Inkmistress (Of Fire and Stars 0.5)(61)

“It’s so beautiful, Asra,” Hal murmured, his breath warm on my cheek. I opened my eyes to a dark world painted by the moon. Our altitude was far too great to see any signs of life below, but a river glistened beneath us, a silver ribbon of reflected light. Soon the horse cut to the north and hills began to gently roll beneath us. But the farther away we traveled from the lake, the smaller the horse became. We sank in the sky until its watery hooves skimmed the treetops, and then finally, it set us on the ground and faded away into nothing. Its wings were all that remained, the shadows mingling and whirling around me until I could barely see Hal. They re-formed into a cloak that settled around my shoulders—a cloak made of darkness.

I fell to the ground, trembling.

“Asra!” Hal sank down beside me and put his hand on my forehead.

“I’m fine.” My teeth chattered. Fever had already taken me, as it always did when my magic caused me to age. I’d hoped it wouldn’t happen since I hadn’t written anything, but apparently any use of my blood for powerful magic was going to shorten my life either way.

“You don’t seem fine,” he said, concerned. “And this cloak . . . what is it?” He took his hand from my forehead and ran his fingers curiously over a corner of the black fabric. “My Sight isn’t anywhere near as strong as yours, but it looks a little like Nismae’s cuffs. I can’t really sense you while you’re wearing it.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It somehow formed from the last of the water horse’s magic.”

“No sense looking a Sight-blocking gift cloak in the mouth, I suppose!”

I laughed weakly, which quickly devolved into a cough.

Hal sat back on his heels and thought for a moment. “What can I do to help?”

Somewhere beyond the shivering and the ache and the warm cloak of shadows closing around me, I was more grateful for him than I had ever been for anyone. He always asked. And listened. It was more than Ina had ever done. More than Miriel, either.

“Find us somewhere safe to rest,” I said. “Then help me get there.”

“I can do better than that. Put your arm around me.” He knelt beside me so I could hook my uninjured arm around his neck, then picked me up as though I weighed nothing.

“I hope we aren’t going far,” I mumbled into his chest. But I couldn’t help closing my eyes and giving in to the security of being carried. I felt safe in his arms and warm in the cloak. If I could just stop shaking, I’d be able to rest.

I slipped in and out of consciousness until he set me down. He settled me on the ground and tucked my cloak more carefully around me to keep out the wind, then lay down near me. Though the night wasn’t terribly cold, I continued to shiver as the fever tried to burn its way out of my body. I had felt better when Hal was carrying me, but now that comfort was gone.

“Hal?” I whispered.

“Hmm?” He reached over and laid a cool hand on my forehead.

It felt so good. I took a shuddering breath. “Can you keep me warm?”

“Of course.” He turned on his side and wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close.

I told myself I didn’t feel anything when he did.

I lied.





CHAPTER 23


I WOKE UP TO BIRDS HERALDING THE DAWN WITH their songs. Hal lay pressed close beside me. My fever had broken, but my bones still ached. Even my hand throbbed dully when I finally sat up, though an examination of the wound in my wrist revealed no signs of infection. I thought the cloak of shadows might disappear as the horse had, but when the sun rose over the hills, it remained on my shoulders. In the light of day it looked like ordinary fabric, if unusually fine for someone as bedraggled as me.

“Your hair,” Hal said, touching the end of my long braid.

“It’s a mess, I’m sure,” I said. Riding a flying water horse halfway across the kingdom had probably turned it into an impossible tangle. Hal looked a little windblown himself, but he seemed to have at least had the presence of mind to pull up his hood during our ride.

“It’s not that. The color is changing.” Confusion was evident in his voice.

I pulled my braid around to examine it, and sure enough, several new silver hairs wound through the brown. How many years had I lost? Was there even a way to know? As for Hal, the time for anything other than honesty between us was over. He already knew what I was and what I could do.

“This is what happens when I use my blood magic,” I told him.

“It gives you fevers and silver hair? I can’t decide if that’s better or worse than my headaches,” he said, looking worried. He didn’t fully understand.

“It ages me. It steals years from my life. I don’t know how many.” I didn’t bother trying to hide my bitterness. I had no regrets about using my blood when it was the only thing I had in my arsenal, but this had only confirmed what I already knew—I needed to find Atheon and get the Fatestone before I ended up like Veric, or worse.

Hal stared at me. “Wait . . . you’re telling me that every time you use your gift, it kills you?”

“That’s about the shape of it.” I looked away and wound my fingers through a tuft of grass, trying to hide my vulnerability from him. If he asked more questions, it might force me to examine a part of myself I couldn’t make peace with, no matter how hard I tried. I didn’t want Hal’s pity.