Page 55 of The Prince's Sacrifice

“Beluna and Denil,” Pel answered.

Tor frowned. This sparked a vague memory, but once again not enough to stick.

“Who?” he asked.

Pel hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Two of the guards who went up the mountain with us.”

Like a veil had been lifted, the memories burst into Tor’s mind. He let out a cry of pain and clutched at his head. Distantly, he heard Pel let out a cry of alarm.

“Lara, get the healer!”

Tor heard the rustle of Larexa’s clothing, and he managed to gasp out, “No, no. Don’t go. It’s fine.”

He forced open his eyes—when had he closed them?—and saw that Larexa was looking at Pel, so Tor transferred his attention that way.

“It’s fine. I’m all right.” Pel shot him a look and Tor amended, “I’llbeall right. I woke up without remembering what happened. It was a bit of a shock when it all came back to me, that’s all. But I don’t need the healer. Again, I’m assuming.”

It would explain part of why Tor was feeling so strange. The loan of magic by a healer accelerated natural healing, but it had always felt to Tor like there was something inside him that didn’t really belong. It had never felt actively painful or quite so wrong that it was worth it to heal the slow way instead, but it still felt… foreign.

If he felt this weak and off, though, intervention had definitely been necessary.

“Come sit back down,” he invited Larexa.

He caught Pel’s nod out of his peripheral vision as Larexa came to sit down again. Huh. Well, if Tor had to feel this way, if it had helped the siblings get along at all, that was an amazing benefit.

He tried to rally his thoughts. “Let’s never do that again.”

Pel huffed out a laugh and leaned into his side again. Every point of connection soothed something inside of Tor, like it was the world righting itself to the way it was supposed to be when he hadn’t even realized it was off-kilter.

“I thought you were going to kill yourself, you fool,” Pel murmured.

Tor decided it wouldn’t help to agree.

“What happened?” Pel asked, pulling back enough to look at him carefully. “We all know that’s not how magic works.”

Tor cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, something I haven’t done in a long time. It’s not something I thought I could do from this distance, but it seemed like a better idea to try than not.”

He’d been terrified that they were all going to die buried violently under tons of rock, but he hadn’t known what else todo. He’d known Pel wouldn’t leave without him, and not even to save Pel could Tor abandon all those people to their deaths.

“What did you do?” Pel asked again.

Tor sucked in a breath, exhaled slowly, and breathed in again for good measure as he considered his answer. They’d always kept it a secret, but Tor supposed he’d rather ruined that. Pel certainly deserved an answer.

“I can go if you want,” Larexa offered.

Tor had actually forgotten she was there, but he trusted her.

“It’s up to you,” he told her. “I don’t mind you knowing, but are you ready to pretend you don’t know? I imagine there’s likely to be endless speculation, and I would prefer that it’s not spread about. I need to get back to Alossa quickly.”

Larexa’s brow furrowed, but she assured him, “I won’t say anything. You have my word.”

He reached out and curled his fingers around Pel’s, who immediately weaved them together so that their hands were clasped. It really was the best feeling, giving Tor an instant boost—and clearly, hiding what they were to one another would be useless with Larexa now.

Carefully, Tor said, “I borrowed magic from my brother.”

They stared at him, not seeming to process the words. Pel was blinking at him owlishly, and Larexa’s mouth actually gaped open a bit.

“You… borrowed magic. From your brother. The High King. In Alossa.”