I turn back, too, narrow my eyes, and point an accusing finger. “Answer or die!” The man’s face drains of what little color it had left, and I burst out laughing.
“Euphoria,” he wheezes, struggling to sit up. “Paid five silvers for it, and the little leech stole it with one touch.” He spits in my direction. The gob lands about a foot from my boot. It’s pink.
The rumble in Beta Sinta’s throat reminds me of a volcano about to erupt. This could get messy. I’m not in the mood for messy.
“You bumped into me.” At least I think he did. I peel Beta Sinta’s arm off me and walk away, finding it takes an unusual amount of effort to put one foot in front of the other. The rope pulls, and I totter. Beta Sinta steadies me with a firm hand on my lower back, hesitating before following. I almost ask if he’d like to beat the man to a pulp before we move on but, really, this is Beta Sinta. There’s no need to be polite.
“What about the addict?” Carver asks in a low voice, handing Beta Sinta back the knife he threw.
“Leave him,” Beta Sinta answers, sheathing the blade. He’s at my elbow, his heat searing my arm. “Make sure he’s not following.”
The addict slips from my mind as soon as he’s out of sight, growing hazy like everything else. Cheerful, carefree, I hum, floating up and down the market rows. There’s something else I need. What?
Can’t remember. Don’t really care.
I stumble. Beta Sinta catches me, his hands circling my waist.
“You’re high on euphoria.” He’s holding on to me. I think he’s holding me up. His large hands skim up my ribs, steadying me. “A strong dose, calibrated to a man twice your size.” He gazes down at me, and I see my face reflected in the darkest part of his gray eyes. “How did that happen?”
I motion for him to lower his head so I can whisper in his ear. His cheek brushes mine, and warmth rushes through me. I press into his jaw, curious about the feel of the two days’ worth of beard on his skin. It prickles, but not unpleasantly.
“I can steal magic,” I tell him. “If you had any, I’d steal yours.”
He lifts his head, his eyes shadowed. I don’t know what to make of his expression. I don’t know what to make of anything. I’ve never felt this way before—disconnected from myself, confused, and happy. It’s a relief not to be scared anymore. So freeing. I should do this more often. I’m having the time of my life!
“I can give it away, too.” I direct some euphoria at Beta Sinta. It bounces back to me with a shudder, and I frown. “You don’t want any?” Is he supposed to have a choice? I try again, and the same thing happens. “There’s something very strange about you.” For some reason, that makes me laugh so hard I sound like a donkey.
After I stop braying, it occurs to me that the problem might be me. I wiggle out of Beta Sinta’s grasp and throw some magic at Kato.
Kato grins and leans to the left. “Everything’s pink!” He turns, loses his balance, and upends an entire display of boots, belts, and other leather goods.
“For the Gods’ sakes!” Beta Sinta mutters. He hands the furious vendor a silver coin for the inconvenience. “Flynn! Take care of him. Take him back to the inn. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, knock anything else over, or kill anyone by accident.”
“Oh, no!” I cry. “We mustn’t kill by accident. Only on purpose.”
“My sentiment exactly,” Beta Sinta grumbles, taking my hand and pulling me down the street. He looks a lot like I might be on his kill list.
I giggle. Carver follows.
“Where are we going?” I dance a Fisan jig around Beta Sinta, making him turn in circles. The dust I kick up shimmers like ice crystals under a winter sun. I long for the cold, the kind of cold that makes your brain freeze.
Where is my brain? I can’t feel my head!
My hands fly up, and I dig through my braid, pulling it apart until I feel scalp. Oh, good. Still there.
“We have one more thing to buy,” Beta Sinta says.
“I knew it!” I yell, clapping in triumph. “What?”
“A drying cloth.”
That sounds boring. Something shiny catches my eye. I veer to the right, taking Beta Sinta with me. “A sword! I want a sword. Can I have a sword?”
“You can’t even lift a sword,” he says, but he follows me along the vendor’s table anyway.
“I can. Watch me.” I reach for the biggest, shiniest blade in the merchant’s wares. It won’t budge. “That’s odd. Someone must have glued it.” I lean over the sword and keep going until my face lands on metal.