered skin. Russell gasps, and I look up. The light is gone, and Russell’s entire upper body has been healed. It’s not perfect, and he’ll still need additional treatment, but the skin is deep red instead of black. Water gathers in the Prince’s palms, and he briefly closes his eyes in concentration before setting his hands on Russell’s chest, allowing the water to soothe and heal the wound once more. When he’s done, Russell’s chest is pink, like he got a little too much sun.

“That’s incredible,” I murmur, reluctantly impressed. Prince Hawthorne doesn’t even react, just moves to Russell’s legs.

“It’ll be bright again. Close your eyes,” he commands. I do as he says, though he wasn’t speaking to me. Even with my eyes closed, I still feel the warmth of the light he conjures, can feel it soothing my own nerves. His body adjusts next to me, pressing him even closer against my side. I sigh contentedly, then immediately cough to hide the noise. When the light fades, I open my eyes to once again look at crimson skin. “How does that feel, Russell?” the Prince asks, his voice soft and kind. A piece of hair falls in his face, and I want to push it away. Instead, I stand, ignoring the squeezing in my chest.

“Th-thank you,” Russell says from the ground.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” the Prince croaks out, genuine emotion in his voice. “I’d like to help your family now, if that’s okay. Can I help your children?” Russell nods, and the Prince moves on to the first child. I can only watch, entranced by the gentleness of his movements. When her legs are healed, she wakes, screaming in fear and pain. Russell takes her hand while Prince Hawthorne smooths her hair back from her face.

“It’s okay, my angel,” Russell coos. “This is a Prince, and he’s going to heal you.” She stops screaming, though tears still run down her cheeks as she stares up at Hawthorne without fear in her eyes.

“You tell me if I need to stop, okay? Close your eyes, and when you open them, you’ll be better,” the Prince says in a soothing tone. Then he grabs her other hand and light flares, her small frame healing quickly, no need for his water magic. When the light fades, Russell wraps his arms around her, sobbing into her hair, ignoring his own skin. He grabs the Prince’s hand, shaking it, unable to say anything else. Prince Hawthorne only smiles brightly, no winks or smirks or disarming dimple in sight, before moving on to the young boy.

Once he finishes stabilizing the family with his magic, I aerstep them to the makeshift infirmary, where they’ll receive additional treatment. Before I leave to go back into the village, I overhear the Prince speaking with the little girl. “Are you really a prince?” she asks him in wonder.

“I am,” he responds with laughter in his voice.

“What’s it like being a prince? Do you have a princess you take care of?”

Prince Hawthorne chuckles. “No. No princess. Though maybe I need to find one. Being a prince comes with a lot of responsibility though. I have to take care of my people, care for them, and worry about them. Just like you probably do with your family.”

“Yeah,” she says joyfully. “Does that make me a princess?”

“I think it does,” the Prince coos.

I have to leave before I overhear more. I don’t want to think of the Velmaran Prince as the kind of male who talks to little girls about princesses after healing them with a gentleness I can only dream of possessing. I’m all hard angles and terse words, even when I’m trying my best, while he moves between every situation with ease. If I let him show me more of himself, it will make it too hard to make the right decision later. There may be more to him than the charming grins, but that doesn’t change my plans. I will not forget who sired him, and to whom he will have to report back to when this is all over if I let him leave Thayaria.

Diving back into the fray, I find at least a dozen more people to help. Stab wounds, severed limbs, more burn victims. My fury ignites with every person I save. I get occasional glances of the Prince. He works as diligently as me, but quicker, though I don’t want to admit it. Gone are his simpering looks and sarcastic smiles. Face smudged with soot and shirt soaked through with sweat, this Prince is compassionate and kind. When I catch him carrying a little girl in his arms with tears running down his cheeks, her limp and pale body telling me everything I need to know about the situation, my chest tightens.

We continue this way for hours until the final count of injured is closer to sixty. Thankfully, the only death is the one child, though any death is catastrophic in my eyes. After we’ve combed every building for survivors, Prince Hawthorne and I return to the makeshift infirmary, helping where we can.

A man across the field starts yelling frantically. “You,” he roars. “You’re one of them! You stabbed my wife.”

I’m there in an instant, willing the grass to grow and wrap around the suspect. The screaming man breaks into sobs while a healer comforts him. Prince Hawthorne and Carex appear at my side, Carex’s sword drawn and the Prince’s hands lit up with light, though Hawthorne looks infinitely more at ease than Carex.

“Are you part of the Sons and Daughters rebel group?” Carex demands. I don’t expect the accused to admit to it, but he surprises me.

