Battles of Salt and Sighs by Val Saintcrowe
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MAGDALIA’S LIPS PARTED, but still, she didn’t make any noise. She only gaped at the blood, which was pouring out of Duranth.
The fae who’d stabbed him stood up and turned to her. “Whatever you did to him, it’s over now. We’ll find another leader, one who doesn’t cater to human girls.” He pulled her away from the other men and threw her down on the ground.
She skidded on her knees, next to Duranth, who was twitching there gurgling, bleeding—still alive.
She put her hand on his chest and pushed her magic into him.
The point of a sword—she felt it at the back of her neck.
She pushed the magic, trying to heal Duranth, and she could see that it was working, but it wasn’t going to be fast enough, so she did what she’d done before—when she’d pushed Duranth. It had been easier that time, because he’d been pushing magic into her, and this time, he was bleeding out and dying, but his magic was there.
She found his magic, and she pulled it into herself, and then their magic mingled and strengthened like it always did.
She reached back with one hand and wrapped it around the ankle of the fae who had a sword to the back of her neck. She hurled magic into him.
He thudded to the ground, and she snatched up his weapon.
Taking another moment to pump another bit of healing magic into Duranth, knitting him together enough that he would not bleed out, she broke contact with him and stood up, picking up the sword with both hands.
Their combined magic still swirled within her as she advanced on the men.
“No, please, we’re only following orders,” said one of the fae, one of the ones who’d been holding her. “You can ask him. We only did as the Night King bade.”
She turned to look at Duranth, who was sitting up. “Cut it a little close there, didn’t you, Magda?”
She let out an animal sound—disbelief or rage or both, she didn’t know.
He examined the man that she’d felled, turning his face this way and that.
She leveled the sword at Duranth and advanced on him instead. “What are you thinking?”
“This,” he said, reaching out to touch her, even as she brought the sword to the tip of his not-quite-healed throat.
Suddenly, the man she’d killed convulsed.
She was so startled, she dropped the sword.
It clattered against the floor.
The man convulsed again, a sort of jerking motion, and then he stood up.
Horrified, Magdalia could feel him. It was a strange sort of other sense, not quite as if she was seeing through the other man’s eyes, but that she was somehow connected to him, that she had some semblance of control over his limbs. She wanted him to lie back down, and he did.
Duranth let out a laugh that horrifyingly resembled a giggle. “It’s very strange sharing him with you.”
The man stood up, and she felt that Duranth had done that. Their magic mingled inside the man.
“You’re dismissed, by the way,” said Duranth to the other fae, who were watching all this with wide eyes.
They nearly tripped over each other getting out of the room.
“These men are not going to continue following you if you’re always so careless with their lives,” said Magdalia.
“Mmm,” said Duranth noncommittally, pushing the dead man toward Magdalia. The man walked with sure feet, but there was something about the way that he stood and carried himself that also betrayed his lifelessness. The walking dead man was the most horrible thing that she’d ever seen.
She stopped him, halting the dead man where he stood. “I won’t do this with you.”
“You just saved my life,” he said, smiling at her.
“But only because…” She clenched her hands into fists. “Because they would be worse to me than you are.”
“Exactly,” he said, smiling at her. “Don’t forget that.” He wiped at the blood on his neck.
She shuddered. He’d really been stabbed. He’d ordered a man to do that to him, trusting her ability to heal him. “You’re insane.”
“Yes,” said Duranth. “That’s why I’m going to win.” He made the dead man walk again. “It’s much better, Magda. I’ve done this before, raised a corpse, used it—”
“Everyone has heard the stories.”
“It’s exhausting,” he said. “After doing it, I have to sleep for ten hours to replenish myself. But with you… us… our magic? This is effortless.” He laughed again, that horrible giggling sound, and it made him sound insane.
“I’ll never save your life again,” she said. “I’ll never help you.”
“We’ll see,” he said. He stepped around the dead man and pulled her into his arms.
She struggled, pushing at his chest.
“Oh, aren’t we going to kiss again, little Magda? You’re so prim and fussy sometimes.”
“Let go of me.” She pushed him with magic again.
He staggered backwards, but he was laughing. “Fine, fine. I’ll keep my hands to myself.” He touched the dead man, and the fae crumpled back to the ground. He snatched a napkin off the table and wiped off his neck free of blood and then sat back down and continued his dinner.
She felt a scream building inside her throat, but she didn’t let it out. Instead, the sound seemed to explode against her skull which throbbed in pain and horror and helplessness.