Page 144 of Burn Her They Said
I arch a brow at Fray, to which he nods once in affirmation. Then everything occurs in a blur?—
Fray detaches the strap securing his dagger while I reach up to take hold of its grip. I spin my body around so fast I catch Varic off guard and slam my forearm into his chest, forcing him to step backward until his spine meets the wide trunk of an old oak tree.
“Oof.” His eyes dart around, seemingly in shock at my handiwork.
Our chests heave together, making it impossible for him to observe the way my right hand presses the flat of the blade to his pulse point, touching his skin just enough to let him know it exists. Or how I hold the pointer finger of his dominant hand with my left in threat, as I could easily snap it with one quick move. I hitch my body to the side and force his legs wider to rob him of any stability, then press the heel of my boot to the top of his foot and secure his opposite.
Even though he is significantly stronger, he would risk me cutting his carotid if I were to press the sharp side to his neck, only to stumble with a broken finger should he try to attack me.
“You could have just told me you’ve been trained,” Varic says, convincing no one with his smug expression.
“Would you have believed me, or would you have asked for a demonstration?”
He cocks his head to the side. “Both. Though a modicum of warning would be nice.”
“But not nearly as entertaining,” Lars chimes in.
“Or hilarious,” Fray says, appearing as pleased as I’ve ever seen him. “I wish we could have a painting made. I think this would be a pleasant image to hang by your bed, don’t you, Tasch?”
Varic narrows his eyes at them in feigned annoyance.
“Tasch, please be careful,” Cirrin says, bracing a hand over his forehead. “While I am capable of healing a sliced artery and a broken ankle, I’d prefer not to.”
“I promise to be careful,” I say, looking up at the playfulness emanating from Varic’s expression while he shares the feeling itself with me.
“I still have a free hand, you know.” He produces said hand by shaking it.
“Go on, then. Show me what an assailant would do with this free hand.”
His eyebrows rise, and he hesitates long enough for me to extend the arm holding the blade just enough to capture his outstretched fingers between my arm and chest, all while holding his other hand hostage, which has to hurt from the angle I’m gripping it.
“You know I can overpower you any second.” His voice is low as he drops his forehead over my own.
“I am aware this is nothing like a truly life-threatening situation.” My joints scream from holding the pose too long, though Varic does not seem to be complaining about my pinning him against a tree with a dagger pressed to the tender flesh of his throat. And even though His Majesty will be expecting us back any moment, I cannot seem to make myself move away from him.
“I merely wanted to prove that you were wrong to assume Hendry failed to train me in defense, were our magic ever made inaccessible. Like you said.” I release some of the tension in my muscles as he leans in, pressing against the blunt metal, which I hold too close to his pulse point, so I loosen my grip on the blade to make sure I do not nick his skin.
“You worry about my opinion of Hendry, whereas I see a witch who paid attention well enough to recall how to take an assailant. And in such a way as to have the upper hand, were it truly a life-threatening situation.” His eyes sparkle with mischief as he narrows them for emphasis. “I see a witch who wants to live.”
His cheeks rise in a smile as the meaning of his words permeates, sinking in until I have to acknowledge the truth in them. Because he is right. Learning how to fight did feel empowering, with Hendry helping me to care enough and pay close attention. I took him and his lessons seriously any time we had a moment to train without the Emperor knowing.
The light behind Varic’s eyes still shines from within, though some sense of knowing now ripples through them.
My body moves without my influence, and I carefully relinquish my hold as I take a step backward. Though it feels as if some part of me stays—hovering—connected to him in ways I cannot begin to explain.
This sorcerer understands my inner workings. He recognizes those long-lost parts and reflects them back so I might know each fragment. Helping me to know who I am—or who I could be, were we given the freedom. Aiding me in returning to something resembling a whole being. My essence—that which he extracts from me so effortlessly, enabling me to connect each thread into a wider tapestry, weaving in the frayed strings over threadbare spaces. Allowing me the clarity to see their design for what feels like the very first time.
“Tasch.” His voice is gruff with emotion.
I meet his gaze, and my heart leaps before I turn and offer Fray his dagger.
“Hey,” Varic says, and I flinch, as this forest doesn’t offer enough acreage to avoid the area of his influence. “What is it? Is it Hendry?”
Some power I cannot name pulses through me, and I stare at the ground until it expels from me in a torrent?—
“No!” My scream echoes through the trees, and birds fly off from me scaring them, though the voice did not sound like my own. It was as if it were delivered to our ears from somewhere distant and older.
Awareness ripples through me, and I can say with startling clarity that someone from the past is communicating through me. Bringing with it a sense of familiarity—of an innate connection—with a being channeling their anger so I might be their voice.
