The Drowned Woods (63)

The brand pressed hard to the corner of her left eye, against her cheek, and a scream tore from her.

Mer squeezed her eyes shut, her whole body curling off the floor, trying to pull into a tight ball.

She summoned her magic, called every bit of moisture in the air—

It shouldn’t have worked; when this was real, when it was true iron around her wrists and a brand against her cheek, it had not worked. But this time, she felt the magic answer her call.

—And everything splintered apart.

Mer rolled onto her side. She was shaking so hard it felt as though her bones would come apart. She coughed, her lungs aching and overfull. A gag—and she spat water onto the ground. Her fingers sank into cold, damp earth, through grass and twigs.

She was not in a dungeon.

She was in a grove. A yew tree cast dappled shadows across her skin and midmorning sunlight warmed her arms. Her lungs felt as though they’d caught fire; she coughed again, trying to drag up any remnants of the water. She could sense it now, the magic that wasn’t hers infusing her every breath. She forced another cough, pressing her hand to her lips. The droplets that came away hummed against her skin and for a moment—

For a heartbeat, she saw the dungeon again.

Mer shook her hand hard, wiping it dry on her trousers. And then she was in the grove, her stomach roiling.

It was magic. Illusions twined with water. A compulsion to sleep, to drown in nightmares. And the only reason Mer had managed to wake herself was her own magic. This was the Well’s true defense, why no one had ever managed to take those treasures.

The others were fallen into the grass. Ifanna had slumped onto her stomach, cheek pressed against the dirt while Renfrew was on his back. Gryf had fallen against a tree.

Someone staggered and hit the grass beside her. Mer looked up sharply to find Fane kneeling beside her. He looked ragged and damp, but no worse for wear. His magic, she realized. Somehow, it must have protected him. “What happened?”

“It’s the water,” she gasped. “It’s illusions—old fears. I managed to get it out of me, but I need to wake the others.”

“Can you?” asked Fane.

“I have to try,” said Mer. She half crawled, half shuffled to Ifanna. Mer had saved a few people after drowning, but it was a shaky thing. Water in the lungs and throat had to be carefully removed or she could risk further damage. Mer placed a hand against Ifanna’s nose and mouth. She closed her eyes, reached for that well of power within herself, and gently tugged.

Ifanna spasmed, her breaths choking on a cough. Mer kept at it, pulling the water and unraveling the magic.

The water droplets flew out of Ifanna’s mouth and caught between Mer’s fingers and—

She stood in a man’s study.

She blinked hard, as if this vision were a bit of dust to be cleared from her eyes. This was not the dungeon of her own nightmares, not the place she’d woken from a hundred times.

This was Ifanna’s nightmare.

But strangely, it didn’t look like one. Sunlight streamed through an open window and the air smelled pleasantly of fresh-baked bread. A man sat behind the desk; he wore armor, but it was the ornamental kind. A commander rather than a foot soldier. A plate of bread and cheese sat before him. The man lounged in his chair with indolent ease, smiling at the young woman in front of him.

Ifanna stood before the desk. Her back was straight and the corners of her smile pinched tight. “—Give them to me,” said Ifanna.

The commander gave her a wide grin. “Lady ap Madyn, I don’t know what you speak of. Trading in flesh’s illegal.” He drew out the last word with lazy enjoyment.

“I know you have them,” said Ifanna. “And we can pay you.”

“Like I said,” the man replied, “illegal.”

A muscle twitched in Ifanna’s throat. Mer could see her mind racing, her eyes roaming from side to side as the thief considered her options. “What if I didn’t pay the guard?” she said. “What if I paid you?”

The commander chuckled. “Mayhap you could, if I cared more for coin.” He leaned forward, palms spread out on the desk. “I’m not some hound for you to snap your fingers at, girl. Your guild’s been a thorn in my side for years, which is why I don’t give a damn what you offer me.” He nodded at the door. “Get out.”

“They’re mine,” snarled Ifanna. “My people. What would the guard want with them?”

The man wove his fingers together, resting them beneath his chin. “They’re thieves and pickpockets. The city won’t miss them. And we need more hands in the quarries. You’ve nothing that’ll interest me, girl.”

Ifanna’s hands twitched toward the knife Mer knew she kept on her belt. The commander’s eyes fell to her hand, and his own moved to his sword.

An eternity passed in a few moments. Both commander and thief were conjuring up imagined futures, weighing their chances. Mer drew in a sharp breath. Even if this was just a nightmare, she didn’t want to see Ifanna harmed.

Ifanna raised her chin. “Not coin, then,” she said. “Information.”

The man flicked two fingers toward the door. “Like I said, I—”

“The prince’s lost water diviner.”

Mer swallowed hard.

The commander’s hand went still. “What did you say?”