The Offering
Page 67
But Angelina had been able to cure Xander. As simply as if it had been a scrape and needed only the most minor healing. And it had taken just a graze of her hands, so slight, almost unnoticeable as her fingers had deftly feathered the side of his jaw. A brush, really, and over that quickly.
Xander’s fever had broken within seconds, and he’d been speaking—clearly, coherently, lucidly—within minutes. He’d known it too. That it had been Angelina.
If only she could have repaired his missing hand. But her abilities extended only so far.
“Thank you,” Xander had told Angelina, his silver eyes clear at long last as they’d settled on her blue ones.
She’d nodded then, because it was all she’d been able to manage. Her heart had still been too heavy with the weight of the loss of Eden.
I was still awed by my sister. I sensed that she was growing more powerful with each day, with each breath that she took. I wondered at the things Sage had told me about how Elena had been jealous of her sister’s abilities, and how she’d put Sage in harm’s way because of that. I couldn’t imagine feeling envious of Angelina. I couldn’t imagine faulting her, or feeling anything other than what I did—sheer pride.
I wondered too how far Angelina’s abilities might one day extend. Already she could sense people’s hearts, and whether they could or couldn’t be trusted. Already she could heal. What else would she be capable of?
I thought about what those skills might mean were she to be queen, and how useful it would be to know if someone had a deceptive soul.
Maybe there would come a time when Angelina would be better suited to be queen than I.
But I knew something that Elena hadn’t. That the measure of a true queen didn’t lie in her magic. It had more to do with who she was, and what she was willing to give of herself, than it did with the powers she possessed.
In that, I had no way of knowing which of us—Angelina or me—would make the better queen. But for now none of that mattered. It was I who sat on the throne. And it was I who would continue to do so for as long as Ludania needed me.
Caspar drew my attention then when he cupped his hands to his mouth and blew. It was that same long and mournful whistle that I’d heard on the day Eden had first taken us to the work camp in the forest. When she had signaled to her brother high above in the trees and he’d answered her in kind.
Now, however, it sounded like a dirge. Desolate. A final send-off to Eden.
I blinked, my fingers tightening over Angelina’s as I heard her whisper beside me, “I wish I could have saved her.”
“I’m leaving,” Xander announced when Angelina and I came into the main hall and found him waiting. He had a look about him that told me not to argue, not that I would have. And he didn’t have to explain what he meant or where he was planning to go.
I knew. I think I’d known for some time now, ever since Eden’s funeral, almost two weeks before.
He’d tried to resume his duties since his return, but it hadn’t been enough, and he’d been growing more restless and impatient with each passing day. He did as I asked, of course, helping to relocate Caspar and the children Caspar had been in charge of. Trying to keep them as close together as possible so they could still maintain contact with one another. To find them homes and get them enrolled in schools. There were a lot fewer of them now, after the fighting, but there were still more than a hundred to house.
It had been a time-consuming task, and one that Xander had taken on with the same attention and care he’d given any undertaking I’d ever asked of him.
More so, maybe because this was Eden’s brother he’d been charged with finding a home for.
Caspar had balked at the notion of needing guardians and an education, but ultimately he’d acquiesced, if only to serve as a role model for the others. To lead by example.
Now, as Xander stood before me with that same recognizable restlessness in his eyes that I’d noticed for weeks, I turned to Angelina. “Go with Zafir, will you? If I’m not mistaken, it’s past time for his afternoon snack.”
Zafir glared at me over Angelina’s head, but she nodded eagerly, reaching for his calloused hand. Her fingers were small and pale as they curled around his larger, darker ones, and she tugged him insistently, leading him in the direction of the kitchens.
He’d been a good protector for Angelina while I’d been away, and he would continue to be in his permanent role as her royal guard. He scowled over the duty, and liked to pretend he didn’t want to be in charge of a child, but I knew Zafir, much the same way Angelina knew who was loyal and who was not, and Zafir was all bluster in his complaints. He no more wanted to be transferred from his role than I wanted to have Sabara dwelling inside me once more.
Zafir, I was beginning to suspect, enjoyed his snack breaks.
When they were out of earshot, I turned my attention back to Xander. His arm had healed—faster, likely, because of Angelina—and the place where his hand had once been now ended in a puckered stump. The skin was pink and was peeling where there had been scabs, but he no longer needed the bandages that had once festered and oozed.
He reached down and lifted a leather satchel, balancing it in the crook of his elbow.
“Are you certain?” I asked, not sure what more I could say, and wishing I could talk him out of going at all.
