The Stray Spirit by R.K. Ashwick

Author:R.K. Ashwick
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: RK Ashwick Books

Chapter

Twenty-Five

Cal held Emry’s arm all along the walk from the fane. He said nothing, expecting her to move away when they entered the carriage—but she sat right next to him, holding fast to the hand he had almost lost. Unsure of how to react, he settled for looking out the window and holding his arm very still—as if a single movement would make her realize who she was touching and let go.

But she only released him when they reached her rooms, where she dropped her satchel and immediately turned back around for tea. “Green? Breakfast? Mint?” she called from halfway out the door.

“Um—”

“Chamomile, that would be perfect. Be right back!”

As her hurried footsteps faded down the hall, Emry slouched on the sofa and stared at his hand, the one that had been glowing not two hours ago. Though pale and shaky, his fingers were still there—well and whole and able to hold a lute. Visions of the alternative crept into his mind, of what could have happened if Aspen and Brinna hadn’t intervened. Hadn’t begged a strange spirit to help save his hand and, with it, his future.

Emry looked up. His little savior was sitting on the coffee table, holding up their own hands and concentrating very hard on the space between their fingers. Forget repaying Cal—he had no idea how to begin repaying Aspen.

He lowered his hand and watched the spirit’s efforts for a while before breaking the silence. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to create a shield like the spirit at the stream.” Aspen’s focus didn’t waver. “I’ve got to learn how to protect things, too. Do my part.”

“Right.” Emry hesitated—a thought had come to him, different from the fear-mongering visions, but nearly as gloomy. “We’ll need to travel to Tazlo soon, then. To get you back to your grove.”

“Oh.” A shadow passed over Aspen’s face, and they looked up at Emry. “I suppose so.”

Emry frowned. “Isn’t that what you were going to protect?”

Aspen paused, then returned to their efforts. “Yes, of course.”

Cal shoved the door open with her shoulder, bearing a tray loaded with tea and cookies. “They didn’t have chamomile, but they did have ginger…” She looked at Aspen. “What are you doing?”

“Shields,” they both said.

Aspen relinquished some of the coffee table space so Cal could set down the tray—but before Emry could inspect the cookies, she sat down on the sofa next to him. “May I see your hand?”

“It feels fine, I promise.” He was about to deflect with a joke about medical degrees when she carefully rolled up his sleeve and ran a finger along his palm.

After that, his brain promptly shut down.

“…Em?”

Gods, there was the nickname again. “I’m sorry?” He looked up from his hand, where her grip slid smoothly up to his fingertips.

“I asked if you’ve lost any feeling in your fingers.”

This would be easier if he had.

“No, no, I can feel everything,” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. Aspen stared at them from their seat on the coffee table, a smirk on their face.

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