Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(76)

She straightens, the lines around her eyes tightening as she frowns. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Britta. Is that something you’re worried about?”

“No.” I hand her the washrag. “Just curious.”

“You’ve already shown you can feel the energy from plants and animals. If you can focus on how you do that, you can learn to control your power and call on it when you want.”

The dog felt two breaths from death, just as all animals near death have shown a near-tangible discomfort. I realize now, the many times hunting in the past, as well as beside the well with Jacinda, that I was listening to the animals’ waning energy. Despite the danger of being found out as a Channeler when we return to Malam, I need to understand this gift. If anything, to gain more control over when to act and when not to.

I stretch out beside her along the bank and reach for her hand. She smiles at me, pleased with my offer. Cupping my hand in hers, she places her other hand on top so we’re palm to palm.

“You need to trust in yourself.” She nods at me, giving me the approval to feel for her energy like I tried with Aspen. “For that matter, it’d do you some good to trust in others as well.”

I huff.

“Quiet all your thoughts,” she commands. “Think past my skin to the energy beneath.”

Closing my eyes, I shift my focus only to where we’re touching.

Rough pads of skin. Curled fingers.

A heartbeat throbs at my fingertips—?mine. Then another, a soft pulsing slower than the first, stands out—?Enat’s. My confidence and determination surge. I focus on the slower beat until something more seems to hum beneath my touch, a slow and steady buzz coming from deep beneath her skin. In awe, I listen to it as it vibrates to my core.

Her triumphant smile gleams at me when I open my eyes.

“Well done, Britta.”





Chapter

34


FOAMY SWEAT DRIPS IN GREAT GLOPS DOWN the legs of Willow and Aspen, accompanied by their usual sweet smell. We’ve ridden them harder than ever before to cross the open plains, where, away from the cover of the forest, we’d be easy pickings if anyone was after us. Siron, though, doesn’t look taxed at all. Upon entering another span of dense woodland, we slow down and seek out a stream from which the horses can drink to replenish all the water they’ve lost.

Cohen passes out rations of bread, dried venison, and the berries Enat gathered earlier. Once we’ve eaten and filled our waterskins, we continue on foot so the horses can go a stretch without having to carry our weight. We haven’t gone far when I stop to kneel at a patch of tiny yellow flowers.

“We don’t have time to linger.” Cohen walks back to me. The horses steal the moment to graze and sniff the wild buds.

“I won’t be long. I just wanted to pick some of these blossoms,” I tell him, which is not a lie.

He grunts and moves ahead.

I scoop out the flower, roots and all, in a protective ball of dirt, and then in a deft move, I snap the stem.

I study the broken stem. Delicate veins run from the base of the stigma to the curved tips of the flower. A soft trill of energy dances beneath my fingertips.

I jump. And then laugh. The power in the plant ebbs against my palm. It isn’t strong and it’s diminishing. I remember stroking the dog, feeling his energy follow my motions. I run my finger from the spread of the petals downward while imagining that each stroke straightens and mends the plant. And then it happens, and I’m slack-jawed, staring at a straight green stem, no longer bent. It’s perfect and wonderful and—?

The petals curl inward and the yellow diminishes into a sickly brown.

Panicked, I rack my brain, remembering what happened with Jacinda and her dog beside the well. I pinch my eyes shut to focus on the exact sensations I experienced after my fingers sank into the dog’s fur. The feeling of coaxing the poison out of the animal comes to me. I wonder if doing the opposite now will help the plant. Can I push energy into a living being? It must be possible, since I had to have done something similar to save Cohen.

I run my fingers along the stem up to the browned top, picturing my fingers as a pail of water, dripping liquid energy. A slight tremor overtakes my hand. My fingers numb and a cold tingling sensation eats its way across my palm and up my arm as the flower transforms before my eyes, swelling with color and blossoming open in full, vibrant life.

Transferring the plant to my other hand, I shake out my sleeping hand and grin ear to ear.

Enat nudges me with her elbow.

“I knew you’d figure it out,” she says with pride. “You’re more powerful than you know, girl. Inside you there’s strength you don’t even realize. You’re something special.”

My chest hitches and then expands.

“Remember that,” she admonishes with a warm expression.

Eyes lowered to the healed stem, I tuck her words inside, treasuring them. “I will.”



It’s close to midnight when we stop to skin and eat the rabbits that were an easy catch along the route.

“How’s your hand feeling?” Enat asks.

Cohen looks up, meeting my gaze for the first time since I worked with the plant. It’s funny to me that for years he was so hard to read, and now the frustration and worry are plain in his hooded eyes. Though seeing any speck of hurt in Cohen’s expression makes me wish Enat hadn’t said anything, even if I cherish her concern.