“I don’t want it to be,” she whispered in earnest reply, her voice shaken by his gentle touch.
His eyes rose to meet hers. “Truly? You wouldn’t want to have magic? The mageborne live in luxury, above the law and answering only to their own covenant and the king himself. You would need not live in fear, as long as you registered with the Red Covenant and followed their doctrine.”
“Another collar,” she replied, making his eyes widen as they glanced down to her neck. “The only mageborne I have known were cruel and cold, who kept slaves and meddled in dangerous things. They tempted fate to gain more power, and for their unquenchable hunger, they died.”
She slipped her wrist free of his grasp and held it to her chest. “No, Athan, I want no part of that.” She reached out and touched the cobblestone. “I would rather live free, as any other, in a cottage like this, tending the land, taking joy in each sunset,...being part of a family.”
Hand upon the wall of white plaster and river stone, she could almost picture it, that wish of another life. Of a warm hearth, a field full of hearty crops, sheep in the barn and children- Her skin warmed with such thoughts, impossible thoughts no longer feeling so impossible. But, then her eyes refocused on the scars. Something had happened to her, something she didn’t understand, something she must discover if she ever hoped to have the life she had begun to wish for herself.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said softly, a thought slipping through the cracks.
“What?” she asked, confused.
He sucked in a breath and blinked away the rest of his unspoken thoughts. “When I found out you had magic... You’re right, about covenant mages. Beothen’s sister doesn’t sound so bad, I guess, but I’ve never met one I liked, either. They seem to think themselves above the rest of us, chosen by the gods to lord over us like a herd of cattle.”
His hands balled into tight fists, a deeply seeded anger brewing within his eyes but kept anchored under the surface. She let go of the grounding cobblestone and reached for something less tangible, a way to rid him of the anguish rising from him and bring back his carefree smile. “Athan-”
A commotion from inside the cottage refocused both their attentions. Tobin gave a worried shout as a horrible, hacking cough rose. Athan and Dnara shared a worried glance as Athan gave voice to their shared concern.
“Penna,” he said then rushed inside with Dnara quick on his heels.
“Oh, thank the stars, you’re back,” Tobin greeted Athan with hands wrung in apprehension. “Penna can’t breathe. I gave her your medicine, but it don’t seem to be working this time. I think it made it worse!”
“What?” Athan sounded just as concerned as he took the small pouch from Tobin and spilled some of its contents into his palm. Horror filled his eyes at what he saw. “It’s been blighted.”
“Brodan’s balls!” Beothen grumbled as he peered over Athan’s shoulder. Then, he pulled his own pouch off his belt and shook some into his meaty hand. “Mine, too, forester, though I swear it was fine when you gave it to me. Chewed some right away, I did.”
“What’s that there?” Jenny asked, adding to the growing chaos in the tiny cabin. “Blighted balls, you say?”
Dnara went to Penna, who stood stooped over the fireplace, steaming teakettle hanging from an iron hook. The woman breathed in the steam as deeply as she could but ended in a violent coughing fit that sounded like her lungs held more water than air. Unsure how to help, Dnara rubbed Penna’s back in a gentle circle. Between coughs, Penna lifted her head to give Dnara a weary smile, showing her appreciation for not being left alone as the men continued to discuss what to do. Feeling helpless, Dnara leaned her forehead against Penna’s shoulder and continued moving her palm in a slow circle, wishing she could do more to alleviate Penna’s suffering.
Then, between inhales, Dnara felt it. Something stirred within Penna’s wheezing. Dnara’s hand stopped and flatly palmed Penna’s back. A ragged inhale. A stuttering exhale. A heartbeat.
A...second heartbeat?
Dnara closed her eyes, trying to block out the men’s voices behind her; trying to listen, to hear what existed beneath what could be seen. A hollow echo rebounded from her palm, up her arm, into her chest and back again. Penna stiffened. Dnara’s arms tingled, then burned, then...
There.
Dnara’s eyes snapped open just as the force cascaded down her arm and slammed into Penna’s back. The woman arched upwards at a disturbing angle, a starved gasp sucking in past her lips like a howling wind. Her mouth hung open and her eyes bulged, then her hands began clawing at her throat.
“Oh, gods!” Dnara screamed. “What have I done?”
“What?” Athan asked all the men finally looked up from their palms full of blighted herbs.
“Penna!” Tobin rushed to his wife, knocking Dnara aside.
Dnara fell into Athan’s arms and tumbled to the floor with him, and he asked her a question she couldn’t answer. “What did you do?”
“I don’t know!” Dnara watched as Penna writhed, hands upon her throat, body twisting with a need for air. “I only... I only wished to help!”
“Gods be merciful,” Beothen muttered a prayer as he tried to help Tobin restrain Penna’s wild trashing.
“What have you done?!” Tobin yelled at Dnara. “What have you done to my wife?!”
“I don’t know!” She truly knew nothing.
A gurgling growl bubbled up from Penna’s mouth. Her body doubled over, her head nearly touching the floor in front of her feet. A hacking, wet cacophony erupted, followed by vomiting, then heart wrenching silence.
“Retgar’s axe smite you,” Tobin cried. “You’ve killed her!”
“No, please,” Dnara begged to anyone,
