Page 168 of Burn Her They Said
I shouldn’t be doing this. We shouldn’t be doing this. Why am I taking this risk?
Because I know what it is like to suffer alone, and I refuse to abandon him.
The heat of his gaze trails down where I reach before the shock of his finger grazing my own rolls through me. But he pulls away too quickly.
I suck in a breath when he reaches again, pausing long enough that the edge of our pinkie fingers rest against each other. Our contact is feather-light, and sparks scatter up my arm, then arc through my chest and stomach.
Varic shifts, creating a sort of friction which sparks within each of my fingertips. I close my eyes and breathe this moment in, needing more than anything to savor this point of connection.
He drags his finger around the side of my own, caressing my skin, though we shouldn’t take this risk. But it feels so good to touch him.
I clamp my jaw shut when he repeats the motion, caging the cry clawing its way up my throat.
Unable to express just how badly I want it to be him.
How I only ever want Varic to be the one to touch me, to dance with me, and to hold my hand. But we can’t. Because I cannot have him. Not in the way I need. Not in the way my heart and mind yearn for in equal measure. Instead, I will be tormented with the reality of intensely and pathetically pining for him while the Emperor plays increasingly confusing mind-games.
Yet here I am, risking everything to comfort my Lead Guard. Who is so overcome with distress from having to observe me being led in a sultry dance I selected to please our Emperor.
Varic’s shaking has stilled, and his skin has slowly returned to its natural brown, while the redness has decreased everywhere except the tips of his ears and the distinct line curving over both cheekbones and the ridge of his nose.
His hand hovers between us in question, and I pull in a sharp intake of breath, feeling as if my fingers are curling around my heart when I draw them into fists, then clasp them before me. I swallow hard against the knot in my throat, but it does nothing for the throbbing ache in my chest as the connection to Varic’s mood dissipates, now that he has warded me out.
The Queen turns and beams a wide smile at me, and I force my cheeks to rise in acknowledgement, to which she winks before returning to converse with the Prince and some other sorcerer. Confusion prickles along my skin as I witness the ease with which they interact with others, while I have never been given a copy of this script for which I have been cast as a main character.
Dread drifts down to settle in my marrow. Cursed to live a life of wanting, when existing in this prison was easier before I ever knew what I could have had, should I have hidden the true strength of my power. Had I known to conceal my ability and convince everyone I was average, normal, nothing special. Instead, I live with regret so immense, it’s infinite.
What was one more adult unfairly punishing a child? What was one more day of accepting our fate as citizens of the Empire? How could I have known that using my power would result in a lifetime of serving the Emperor?
Oh, how I wish I could have been just like any other witch, assigned to serve in some other role, given the freedom to form relationships. To marry and have children.
If I could go back in time, I would. I would suppress this ability. I would refuse to reveal the wealth of power contained within my being.
Hold it in, little one. Hold it back. You must dampen your magic. Do not let them know what you are, or they will exploit it. Yes, that’s it. Suppress, or they will make you hold in far more later.
Yet I made the wrong choice. I let them see what I was capable of, and because of this, my magic—the very thing that got me into this mess—has been overused, abused, and exhausted.
Please let me go back.
To the time before I knew what I was missing.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Aftermath
A collective sigh rolls through the room as Varic locks the door. We all pause until Drusilla’s footsteps recede far enough away before dropping our shoulders. Lars moves to my bedside while Fray takes his place by the window, fiddling with the leather cord around his neck as he peers out into the moonlit garden. Cirrin leans against the opposite side of the headboard, while Malin rests against the foot of the bed as he stares toward the door.
Gooseflesh rolls up my arms, and I glare at the stone walls of the castle, which only seem to amplify the brisk chill of the nighttime temperatures, explaining why the fireplace was lit in our absence. The joints in my fingers ache from the frigid air as I prepare to climb into bed, uncertain as to how Varic has kept quiet this long, aside from the torrent of pain he must be enduring.
“Cirrin.” I wait for his gaze to rise from the page of his book before asking, “Will you please heal Varic?”
“No.” Varic’s voice is firm, and I release a breath when a familiar prickle of heat builds in the center of my chest.
He clears his throat, and I drop the covers when he runs his knuckles up and down the back of my arm. A shudder rolls through me with the motion catching and releasing the fabric of this useless see-through mesh robe.
“I need to speak with you.” Varic’s voice is thick, and I shiver when his breath casts down the curve of my neck. “Please.”
He looks at me with such aching need, I nod in assent as he grabs hold of my hand. I lock eyes with him, and a jolt pierces my chest when I trace the hardened edges of his tormented expression. That brilliance which so often shines from within him is dimmed, and his eyes dart around the room as if he’s a caged animal—looking for an escape like every time we enter confined spaces.
