Page 61 of This Dark Descent
“How did you escape the enchantment?” Mikira demanded, the words harsher than she meant. Or than she thought she meant. She couldn’t tell anymore.
“I didn’t.”
Mikira peered closer, and sure enough Quinn’s clothes had a bluish tint to them.
“The enchantments are just starting to wear off.” She glanced over her shoulder at the square, where the fighting and chaos had ebbed. “Which means we should probably get going.”
Mikira wheeled Atara around to face her, and Quinn’s eyes widened. Blood flecked the horse’s mouth and Mikira’s face, and the fury pumping through her felt palpable. She could only imagine how they looked.
“I’m getting tired of you interfering.” She angled her blade at Quinn. “If you won’t leave me alone, I’m going to make you.”
“This is the enchantment talking, Mikira,” Quinn said uneasily.
Some part of her knew Quinn was right, but that part was lost beneath magic and years of pent-up fury.
“Stop talking like you know me!” She brandished her knife.
A pouch struck her in the face. White powder exploded, covering her skin and Atara’s coat like a shock of cold water. Just like that, the anger was gone, leaving behind a strange sort of hollowness. Her shoulders slumped as her energy drained, and she blinked down at the chalky substance, rubbing it between her fingers.
“A calming enchantment to cancel out the anger,” Quinn explained.
That’s what the other bags’ colors had been for; countercharms to undo the enchantments. And if she and Quinn had found them, then others would have too.
“We need to go.” Mikira turned Atara about.
“A thank-you would have been nice,” Quinn replied lightly. “But for now, I’ll just be satisfied that you said ‘we.’”
Mikira swallowed a bitter laugh, the undercurrents of the enchantment still buzzing beneath her skin in an unwelcome reminder of what she’d nearly done. She couldn’t afford to think about it, though, not now.
So she put her head down and raced.
CHAPTER 21
MIKIRA
MIKIRA AND QUINNcrossed the finish line near the front of the pack, joining a bundle of racers dusted in different colored powders. Quinn had a slice across her forearm, and Mikira could already feel the bruises blooming on her side from the fall. Thankfully, her arm wound had healed enough not to reopen. Medics rushed forward to tend to them and their horses, but oddly, the eyes of the crowd weren’t focused on them.
Whispered rumors flew across the concourse. Mikira caught only pieces of it as she returned to the saddling area and dismounted.
“… an attack on the prince.”
“Thank the Goddess he escaped.”
“It’s the rebels, I’m sure of it.”
Atara lipped at her sleeve, asking for an apple, and Mikira laid a distracted hand on her head. Had a rebel really tried to attack Prince Darius? Princess Eshlin had been on that viewing platform too—why go for one royal sibling and not the other? Granted, Eshlin didn’t have the womanizing, cruel reputation that her brother did, but she was still a royal.
Atara snorted warm air into her face.
“All right, all right.” She undid the girth and removed the saddle, setting them aside along with the bridle. The horse had made it quite clearthat while she’d tolerate them for the duration of rides, that was where her patience ended.
Atara’s midnight coat gleamed red with dust, but the enchantment had been weak and short-lived, making it harmless now. Still, they’d both nearly lost control back there.
Didlose control, she corrected herself. The charm had spoken to something in each of them, a hidden seed of fury that took only a drop of anger to sprout. Mikira had come undone in a way she’d never allowed herself before. Had let her anger fuel her first and foremost. It had been terrifying, but it had also been freeing.
Mikira leaned her head against Atara’s. “No one else has ever seen me like that,” she murmured. “I’m not sure I ever want them to.”
The horse pressed comfortingly against her, and Mikira closed her eyes. She could never be that person in front of Ailene or Nelda, never let herself falter. She didn’t have the luxury of a moment’s weakness. She was the one who had to stay strong, who always had to do the right thing. She was holding herself together with nothing more than fury and sheer determination.
