Blood for Magic by Aundrea Singer

Author:Aundrea Singer [Singer, Aundrea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-63476-693-7
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2015-11-23T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven: A Skein of Red Yarn

THE WORLD stopped making sense after that.

Tarquin was aware of very little beyond how much everything hurt, and of the cold like being buried in ice, or of heat that seared the flesh off his bones.

He called for help, shouting through his snapped hinge of a jaw until his throat gave out, certain he was in the clutches of the haldur. Sometimes he knew the haldur had killed Faladir, or Ainya or Prea, and he would cry for them and for Prea’s unborn baby, inconsolable until he heard singing and could sleep again. Sometimes he’d dream of an army of golems, watching as the gleaming metal phalanx methodically killed everyone he cared about and everyone he ever knew. He would beg to be taken to the Kawj, insisting he could save the Realm if they’d only let him. But they wouldn’t, and when he fought to get there by himself, they held him down. He could feel the weight of the magic like boulders, keeping him still, and he couldn’t get free because he had no way to make himself bleed for it.

Ainya talked to him a lot. She told him that she and Five were on their way back from Telir when they’d found a rabbit nearly sliced in two by a bear trap. That was why Five had needed to come with her, Ainya said: so he’d be in the right place in time to save Tarquin. Ainya explained that the bear trap was for Faladir, the Gold Bear. That made Tarquin the rabbit, and he didn’t appreciate that very much, but Ainya left before he could tell her.

He knew Prea sat with him because of her singing and how she held his hand. But the collectors were there too, waiting for him, and he was so afraid for Prea and her baby that he tried to send her away. But Prea wouldn’t listen, and she wouldn’t leave.

No one left him. Sometimes Tarquin would force his way out of the frozen, burning darkness until he was almost awake, and he would hear Edonay’s chanting, or Ainya’s low, measured voice as she read the Histories. Isobel came, and Tarquin told his mother how sorry he was, over and over again. Sometimes he begged Faladir to forgive him too, until he remembered that he couldn’t. Faladir was dead.

Sometimes Tarquin would feel someone crawl into the bed and lie next to him, wrapping Tarquin’s shaking body in his arms. Tarquin knew it was Five because his skin would be pebbly and yet smooth, and as cool as fresh water when he pressed against the red heat of Tarquin’s back. Five would stay with him until Five’s body was too hot to be comfortable anymore and he would slip away again.

Tarquin would have entire conversations with Five in his head: Who are you? What happened to you? Why would anyone do something so terrible? And Five would speak and give reasonable, satisfying answers that Tarquin could never remember.

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