The Whitefire Crossing - By Courtney Schafer Page 0,105
there he stood, leaning against the wall with folded arms. The ebbing fire of the wards turned his chestnut hair to burnished copper and cast shadows beneath the smooth golden planes of his cheekbones. “Mikail, you did well. The error was Kiran’s alone.” His voice grew stern. “Kiran, had this been a real spell, your lapse in focus would have meant death for you both.”
Kiran flinched. Ruslan was right. He’d let his attention wander, just for an instant, and lost control. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking anxiously at Ruslan. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just—the weather is so nice today—Mero said the baby songbirds would be hatching, and—” Too late, he noticed Mikail’s subtle shake of his head.
Ruslan’s expression darkened. He strode across the room and bent to grip Kiran’s shoulders. “Mero? Who is this?”
Kiran swallowed. Mikail’s expression made it clear Kiran had done something that would anger Ruslan far more than his error with the spell. “I...he...”
“He’s the cook’s boy,” Mikail said hurriedly, his eyes on Ruslan’s face. “We talk to him sometimes. When he brings food to our room. That’s all.”
Ruslan turned and looked at Mikail, then back at Kiran. “Is that all?” His voice was soft, but his eyes were anything but. Kiran knew it would only be worse if he lied. Ruslan always knew when they lied.
“I, um. Sometimes I play with him,” Kiran admitted in a voice that was little more than a whisper. He liked Mero, who was friendly and talkative, unlike the rest of the servants. Mero knew all kinds of interesting things, like where the birds nested and the lizards hid at night, and he was happy to show off his Taint.
“Kiran.” Ruslan didn’t look angry now, only disappointed, his deep voice sorrowful. “What have I told you?”
“You said the nathahlen aren’t like us and they’re just stupid and we shouldn’t bother with them, but Mero’s not like that, he’s nice—” Kiran’s explanation stumbled to a halt as Ruslan’s mouth tightened.
“I told you to keep yourself apart from them, Kiran, and you did not listen.” Ruslan’s voice was stern again, his hazel eyes cold.
“I didn’t think you meant Mero,” Kiran said miserably. He bowed his head, knowing what would come.
“It’s my fault, Ruslan, I should have watched him better.” Mikail’s slanted gray eyes creased with anxiety. “Kiran’s only little, he gets mixed up sometimes.”
Ruslan raised his eyebrows at Mikail. “Your instinct to protect your mage-brother is commendable, but Kiran is old enough to know better. I fear I must reinforce the lesson.” He lifted a hand. Kiran tried to brace himself, but it didn’t help.
The world turned to fire, flames melting his skin and charring his insides as his screams tore his throat raw, the agony building until it threatened to rip his mind apart...
The pain ebbed at last, leaving Kiran in a crumpled, whimpering heap. Through a blur of tears, he saw Mikail backed white-faced against the wall, his hands over his ears.
Strong arms lifted him, enfolding him in solid warmth. “There, now,” Ruslan said tenderly into his ear. “All over.” He cradled Kiran against his chest, one hand stroking through Kiran’s hair.
Kiran buried his face in the silken folds of Ruslan’s shirt and cried. Ruslan hummed softly and rubbed Kiran’s back in soothing circles, until Kiran’s sobs died away to sniffles.
A tentative finger touched Kiran’s shoulder. He lifted his head to see Mikail, his face still pale and his eyes solemn. Ruslan freed an arm and pulled Mikail in against his other side.
“You’ll remember now, Kiran, yes? You won’t make me hurt you anymore?”
Kiran nodded, gulping. Ruslan turned to Mikail. “And you’ll set him a good example—no more idle conversations with servants.”
“Yes, Ruslan,” Mikail said earnestly.
“Good.” Ruslan gave them both a last hug and stood. “Now. Perform the exercise again. If you hold your focus properly this time, Kiran, I’ll heal your fingers.”
Disorientation washed over Kiran as the memory abruptly receded. His fingers ached with remembered pain, his nose full of the jasmine and citrus-scented air of Ruslan’s house in Ninavel.
Belatedly, he realized he could move. Simon had relaxed the snare-binding. Kiran quelled the urge to scramble backward again, knowing it wouldn’t make any difference.
“What...what was that for?” From the ighantya rune still tingling Kiran’s skin, Simon must have experienced the spell-triggered memory along with Kiran, using his existing snare-binding as a link. Again, too subtle of a casting to disturb the Council’s detection spells. But what had Simon hoped to learn from such a commonplace childhood moment?