“I am,” he spits. “I came here to give you a message.”

Fearing he’ll hurt the group of injured, I aerstep the rebel, Carex, Prince Hawthorne and myself to the other side of the village with no warning. They all look surprised when we reappear under a massive oak tree.

“ Witch ,” the rebel hisses. I only pin his arms to his side with ivy, tying him to the tree, today’s events giving me little patience for this nonsense.

“I’m not in the mood. I’m a Witch, you hate my rule, you’re going to make me suffer. I’ve heard it all. What’s your message, rebel?” I ask, the cold fury in my voice palpable.

“This attack is only the beginning, Witch Queen. Any village, any fae or human, who supports you, or who receives aid from you, will pay,” he warns.

I was already on the edge of losing control, my emotions a swirling landscape of fury, anguish, and hopelessness. This admission sends me into a storm of rage, all other emotions eclipsed by my need to punish. Rational thought leaving me, I pierce one of his eyes with a small tree branch, and he screams, trying to slump to the ground, but the ivy keeps him upright. Air wraps around his throat, squeezing as if hands were choking him. At the same time, thin twigs creep into his ears and up his nose.

“Tell me what you have planned, and I’ll consider killing you quickly,” I say, forced boredom in my voice, though internally I’m screaming.

“I won’t tell you anything,” he murmurs, despite the blood running down his face.

The sword from Carex’s hand flies toward the man at my command, and I will it to slice a deep gash across his stomach. Grass burrows into the wound as the rebel’s screams of pain reach an inhuman pitch. I make another slice on his thigh, then have a large tree branch whip across the wound. Silent heaves wrack the rebel’s body now.

“Have you changed your mind?” I ask.

“N-n-never!” he whimpers. I pierce his other eye, completely blinding him. I’m lost in the thrill of my power, lost in my righteousness. Something within me urges me on, so I flood his lungs with water.

“Laurel,” Carex says sharply. “I think that’s enough.” Whipping around, I stare at him, letting my magic shake the ground. His eyes widen in shock and fear, and he takes a step back. “Laurel,” he whispers now. “You don’t have to—”

“Leave us,” I command with aether in my voice, too far gone to care that I’m compelling him with the power I loathe. Carex looks like he wants to protest, opening his mouth and fighting the compulsion, but he has no choice but to turn and leave. I barely register the guilt that creeps across my consciousness, but I know I’ll regret it later. My gaze finds the Prince, and I sear him with a cold look. “You too.” I nod my head after Carex, but don’t use the aether-voice this time.

“I believe you ordered me to never leave your sight,” he says, smirk returning, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Hollow orbs stare back at me, matching my own.

“Have it your way,” I murmur, not letting his absolute insolence distract me from what matters. Of course he chooses now to obey my order.

“Tell me what you know about the rebels’ plans,” I command the man, this time using the aether-voice, again pushing down the nausea I get when I remember the way it felt when it was used on me all those years ago.

“They attacked today as punishment for using your healers when they fell sick,” he says dryly, not in control of his words under my influence. “We took anyone who was loyal to our cause with us before we burned the village. I know nothing more. I was told to tell you that this was the beginning.”

Something deep inside me is hissing with rage, and that same feeling I had in the Council room returns. Briefly, so fast I’m not sure it’s real, I evolve into something more, something bigger than what I am. Shaking away the feeling of losing control, I focus my gaze on the rebel to bring me back to the present.

“Who sent you?” I ask, once again using the aether to force the confession.

“I don’t know. He was a fae, muscular and covered in tattoos. I’ve received orders from him before, but his identity has always been kept from me.”

I slit his throat and release the magic holding his body. He falls with a loud thud before I will the grass to grow over him in a makeshift grave, not wanting to leave a dead body on the outskirts of this village. With the rebel dead, the weight of what I did sinks into me, and that otherworldly feeling leaves me. Sighing, I rub my hand over my eyes in exhaustion and sorrow.

Just once, I want to be the one who doesn’t have to carry the emotional burden of doing what must be done. I’d love to hold my moral high ground, like Carex, would love to refuse to engage in torture and compulsion. I crave the luxury to only use my power for good. But the gods, or fate, or whatever force decides what magic we’re granted made me a monster and placed me in a situation where I’m required to let that beast free regularly. I let myself sit with the feeling of self-pity for only a few seconds, before I straighten my back and square my shoulders, ready to face the world and own my fate once again.

I turn around, expecting to see the same disgust I feel about my actions reflected in the Prince’s eyes. But when our eyes meet, dark green orbs stare back, steady, calm, and unphased by the violence I just displayed.