Bound by Blood and Sand

Page 17

 
 
“I’m not sure you’re well enough to be up,” Tal said as they walked down the corridor toward the courtyard together.
Jae let out a huff. She’d woken him just before dawn, but they would have been up soon anyway, and the Curse would have forced her to rise and work no matter how sick she was.
Even this early, Closest roamed the halls, preparing for the day. Jae and Tal should have been doing the same thing, but thanks to Lady Shirrad’s favor, Tal didn’t have specific orders, and Jae’s only orders were still to tend the grounds and to serve inside during the worst of the sun. Since she was dragging Tal out to the garden anyway, the Curse hadn’t stopped them.
Besides, no matter what Tal thought, she felt much better than she had the previous night. She was still stiff, but the throbbing through her body had finally eased, and she could walk on her own again. The bright colors and glows she’d seen had faded. She wasn’t dizzy. Everything that had happened during her fit had subsided—except her certainty that she’d created the flower outside, and a strange feeling that there was something more to her dream, something she’d forgotten.
They managed to slip into the garden without being noticed, and she led Tal over to the fountain. Leaning close to him, she murmured, “Look at the flower, Tal. Look.”
“It’s beautiful,” he conceded. “I’ve never seen one like it. But I don’t understand—”
“I grew it.”
He just lifted his eyebrows, waiting.
“I don’t mean—I didn’t plant it. I imagined it was there. I dreamed about bunches of them. I pictured them when I fainted, and this was here afterward.” She dug her hand into his arm but kept her voice low. “Tal, I made this.”
“Made it how? I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not making any sense.”
As loud as she dared, she retorted, “Because this doesn’t make any sense!” She dropped his arm and grabbed the fountain’s brim. Her hand tingled, but it was a pleasant, warm feeling. “I don’t know how. But yesterday I saw some of Lord Elan’s papers,” she continued, and explained as quickly as she could what had happened.
Tal stared at her but didn’t interrupt and didn’t contradict or tell her she was crazy, even though she knew it sounded crazy.
“I can’t explain it,” she finally finished. “But I know I did this.”
“That isn’t possible,” he said at last. “You must think you did, but…”
“Then explain it some other way.” She crossed her arms.
He looked down at the fountain, stooped to examine it, reached for the flower. For a terrifying moment, Jae thought he was going to pick it, but he just ran his finger down the delicate stem and across one of the leaves. It was lush, deep green.
“Magic,” he finally said, quiet and reverent. “I can’t believe…It just seems so impossible.”
He was right. Growing a flower with magic sounded entirely mad. No one had used magic since the end of the War, but it had been common once, before then. It had been generations, but…
“The flower can’t grow without water, and I didn’t plant it. There wasn’t even a bud there before I fainted yesterday. And I felt something.” Thinking she had magic may have been madness, but Jae knew deep in her core that it was also the truth. She was so doubt-free that the Curse didn’t even stir.
“But then…that’s amazing,” he said, and then looked her in the eye. “And dangerous.”
She nodded. True, all those generations ago, magic had been used to craft the Well, to save the world—but their ancestors had also used it for war. Taesann, the great traitor, had gathered an army of rogue mages for his rebellion, and had nearly toppled the Highest in his attempt to seize the Well. As long as there was magic in the world, another war could happen. That was why the Highest had turned away from it after casting the Curse, and why they’d hidden the Well’s location, even from their own descendants. Now they used magic only when there was no choice, when protecting the Well required it.
Now, looking down at her flower, Jae could almost feel the echo of her ancestors’ power. Magic could be life—or death.
“If it really is magic, we need to know how it works, what you can do,” Tal finally said.
“I don’t know much yet,” she said, answering the implied question. “I was cleaning the fountain, and everything just happened.”
He hesitated again, looked around, up at the windows, and finally said, “You should try it again—carefully. See what you can do. If you can really do anything at all.”
“I can,” she said, stubbornly sure of it. She reached for the fountain, pressed her hand into the bare trough. The tingles grew stronger, climbing up her arm, and the fountain started to glow. Not as brightly as the previous night, but also not reflecting the first rays of dawn. It came from within the fountain.
“Look at that,” she breathed.
“I don’t see anything except you.”
“Then…” She stared down, focused, but there was no sudden spike of anything. No pain, no dizziness. No visions. “I don’t know what to do.”
Tal made a low hmm in his throat, and for a moment she thought he’d tell her she was crazy after all. Instead he said, “You dreamed of flowers.”
“It was so real,” she said, and inhaled. She could just barely smell the single blossom, tickling inside her nose. In her dream—her vision—the scent had been a hundred times stronger—a thousand. There had been so many flowers.
She closed her eyes and imagined it. She didn’t even picture the fountain or the garden, just a rainbow of flowers. Purple, like this one, and rich blues and reds. A blanket of colors over a bed of green leaves and stems, twisted and tangled together.
Jae felt like an army of ants was crawling over her skin, and the fountain went hot under her hand, pressing back against her where she leaned on it. She didn’t open her eyes. Instead she thought about her beautiful, imaginary garden, and pushed—
The Curse hit her all at once. She swallowed a scream, only letting out a tiny noise as she toppled back, her body seared, her head pulsing with agony. Tal grabbed her, and he was glowing, too, the light flickering and twisting inside him. He helped her down to the ground, letting her sit, and perched next to her. His hand on her shoulder burned.