Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(80)

I reach out and squeeze her fist. “Well, then, you shouldn’t worry. I spend enough time in the woods to reenergize myself daily. Did I heal you enough that you can break the curse?”

She twists and stretches her back. “Perhaps better than I was before,” she says with a wink. “Don’t do it again, though. Spiriters do not heal each other. Healing those who do not have our gift will make you physically weak. But when healing another Spiriter, there’s the chance you could lose your power.”

I tuck my chin, taking stock of my energy level. “Have I lost some of my ability?”

She waves a dismissing hand. “No. My ailments weren’t the type to siphon any power from you. You’ll be exactly as you were once you get a little more rest.”

“There’s no more time to rest,” I say. “Now that I’ve slowed us down, we’ll have less time to find the Spiriter.”

Enat exchanges a look with Cohen, who is cooking quail on the fire, a silent agreement. “You’ll at least eat first,” she says. “Besides, we won’t have to search too hard to find the Spiriter. It’s likely she’ll be close because that is a requirement for maintaining the bind. If we need to subdue her, I brought the chiandra tea mix. After she drinks it, her heart will slow and put her into a sleep that lasts a couple hours. Then all I’ll have to do is sense the two energies and work at unwinding them.”

I think about what she’s proposing and what she’s just warned me of. Siphoning power. “Is there a possibility she could take your gift?”

“No. You cannot take someone’s gift.”

Even so, there are too many ways in which this mission could go wrong. “What if we cannot get her to drink the tea? Or, worse, what if we cannot find the Spiriter? Is there another way to break the bind?”

Her gaze follows Cohen as he steps outside the cave. She knots her hands, similarly to how I wring mine when I’m uncomfortable. “A bind will break if one of the energies is too weak to hold,” she says. “That’s the only other way.”

The only time I’ve felt weak energy is when something is dying. My chin makes a sharp jerk up. “You mean, if one of them is dying? Are you saying you could break the bind if you hurt the king or the Channeler? Bring one of them close to death?”

Her gaze drifts to the side. She unfolds her hands to press them flat against her legs, pressing until the blood leaches from her skin. “Near death is not my preferred way to break the curse, as there are too many risks. But, yes, it is a way to break the bind.”

I scrunch my face up. “I thought . . . that is, you said we don’t heal other Spiriters. So you would kill her?”

“It would have to be the king.”

Panic burns the rest of my thoughts to ashes, leaving only fear for Enat. If she was to wound the king and then heal him, she would surely get caught and charged as a Channeler. Even though her actions would be helping the kingdom, there’s no doubt in my mind that the Purge Proclamation would prevail and she would be killed.

“No. It’s too dangerous,” I say.

Her arms, shoulders to the tips of her fingers, visibly relax. “Aye, there are many risks involved when healing someone who is mortally wounded.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She offers a wan smile. “Well, then we must find the Spiriter when we reach the castle. Once she’s in sight, I’ll break the bind before she realizes what’s happening. Only if she fights the unraveling of her magic will we need to subdue her with the tea.”

Though I haven’t seen Enat use her gift, I’m certain she’s a force to be reckoned with.

Once we’ve eaten the roasted quail, we travel all through the day and into the next night, bringing us to the Evers and hours from Malam’s border.





Chapter

36


THE SILENCE OF THE BIRDS WAKES ME.

Someone is here.

I slowly rise, hand on my dagger, and leave the warm blanket behind to step into the frigid morning. Enat and Cohen are sleeping as I quietly slip the dagger into my boot and grab my bow.

I walk farther from camp, hoping the energy pulsing around me will give some clue.

The light shifts ahead.

I crouch, grasping for my bow and notching an arrow. The rough bark of a pine tree jabs into my back as I draw a slow inhale, hold it, and then let it out while I monitor the woods, waiting for my target to make his appearance.

A dozen paces north, a man moves around a tree. His steps are marked with the sure carefulness of a trained hunter. Any question of who this man is dies the second I see the royal stag on his uniform. A watchman.

The guard heads straight for our camp, drawing closer to Enat and Cohen than I am. Panic zips through me.

I slide my right foot forward, adjusting my weight to my front leg to gain a better defensive position.

The man stops. Looks around. Cocks his head in my direction.

I cannot let him get any closer to Enat and Cohen, who are sleeping and unprepared for a fight. Shaking off the nervous tremors in my hands, I raise the bow. The tension releases with a twang. My pulse hurtles through my veins as I take in the scene: the arrow piercing the guard’s coat, pinning the material to the tree, and the surprise flooding his face. I pray I haven’t made a grave mistake in sparing this man’s life.