“What do you mean?” Angelique asked once she rejoined Evariste in the hallway and took his hand again—growing more comfortable with the gesture every time she did it.
“You might think I’ve physically suffered the most…and perhaps it is true. Having your magic forcibly pulled from you is a very painful experience, one I hope you never have to experience,” Evariste said. “But I can see how pain has left its own mark on you.”
The statement surprised her.
How has pain left a mark on me? I’m far more exhausted than I ever was, yes, but while it’s been difficult without Evariste, I don’t know that I experienced much physical pain.
To avoid answering, Angelique tugged him into a sitting room, which had glass doors that opened up into an outdoor balcony.
It seemed the sitting room had seen some of the action in the battle against the constructs. Goose feathers spilled from ripped, velvet cushions; one of the thick drapes that covered the doors had been yanked off its curtain rod, and a glass figurine of some sort had fallen off a display table, shattering on the rug-covered floor.
Angelique held her bucket out and released her magic. It pounced on the glass, finding all the shards with a sharpened edge and pulling them into the air where they twinkled and glittered. She turned her magic so it dropped the glass shards in the bucket and then released it.
“I’m not sure what you mean by pain leaving a mark on me,” Angelique said. “I don’t know that I’ve aged at all since you…”
“I didn’t mean a physical mark per se.” Evariste opened the door and stepped outside.
The sun was sinking on the horizon. It wasn’t sunset yet, but the crimson gold haze backlit the mountains that were turning blue with the fading light.
They were on the second floor of the palace—which afforded them an excellent view of the courtyard that burrowed between the palace and its short protective wall. Beyond the wall stretched the city of Juwel, which glittered in the afternoon light.
“If not a physical mark, then what?” Angelique prompted.
Evariste set his free hand down on the palace’s stone wall and ran his fingers across the worn rock.
He’s starved for sensations, Angelique realized. Sights, the way things feel…
“It’s the way you move,” he said almost absently. “You’re expecting a fight. And while I’m glad you’ve mastered your magic more than I ever hoped for, the fact that it was necessary brings me great regret. I wish I could have spared you the fight.”
Angelique listened thoughtfully, shivering when the wind swept through the courtyard. Although it was no longer winter, it was chilly, and the wind had a frigid bite to it. She glanced at Evariste, but he didn’t seem to notice. He stood, taken with the beauty of the sky.
“Even if you’d been with me, it would have been a fight. The Chosen…they’re like a disease, silently spreading everywhere before any of us knew what happened.” She set her bucket down so she could paw through a pocket sewn to the interior of her cloak and find the flame-shaped jewel spelled with a heat charm that Stil had given her when she stocked up at Chanceux with Quinn.
She whispered to it—waking its magic—then tucked it between hers and Evariste’s clasped palms.
“Perhaps, but I think the most telling mark of your pain is that there is not a single mage here with you.” Evariste looked away from the sunset and settled his mismatched eyes—the left being a beautiful shade of forest green while the right was a breathtaking blue—on her face. “And that you haven’t suggested we notify another mage that I have been freed.”
Angelique opened her mouth and tried to find a reply—one that wouldn’t sound as bitter as she felt towards the rest of the mages from the Conclave—but couldn’t say anything at all.
Evariste tugged her so they stood face-to-face, then took her free hand in his and squeezed. “Whatever they did to you, I’ll make sure it’s over. Whether it was the Council, your old instructors—we’ll handle it.”
Angelique slightly shook her head. “How do you have the strength to do this?”
Evariste blinked. “Do what?”
“This!” Angelique tried to gesture with her hands, but Evariste still held both so it was more of a flopping motion. “Offer to help me when you’ve been in what I imagine is immeasurable pain—for months!”
Evariste’s expression was unreadable. “Because you’re important to me.”
For one panicked moment, Angelique thought of dream-but-actually-real-Evariste before she successfully shoved the memory away. No, it’s the same for me. I kept searching for Evariste no matter how exhausted I was because I care about him. And I never had the chance to tell him…
The thought brought back the memory of the first few wretched months after he’d been taken, when she’d been riddled with guilt at the thought that she could have done something to stop the attackers. She’d also deeply regretted the fight they’d had about her magic shortly before he was taken.
She fidgeted in place.
It’s awkward to acknowledge it now. So much has happened…and I’m so happy to see him, but so much has changed. And I don’t know where we stand or what any of this means.
“I’m sorry,” Angelique blurted out. She wasn’t sure if the apology rushed out of her because it had been a weight she’d been carrying for years or because she was trying to distract herself.
Evariste’s eyes had drifted off to the sliver of sun still visible over the mountains, but they abruptly flicked back to her. “Sorry for what?”
“For our fight. The one we had about my magic—whether or not it was dangerous—before the Chosen took you,” Angelique said.
Evariste wrinkled his forehead and somehow managed to look handsome in his regret. “Oh, Angel. Have you been thinking of that for all these years?” He let go of her hands and instead placed his on her shoulders—which was fine, except the wind was still cold, and now he didn’t even have a piece of the heat charm warming him!
“Maybe, yes,” Angelique scanned him, trying to figure out if she could put the ruby in his pocket, but there were no visible pockets in his cloak. “Because you were right about my magic. I was afraid of it when I needed to master it.”
“Then you finally believe your magic isn’t dangerous?” Evariste asked.
Angelique snorted. “Oh, it’s dangerous. It’s not something I will handle carelessly, but all the practice I’ve had means I can maintain control of it.” Angelique tilted her head as she thought. “But there are many kinds of core magic that have the potential to be dangerous—elemental core magic and weather magic are obvious examples. Just as a fire mage is careful with his or her magic, I must be careful with mine. But careful does not mean I have to lock it up and never use it.”
Angelique paused, surprised to discover her words were true. I don’t love my core magic—I’ve suffered too much for that. But I am willing to use it now that I can see how it’s necessary to protect, as I protected Evariste, Snow White, and the warriors from the constructs. Quinn was right in that my magic is like a soldier’s path. Instead of mindlessly killing, it’s my duty to protect and defend.