Diamond in the Rough - Vivienne Savage Page 0,8
and stumbled forward. Steam rose from her skin, followed by swirling waves of heat billowing from her. The silks ignited, and for one terrifying moment, she waited to burn alive. It didn’t happen, but the flames wouldn’t stop and continued to twist and spiral, raising above her.
Rosalia willed her body to move. For the safety of those at the marketplace, she fought to rein in the awesome power stirring within her, only to find it resistant—a life force of its own awakening from long slumber. She’d been wrong to assume they were all gone. Spectators in windows watched, their faces barely visible behind fogged glass. Now people screamed for another reason entirely, in terror of the woman wreathed in flame. It spread faster than wildfire. Her blaze was a wick dipped in kerosene.
A feline hiss preceded the next blast of cold air, frigid winds cutting through the flames rapidly restored as quickly as her assailant could extinguish them. She pushed forward, physically and magically, heaving her flames and body at the icy apparition. They collided, cold and fire, frost and unbelievable heat. Rosalia didn’t know which of them screamed the loudest.
Within moments the solid shape of animated ice melted into slush and water, leaving Rosalia lying facedown on the dirty street with only the ashen scraps of what had been a fine dress. She didn’t dare to move. Her body refused to allow it even as white light washed over her.
“There, there,” a woman said, her soothing tone accompanied by the blanketing of fabric over her shoulders. “Be still and rest your soul. Rest just a moment, for a moment is all that we have.”
Who?
“Breathe, child. Breathe.”
Whatever covered her was warm and luxurious, softer than silk and light as a cloud. She huddled within it, did as beckoned, and drew herself into a sitting position. Her eyes opened to see the weathered features of Enchantress Elora, the white-haired wizard greeting her with a maternal smile. She held her staff in one hand, its gemstone tip emitting a gentle amber light. Rosalia wore her robe, leaving the mage elder in only an elegant, lace-trimmed blue frock of the deepest sapphire and ornate gold.
“Elora,” she rasped. “Y-you—how?”
“Let’s just say a little bird told me you were in need of aid.”
Aid didn’t begin to describe what she needed as her awareness returned and she realized she was crouched naked in the middle of a street in the market square. Around them, what remained of her flames threatened to burn out, nothing more than soft embers and wisps of smoke. In the distance, the shriek of guard whistles sounded.
Elora rose to her feet and beckoned for her do the same. “Come now. This place isn’t safe, and our time has run short.”
Stumbling to her feet pitched her forward into the older woman’s arms. Her legs became jelly, and she still couldn’t feel her toes. Instead of crashing to the ground and taking Elora with her, the guild mistress supported her with surprising strength.
“I have you. Come. Come. We have not a moment to spare.”
That much Rosalia knew, but where they were going and how they’d get there when she could barely walk was a conundrum she couldn’t wrap her mind around, until they stepped backwards and the world around them warped. Light shimmered around them as the rapid thunder of city watchmen steps pounded against cobblestone. They burst into view around the corner, and then Gold Valley faded.
Plush carpet spread beneath her bare feet and the fragrance of rich, spicy incense invaded her nose. A riot of smells replaced the market stall odors of smoke and a hundred shoppers. Gold Valley vanished as the spacious mage tower sitting room materialized.
Elora guided her to the settee and closed the robe around her body. Within seconds of securing its fastenings, she reached within the pocket of her frock and removed a narrow vial with a shimmering orange substance, its glow as bright as liquid fire. “You’re safe for now. Drink this and let it warm you from within to replenish what was spent.”
Rosalia didn’t think twice about upending the vial and downing its contents. Cinnamon and heat raced down her throat. Agony arose from what had been numbing cold, sensation arising in explosions of raw pain flying down her nerves. Magic did not come without a cost, and healing could not be done without pain.
A lifetime seemed to pass before she could move her fingers and toes without discomfort. She shuddered within the robe and raised