Page 46 of This Dark Descent
So Ari did what she would have done had she seen Rivkah curled with her knees to her chest and her face buried behind them.
She sat down beside Mikira and hugged her.
The girl started, and for a moment, Ari thought she might pull away, but instead she leaned into Ari’s arms. They sat side by side against thestall for some time. Neither of them spoke, but Ari didn’t mind the silence. She’d never been good with words, never known the right thing to say. What could she say when the truth was something she couldn’t give?
Mikira wound a piece of straw around one finger. “Do you ever feel like no matter what you do, it’s always the wrong thing?” Her voice sounded as bruised as her body looked.
Ari’s fingers brushed her Saba’s necklace. “Yes. As a child, I was so afraid of doing something wrong that I rarely did anything at all.”
So much of her life had been filtered through other people. Looking after Rivkah, obeying her parents, performing the chores they gave her as if afraid what she might do left to her own devices. She couldn’t think of a single time she’d done something because she wanted to. Something for herself.
Except the night she’d gone looking for the spellbook.
Except the night you took back your power, said the voice, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, it wasn’t going to leave. She could no longer deny that the more she used her magic, the more she felt her thoughts changing, slipping away from her like water through her fingers. But neither could she let go of this power, the strength it gave her.
Whatever this was, exhaustion or confusion or something else, she would figure it out.
Mikira snorted, tearing off a piece of straw and tossing it across the barn. “I can’t seem to stop myself from doing things. No matter how much I muck stuff up, I just keep stumbling into the next bad decision. My family would be better off without me.”
The words panged in the hollow space around Ari’s heart. Her family was certainly better off without her. So far away, she couldn’t hurt anybody else. It was why she’d left. That, and the fear in their eyes. The blame. But Mikira had done nothing but try to help hers. She couldn’t be faulted for trying to survive in a game of kings.
“I know what you’ve done to protect them,” she said. “No one who you care about that much would be better off without you.”
Mikira’s fingers closed around the straw, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “But what if I can’t do this? You’re all relying on me. My family is relying on me. I already ruined this once, and now Damien’s risking even more. What if—”
She cut off, opening her eyes as Ari laid a hand over hers. The warmth of it surprised her. When was the last time she’d touched someone like that? In friendship, not in fear.
“You’re not alone, Mikira,” she said gently.
The girl stared at Ari’s hand, transfixed. Then she drew a deep, shuddering breath, and placed her other hand over Ari’s. “Neither are you.”
Ari nearly pulled away, but Mikira’s hand tightened. “I know you have something at stake here too, and I know you don’t want to talk about it, but whatever it is, you’re risking a lot to help me, and I’ll never forget that.”
Words hovered at Ari’s lips. For the briefest moment, she had the absurd notion to tell Mikira everything. To prove her wrong or to prove her right, or perhaps to simply speak the darkness into existence, if only to unwrap it from her soul. But she didn’t want to destroy this moment. The way Mikira was looking at her; it was like Rivkah had once looked at her, as if she would always be there.
She liked the idea of being there for someone again.
“When’s the last time someone took care of you instead?” Ari asked.
Mikira’s attempt at a smile faltered. “I don’t remember.”
Ari squeezed her hand. “Well then, maybe we can take care of each other.”
This time, Mikira’s smile was bright. “I’d like that.”
Iri dropped his head over the stall door, huffing hot air into Mikira’s face. She laughed and stroked the horse’s nose. “Yes, I’m here for you too, you oaf.”
Ari marveled at the way Mikira’s face changed when the horse appeared,shedding a thousand worries. Was there anything in her life that transformed her so completely?
Making golems, she thought. It felt like a part of her, a part she no longer wanted to deny. She might not be able to tell Mikira everything, but she could tell her enough.
Be careful, warned the voice, but she pushed it aside.
“Atara isn’t a normal enchant,” she said, and braced herself for Mikira’s look of puzzled suspicion. “She’s what’s called a golem, a Kinnish creature of clay given life. They’re incredibly protective by nature. I suspect that’s all she was trying to do in that fight—protect you.”
She expected Mikira to pull away, to react like the boys in the square when they discovered her magic, but the only look that crossed the girl’s face was clear understanding.
“That’s why you didn’t let me see the horse before she was finished. Practicing Kinnish magic is even more dangerous than being unlicensed…” She trailed off. “Ari, do youhavea license?”
