The blackrope’s hand slipped from Dnara’s neck with a startle. “Wh-what?” the woman stuttered. Blinking several times, she looked around the street. “Where...?”
Athan took the woman’s befuddlement as an opportunity to step between her and Dnara. The blackrope looked from the rope in her hand to Athan. No longer coursing with magical energy, the coil of rope hung as limp and blandly brown as any hempen fiber, as did the two remaining ropes on the saddle. The blackrope’s eyes looked less like a rat’s and more like an old woman’s, confused and questioning.
“Who are you?” she asked Athan.
“Athan Ateiros, ma’am.” Athan glanced back to Dnara, who had tears stinging her eyes. He sought an explanation for the windstorm and the blackrope’s confusion, but Dnara had none to give.
The woman lowered the rope and rubbed a small scar on her chin. “And... And who am I?”
Athan turned back to the woman and began artfully spinning a tale with only slight hesitation. “Well, ma’am, I’m not certain. You fell off your horse and hit your head. I’ve heard that can cause temporary confusion.”
The woman nodded and rubbed the crown of her head, accepting Athan’s word as truth without question. “My head does ache a bit.” She looked back to the rope in her hands. “What’s this, then?”
Athan looked back to Dnara with wider eyes as the size of the problem revealed itself. She couldn’t meet his gaze. A pit had formed in her stomach, and it churned with fear and guilt.
“I’m sorry,” Dnara whispered, wishing to take it all back.
The woman stepped closer. “You all right, dear? Oh, what you crying for? I’m fine. Just fell off my... horse, was it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Athan confirmed as Dnara sniffled.
“Hmm,” the woman hummed. “And, what’s a horse, exactly?”
“The animal behind you,” Athan replied stiffly.
“Ah!” The woman grinned. “Was gonna ask what it was next.”
“Dnara?” Athan quietly questioned as the breadth of what had happened became obvious.
“I didn’t mean to.” Dnara rubbed her arms as they tingled.
“Mean to what?” the woman asked.
“It’s okay,” Athan attempted to console Dnara, but she began crying in earnest then.
It was all too much. She had only wanted to be free. Freedom, it seemed, came with a price.
“Hey, now,” the woman lightly palmed Dnara’s shoulder then brought her into a hug. “It’s okay, dear.” The blackrope suddenly sounded like someone’s lost grandmother; kind and comforting. “It’s okay,” she continued to promise. “Have I forgotten you? Is that why you’re crying?”
Yes, Dnara thought. All she’d wanted was for the blackrope to forget her, to forget Athan, to forget everything and leave them alone. And the woman did.
Dnara should be happy to be forgotten and saved from the blackrope, but that happiness brought with it the guilt and fear that made her nauseous. Despite the woman’s blackrope clothes, the rope in her hands and the badge on her chest, Dnara clung to the woman and sobbed. The blackrope’s hands rubbed circles on Dnara’s back, as if she’d done it before for another frightened girl from a time now forever forgotten. The regret dug deeper and Dnara’s scars began to burn.
She didn’t want this. Not this. Not magic!
“Girl?” the woman asked as Dnara fought for breath.
“Dnara?” Athan caught her as the world went sideways and a shadow pulled her into the darkness.
The fear vanished. The guilt subsided. Here, she felt safe. Here, she could sleep.
12
“I’ve never seen the like,” Tobin, the cornbread peddler, said, his voice sounding far off as Dnara’s eyelids remained weighted down, too heavy to open. “Look, here,” he continued, speaking to someone nearby. A presence came closer, a shadow loomed, and Dnara tried to force an eye open. “They’re healing right before my eyes.”
“Strange.” It was Athan who spoke this time, and she calmed with a lesser sense of urgency to open her eyes. If he was here, she thought, then she was safe. “Is it normal, you think, for a mageborne to heal like that?”
“Wouldn’t know,” Tobin replied. “I’ve as much experience with magic as you, and I’ve learned to avoid it all the same.”
“Magic?” The next voice was another she recognized as she fought to wake up. It was the blackrope. “Magic...” the woman said again, more slowly.
“Do you remember something?” Athan asked, worry carried by his words.
“Hmm,” the blackrope hummed in thought. “For a second, maybe... But, it’s gone again. What’s magic?”
“Trouble,” Tobin muttered just as Dnara managed to open her eyes. The old cornbread seller grimaced at being caught with such words on his lips, then smiled as he patted her arm. “Sorry, dear. Good to see you awake.”
“Gave us quite a scare,” a new voice said; another woman. Unfamiliar. Dnara struggled to sit up and the woman came closer with a cup of warm liquid. “Slowly, now. Here, have a sip of this. Tea makes everything feel better.”
“Thank you,” Dnara said, her throat rough and words raspy. She looked around at all the faces illuminated by flickering lantern light then settled on Athan’s concerned gaze, hoping for clarification. “Where...? How...?” She managed only two hoarse words before her throat swelled in a demand for liquid.
“Ha!” The blackrope let out a laugh and slapped her boney knee. “She sounds like me.” Her laughter ended and genuine curiosity entered her steely blue eyes. “Are we related?”
Dnara sipped the tea and eyed the blackrope wearily, not sure if she hated the idea because the woman was, or had been, a blackrope, or if she liked the idea for the simple reason that she could then say she had family. Feeling confused, she remained silent and focused on swallowing. The tea tasted sweet, with a hint of mint and a floral undertone she couldn’t name.
“No, Jenny, you’re not related,” Athan
