In the Wake of the Wicked (Veridian Empire #1)

53. Rose

53

Rose

W e rode hard through the small villages and forests of the south sector. Leo’s viselike grip on the reins held me in place between his arms as we followed Chaz’s lead northeast. Adrenaline raced in my veins and branches scraped against my skin, wind and sunlight beating down on my cheeks.

Leo quickly explained as we dashed out of the dress shop that a group of fugitives from Emberfell had recently arrived from the northern province. There were several families seeking to escape from the violence on their border with Drakorum, hoping to find a better life waiting for them in Veridia City.

But they quickly learned there were monsters in every corner of our empire.

Enraged Veridians had ambushed the families in their little shack in Ridgemore, a community in the east sector. A neighboring Strider who happened to know of the Sentinels had magicked to Rissa as quickly as possible with the news, but it had taken him some time to find us, even with his powers. Dread gripped me at what those precious minutes could have cost the victims.

We slowed as we reached a more populated area. When Chaz turned right at the end of the busy street, the change in atmosphere was almost immediate. The tidy, shining brick structures gave way to rotted wooden buildings. Moss and overgrown vines hung between windows and across entry ways. Rodents and people alike scurried over the gravel, the latter not pausing for casual conversation or to exchange pleasantries.

We traveled until signs of life and civilization became background noise to the rustle of wind through trees and birds crying in the distance. I spotted an occasional dingy house or field of crops, but it was mostly an isolated part of the east sector.

Chaz halted just short of a broken fencepost, and that’s when I saw it.

A small cottage, no larger than two or three rooms, with boarded windows and patched holes in the roof. Two small children—a toddler and one perhaps five years older—huddled in the dirt, little eyes tired and frightened.

And blood smeared on the front door.

A warning.

Rissa and Leo dismounted and handed their reins to Chaz, who secured them to the fencepost. Lark swiftly but calmly made her way to the children while the twins and Horace drew their weapons, being careful not to alarm the young ones. The four of them worked seamlessly together, each knowing their role and carrying it out without question.

My chest tightened at the thought that they’d had to do this many times before.

Commotion and distressed voices reached my ears as we approached the blood splattered door. It banged open and a middle-aged woman came flying outside, her face streaked with tears, her hands the color of dried blood.

Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of our weapons.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” Rissa said smoothly. “We’ve heard there’s been an attack and came to help.”

The hesitancy on the woman’s face was evident, but based on the cries coming from the cottage, we were the least of her worries.

“They struck so fast,” she whispered hoarsely, turning to the side to allow us entry into the house. “We didn’t know what to do.”

The sight that greeted us made a chill creep down my spine.

Broken glass littered the wooden floorboards. Sections of the walls were splintered with holes, like someone had thrown heavy objects at them. Clothes and fabric and curtains were ripped to shreds and red dripped across the floor, glistening in spots of sunlight shining from torn pockets in the roof.

There were so many people . At least a dozen, if not more, crammed into this small, dilapidated space. Feet shuffled frantically across the room, cries and moans filled the air, and there were devastated faces and voices and tears everywhere my eyes landed. Several bodies lay on the ground with pools of blood drying where they rested.

“Who are you?” a burly man in a torn white shirt barked at us. A blunt knife was clutched in his outstretched, bloody hand and swirls of light were poised in the other. Magic bloomed in the air as two others joined him, Emberfell Lightbenders preparing to strike.

“My name is Clarissa,” Rissa said, unfazed by their defensive stances. “We mean you no harm. We’re part of a group here in the capital dedicated to helping people like you find safety. I know we’re strangers to you, but please, let us help.” She brandished an arm to Leo and me. “We have Alchemists who can heal your wounded and others who can provide protection while you get back on your feet. Just tell us what you need.”

The three leaders of the families exchanged wary looks, but seemed to realize how dire their situation was.

“Him,” the man said gruffly, nodding to a body lying feet from him. “And three others in the back.” His voice lost its edge, turning into a strangled plea. “Please, save them. I—I couldn’t protect them.”

Beneath the copper, salty tang of blood and musty scent of dirt and old wood was the sweet hint of herbs. Cedarwood. Lavender. Ginger. My eyes found a cloaked woman kneeling on the ground next to the body of the young man their leader had pointed to, her hands stretched over him with herbal rings lining her fingers. An Alchemist healer, surely. She mumbled under her breath, but I knew by the pale blue tinge of the man’s face, the deep lacerations in his side, and the almost imperceptible movement of his chest that it was no use. He was almost gone.

“There’s nothing more I can do,” the healer said to the man in charge, whose face immediately fell.

A wail ripped through the air.

Staggering across the room and flinging herself at the boy’s body, a woman cried out in anguish, burying her face in his neck. The house went silent save for the sound of her ragged sobs.

The hush of death stretched and settled over us like a blanket.

A moan from the back of the room broke the spell and time sped up, everyone rushing to their duties.

“Back here,” said one of the men, ushering the healer to her feet and toward the remaining injured people. Leo followed, already reaching into his pouch of herbs, but something kept my feet planted. I stared down at the young man. He was no older than sixteen or seventeen. Beau’s age.

I took in the deep, jagged claw marks in his side, the torn tunic, the flesh stripped and hanging from bone. The way his fingers twitched and his eyelids fluttered, his chest barely moving with the last few breaths his body clung to.

He was too young for this.