He met my gaze, and I saw the answer in his eyes, the reason for his restlessness. “I am. I think I decided before we even left the encampment,” he replied. “I miss her.”
Xander’s fever had broken within seconds, and he’d been speaking—clearly, coherently, lucidly—within minutes. He’d known it too. That it had been Angelina.
If only she could have repaired his missing hand. But her abilities extended only so far.
“Thank you,” Xander had told Angelina, his silver eyes clear at long last as they’d settled on her blue ones.
She’d nodded then, because it was all she’d been able to manage. Her heart had still been too heavy with the weight of the loss of Eden.
I was still awed by my sister. I sensed that she was growing more powerful with each day, with each breath that she took. I wondered at the things Sage had told me about how Elena had been jealous of her sister’s abilities, and how she’d put Sage in harm’s way because of that. I couldn’t imagine feeling envious of Angelina. I couldn’t imagine faulting her, or feeling anything other than what I did—sheer pride.
I wondered too how far Angelina’s abilities might one day extend. Already she could sense people’s hearts, and whether they could or couldn’t be trusted. Already she could heal. What else would she be capable of?
I thought about what those skills might mean were she to be queen, and how useful it would be to know if someone had a deceptive soul.
Maybe there would come a time when Angelina would be better suited to be queen than I.
But I knew something that Elena hadn’t. That the measure of a true queen didn’t lie in her magic. It had more to do with who she was, and what she was willing to give of herself, than it did with the powers she possessed.
In that, I had no way of knowing which of us—Angelina or me—would make the better queen. But for now none of that mattered. It was I who sat on the throne. And it was I who would continue to do so for as long as Ludania needed me.
Caspar drew my attention then when he cupped his hands to his mouth and blew. It was that same long and mournful whistle that I’d heard on the day Eden had first taken us to the work camp in the forest. When she had signaled to her brother high above in the trees and he’d answered her in kind.
Now, however, it sounded like a dirge. Desolate. A final send-off to Eden.
I blinked, my fingers tightening over Angelina’s as I heard her whisper beside me, “I wish I could have saved her.”
“I’m leaving,” Xander announced when Angelina and I came into the main hall and found him waiting. He had a look about him that told me not to argue, not that I would have. And he didn’t have to explain what he meant or where he was planning to go.
I knew. I think I’d known for some time now, ever since Eden’s funeral, almost two weeks before.
He’d tried to resume his duties since his return, but it hadn’t been enough, and he’d been growing more restless and impatient with each passing day. He did as I asked, of course, helping to relocate Caspar and the children Caspar had been in charge of. Trying to keep them as close together as possible so they could still maintain contact with one another. To find them homes and get them enrolled in schools. There were a lot fewer of them now, after the fighting, but there were still more than a hundred to house.
It had been a time-consuming task, and one that Xander had taken on with the same attention and care he’d given any undertaking I’d ever asked of him.
More so, maybe because this was Eden’s brother he’d been charged with finding a home for.
Caspar had balked at the notion of needing guardians and an education, but ultimately he’d acquiesced, if only to serve as a role model for the others. To lead by example.
Now, as Xander stood before me with that same recognizable restlessness in his eyes that I’d noticed for weeks, I turned to Angelina. “Go with Zafir, will you? If I’m not mistaken, it’s past time for his afternoon snack.”
Zafir glared at me over Angelina’s head, but she nodded eagerly, reaching for his calloused hand. Her fingers were small and pale as they curled around his larger, darker ones, and she tugged him insistently, leading him in the direction of the kitchens.
He’d been a good protector for Angelina while I’d been away, and he would continue to be in his permanent role as her royal guard. He scowled over the duty, and liked to pretend he didn’t want to be in charge of a child, but I knew Zafir, much the same way Angelina knew who was loyal and who was not, and Zafir was all bluster in his complaints. He no more wanted to be transferred from his role than I wanted to have Sabara dwelling inside me once more.
Zafir, I was beginning to suspect, enjoyed his snack breaks.
When they were out of earshot, I turned my attention back to Xander. His arm had healed—faster, likely, because of Angelina—and the place where his hand had once been now ended in a puckered stump. The skin was pink and was peeling where there had been scabs, but he no longer needed the bandages that had once festered and oozed.
He reached down and lifted a leather satchel, balancing it in the crook of his elbow.
“Are you certain?” I asked, not sure what more I could say, and wishing I could talk him out of going at all.
He met my gaze, and I saw the answer in his eyes, the reason for his restlessness. “I am. I think I decided before we even left the encampment,” he replied. “I miss her.”
