we share laughter, the sun making his eyes glow like burning embers. He brushes his hand along his jaw, rubbing at his beard. A movement so little... so nonchalant, still, somehow I'm falling head over heels all over again.
But we can't forget.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I say, ruining the perfectly good moment.
"I didn't want you to rush into anything." He steps away from the helm. "Can you feel it?" he asks quietly.
"Feel what?"
"The power inside of you. The push and pull of magic, aching to break free."
My body is frozen in this one spot. All of my joints are locked, keeping me directly in Lincoln's path as he trails toward me. He points a finger at my heart, stopping to tap gently against my chest.
"Is there pressure? Like a shaken bottle of soda?" His accent catches all the vowels. Sometimes his voice exaggerates the unidentifiable cadence of his speech.
I stare up at his face, curious what he sees in me. What does the pressure of my magic feel like to him? What did it feel like to Barnabus who was able to recognize my strength?
"Sometimes." I stuff my hands into the pockets of Lincoln's coat and use it to draw him to me. "Sometimes it's like a pit that I can feel myself standing on the ledge of. If I take a step forward, I'll fall to the bottom and never be able to climb my way back out."
"I'll always get you out." Lincoln’s scruff scratches against my cheek.
"I want to help. I want to learn."
His musky scent washes over me. I lean into him further, nuzzling my head into his chest. His wide frame blocks the wind from me. My skin is thankful for the break, though it's already practically numb from the cold. Even leaning into his coat is nearly too rough for my rosey cheeks.
"I knew that you would." Ziko pulls my hands from his coat and leads me down the stairs. We head straight for Beatrice's cabin.
I look around at the great wide ocean around us before stepping inside. "Are we just going to let the boat steer itself?"
"Nothing to hit for miles." He winks as he juts his foot into the hidden storage compartment in the wall.
As the false panel pops open, green light from the prisms that cast their glow throughout the room bounces off the hilt of the weapon. Lincoln pulls the sword out, looking at its blade.
"Iron." He looks to me. "They knew what they were doing when they were fighting the Fae. I wonder how they figured it out."
"What are you doing?"
Something dangerous is brewing inside Lincoln’s mind. And I know exactly where he is going with this. He shouldn't. Oh, God please don't. I fist and unfist my hands in my pockets in nervous anticipation.
Ziko chooses not to answer my question. At least not immediately. With a cheeky grin he saunters to the table and presses his hand down on it, hovering the edge of his sword just inches above.
"Don't do that!" I hiss stepping forward. The sharpened tip rests gently on one the middle knuckle of his pinky. I inhale sharply.
"Gotta find out one way or another, I'll heal too quickly even through the Iron to just give you a small cut to work with."
I open my mouth to dissuade him once again, but Ziko grits his teeth, pressing the sword into his flesh. Sometimes hearing as well as the Fae do doesn't have an upside. When the blade passes through his finger, I can hear the snap of cartilage, the grinding as he passes through the bone, everything else sounds much more...squishy.
Blood immediately begins to fill the space between his hand and the severed finger. I scream, both frustrated that he'd gone through with it, and repulsed at the idea that I'm now... what... supposed to touch his unattached finger? My magic didn't come with an instruction manual.
"What if I don't have healing magic?" I speak. "Lincoln, no. Lincoln, NO. What do I do? What do I do?"
Ziko tilts his head. "Relax, it's just a pinky. Even if you can't reattach it then I think I'll be able to live life just fine without it."
"Lincoln. It's a whole finger." Oh, my God. It's a whole finger.
There is a nervous patter to my feet as I move forward. It makes my steps smaller, unsure, and flighty. As if I might actually run away. I won't. No, not with Lincoln's finger sitting there all alone.
What am I supposed to