He wasn’t dead—not yet. But herbs and potions wouldn’t save him.

Moving to crouch by the weeping woman, I gently placed my hands on hers. “I can help him,” I said quietly, making sure the others were out of earshot.

She looked up at me, eyes swollen. “How?”

I didn’t answer.

Her breaths slowed as she blinked at me and nodded. Face paling, her eyes went round and filled with tentative hope. “Do what you must,” she whispered, backing away.

I took my dagger and sliced it across my palm, then pressed it to the boy’s cooling skin. Theodore’s words floated through my mind.

“Feel the injury. Imagine being able to see the shattered bones, the torn muscles. Look beneath the flesh and picture your magic, your blood, coursing through it. Replacing weakness with strength. Pain with comfort. Broken with whole.”

This was so much more than a broken wing. This was willing flesh to mend and organs to renew. This was coaxing the soul back from the precipice of freedom and into a mangled, torn body. This was magic beyond anything I’d dared to perform.

My head and heart pounded in time with the blood pumping from my hand and mixing with his. The healing spell dripped from my lips like a prayer.

“ Revie scurae .”

Nothing happened.

No familiar power zipped through me, no lightning bolt of magic poured into his wound like it had with the bird.

Disappointment crashed into me and my shoulders sagged, a heavy exhale leaving my parted lips. Why did I think I would be able to do this? How could I possibly believe that a few days of practicing blood magic meant I’d be able to bring someone back from the brink of death? It was ridiculous. Impossible.

“Nothing is impossible, Rose. Not anymore.”

I bit down on my lip. What would Theodore say if he were here with me now? If this was simply another lesson in his study?

He would tell me to stop thinking of my limits, to stop living by the rules of magic that once bound me. To remember that this was my birthright. What I was born to do. He would say my power was more than I could possibly dream.

I took a deep breath. I calmed my heart and focused on the sound of it thumping resolutely in my ears.

I am unlimited .

Magic sparked in my blood, lighting my veins on fire.

It happened in an instant.

It felt like my very being was ripping apart and molding into something new. Something stronger. Something that transcended the magic I once knew, that broke the barriers my own mind had placed on me for all these years. It was as if a cage had not only been opened, but completely shattered. Power like a sweet siren’s song flooded me, drowning me, filling me.

I let out a gasp as the boy’s heart picked up speed beneath my touch, his skin warming as blood rushed through his body. The gashes in his side pulled back together, sewn by an invisible hand. His cheeks pinkened and his chest rose as he took a full breath.

He was alive. He was healed .

“By the Fates…” his mother murmured, awestruck.

I pulled my hand away, leaving a bloody print where his wound once was. Hastily, I moved his ripped shirt so it would cover the spot, elation at what I’d done quickly falling to panic that the others would find out. They wouldn’t understand. They’d think it was an abomination, like I once did. But they didn’t know the good blood magic could do.

His mother gripped my hand, keeping her voice low. “You saved him. When he couldn’t be healed, you saved him. Whatever you want, I will give it to you. I—I can never repay?—”

“Tell no one,” I said, cutting her off. “That’s all I ask.”

She met my eyes, understanding passing between us. “You saved him,” she whispered again, more to herself than to me.

But will there be a cost, an obtrusive voice slithered through my mind.

Leo approached. “Rose, can you—” He stopped short, eyes on the boy as he stirred. His brow furrowed. “What happened? How is he alive?”

I scrambled to my feet, imagining the look on his face if he figured out what I’d done. The same magic that tormented his past, that he thought killed his father…

“The healer must not have used the right herbs or given it enough time.” I balled my cut hand into a fist and slid it behind my back, forcing myself not to wince at the ache. “I used a different combination. Tried a new spell. He’s going to be fine, that’s all that matters.”

Leo caught my movement. He stepped toward me, concern in his dark gaze. “What did you do to your hand?”

I shrugged and gestured to the dirty floor. “Cut it on a piece of stray glass.”

The crease on his forehead deepened. He looked down at the boy, who managed to sit up with the help of his mother. His shirt shifted to reveal the edges of the wound that once marred his side but was now only a bright pink scar crusted with dried blood.

Leo’s stare returned to mine. His hand came out to trace a path down my injured arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I reluctantly let him grip my wrist and pull my hand from behind my back. The jagged cut in my palm practically glowed with a crimson confession.

“A new spell,” he said, repeating my words slowly.

“Yes.”

He tilted his head. “Must be some powerful herbs.”

Tension snaked around us, thick with unspoken accusations. The way he was looking at me, full of mistrust and uncertainty where unwavering adoration once lived, sliced through my chest.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t —if I so much as opened my mouth, I feared the truth would spill free. Every truth.

His jaw hardened and he stepped back. “You should clean that,” he said in a low voice, motioning to my hand. “Wouldn’t want it to get infected.”

Then he walked away. A shaky breath escaped me as if it were trying to follow after him, trying to tug my body forward and drag him back to me. That inescapable hold he had on me tightened until it felt like I couldn’t breathe, and then it snapped, my stomach sinking to my feet at the realization.

He didn’t trust me.

He shouldn’t trust me.

I deserved to be held at arm’s length. Lying had always been as easy as breathing for me, yet now it felt like suffocation.

I glanced at the boy in his mother’s arms, her joy and relief evident in every line of her face. I had done that. I had saved him.

But magic that strong had a price.

What if losing Leo was mine?