Tes swallowed, the truth rising in her throat. Her breath shuddered. At some point, she had begun to shake. She wondered if she was going into shock, thought it rude, that after everything she’d been through, her body was choosing now to fall apart.
She reached to steady herself on a table, but her balance was off, or else the table had moved, because she missed it, stumbled, gasped in pain as the movement tore at her side.
“She’s injured,” said Kell, getting to his feet.
“Hands bleed,” said Lila with a dismissive wave.
But the prince was staring at Tes’s stomach. “Not that much.”
She followed his gaze. A dark stain was spreading across her shirtfront. “Oh,” she said slowly. “That.” Her teeth were chattering.
“Lila, she’s hurt,” said Kell. “You should heal her.”
But the Antari wasn’t listening. Her thin fingers found Tes’s chin, and forced it up to meet her gaze.
“How did you fix the persalis?” Her face slid in and out of focus. Tes was so tired. Tired of running. Tired of keeping secrets. And if anyone would understand how it felt, to have a rare and wanted power, surely it was an Antari.
“I can see it,” she said, the words sliding between her teeth. “I can see the threads of magic that run through spells. That’s how I knew what it was. And how to fix it.”
For a moment, after she said it, all Tes felt was relief. Heavy as a blanket.
The prince made a sound that might have been a laugh. Lila and Tes both turned to him.
“Alucard will be devastated,” he said, “to learn he’s not the only one gifted with such sight.”
Tes stiffened. “There are others?”
“It would appear that way,” said Lila.
“I didn’t know.” Tes looked down at Vares, the little strings of light wound like wire through his bones. “I’ve never met anyone else who could manipulate the threads of magic.”
It was a very large room, but in that moment, all the air seemed to go out of it. Tes looked up, and found both Antari staring at her.
She felt as if she’d said something wrong.
“You’re a tinkerer,” said Lila slowly, as if understanding the words for the first time. “You see broken magic, and you fix it.” Tes nodded slowly. Lila looked to Kell Maresh. “Can you fix him?”
The words hung in the air. Tes’s mind struggled to wrap itself around them. “I don’t tinker with living things.”
“That isn’t what I asked,” said Lila. “You have just said you can not only see magic, but lay your hands on it. You can mend it when it’s broken.”
“I repair broken objects,” said Tes. “I’ve never fixed a person.”
“But can you do it?” she demanded.
“I don’t know!” answered Tes. “To even try would be against the laws of magic—”
“Hang the laws,” said Lila Bard, “if they are all that’s in your way.” She ran a hand through her dark hair. “If it can be done, then you will do it.” There it was. The order. Her power reduced to a tool, wielded by another hand.
Tes stood as tall as her injuries would allow. “And if I refuse?”
She didn’t see Lila draw a knife, but suddenly one was pressed against her throat. “Then so help me god, I will cut off pieces until you change your mind.”
Kell was on his feet, at Lila’s side, his hand tight on her arm.
“Enough,” he said, sliding into the royal tongue.
Lila shook him off. “You want me to heal her?” she snapped in the same language, gesturing with the tip of her knife as she spoke. “Fine. I will. As soon as she agrees to heal you.”
Tes shook her head. “There is a difference between an object and a human being,” she said to the prince, switching back to Arnesian. “If I make a mistake—”
“Then do not make one,” warned Lila.
But Tes held Kell Maresh’s two-toned gaze. She saw the strain in the set of his jaw, in the crease between his eyes, in the way he held himself, even now. Could it be done? She did not know. She felt herself wanting to reach for those broken threads, wanting to help. But this Antari was not an object in her shop. Repair was often trial and error. Half the time she fastened the threads wrong inside a spell, and had to undo the work and start again. But the vessel did not care when it was made of wood, or clay. A living body could fail under that strain.
“Your Highness…” she began.