Celeste

  My body moved before my mind could.

  I spun, striking hard, and felt the crack of contact before the man even had time to flinch. His grip broke, and he stumbled back, clutching his jaw.

  I stepped after him, Light already surging to my palms, ready to shoot whoever had dared touch me.

  I was certain it was a bounty hunter. That they’d found me.

  The glow built, heat crawling up my arms, until I saw his face. He didn’t look like a hunter. No armor, no weapon. Just a farmer’s tunic and a pair of terrified eyes.

  Gasps rippled through the crowd. Every face around me had gone still, fixed not on the man, but on my hands.

  Light flared there, bright and raw, the gold-white burn of Ardor spilling between my fingers.

  I froze.

  The glow reflected in their eyes – fear, awe, and something in between.

  I forced a breath and released it. The Light unraveled, fading back into the air until only the afterimage burned behind my eyelids.

  The man on the ground didn’t move. His mouth worked soundlessly, too afraid to speak or rise.

  A shadow passed in front of me. Trent stepped between us, one arm half-raised as if to hold the crowd back.

  “That’s enough,” he said, voice low but firm. “She’s not here to harm anyone.” His words wavered in the heavy silence, but for the first time, no one dared come closer.

  I turned before anyone could speak.

  My boots struck hard against the dirt, the sound too loud in the silence I left behind. The crowd parted without a word, fear clinging to the air like smoke. My hands still trembled, heat ghosting along my palms where the Light had been. I curled them into fists to stop the shaking, but it only made the ache worse.

  I hadn’t meant to–

  The thought caught there, useless. Meaning didn’t matter. Not to them. Not to me.

  I kept walking, faster now, eyes fixed on the road ahead. The murmurs started again as I passed the last of them.

  By the time I reached Tersa and Edric’s house, my pulse had finally begun to slow. The shutters glowed with firelight inside, soft against the coming dark. I hesitated at the step, lifting a hand to knock, but the door opened before I could.

  Edric stood there, sleeves rolled up. His eyes softened when he saw me.

  “Evening,” he said. “You all right?”

  I nodded, though my throat felt tight. “Yes. Just a long day.”

  He gave a sympathetic grunt. “Reckon so. You find what you were after?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “But… is the room still open?”

  He gave a soft smile. “Aye, of course,” then he stepped aside and gestured toward the back hall. “Tersa’s out just now, but she made sure it was ready for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  I slipped past him, the warmth of the hearth giving way to the cooler air of the narrow hall. The familiar scent of woodsmoke and bread clung to the walls.

  When I reached the room, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it until the silence settled.

  I stayed there for a moment, the weight of the door firm against my back, until the tremor in my hands finally eased.

  The image of their faces lingered, wide eyed. The way they’d flinched when the Light touched the air.

  I let out a slow breath. With any luck, none of them would know the difference.

  Pushing away from the door, I crossed to the bed and sank down, the frame creaking under my weight. The room felt smaller than before. I rubbed a hand over my face, the ache behind my eyes catching up to me all at once.

  Tomorrow, I’d find a way out of this place.

  ***

  The morning broke clean and still. Looking out the window, smoke rose from the chimneys, thin against the pale sky, and for a moment it almost felt like any other village morning.

  Almost.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, lacing my boots, pretending the night before hadn’t happened.

  The air smelled of bread again, Tersa must’ve started the oven early. I tied the laces tight, grabbed my cloak from the peg, and stepped into the hall.

  The kitchen was warm, the table already set. Tersa moved between the counter and the hearth, sleeves rolled up, dark hair tied back. She glanced up when I entered. “Morning,” she said softly. “You sleep well?”

  I hesitated. “Some.”

  She nodded as if that was enough, then pushed a mug toward me. Steam curled from it. “Coffee. It’s not strong, but it’ll wake you a bit.”

  “Thank you.” I sat, wrapping my hands around the mug. The warmth helped.

  For a while, neither of us spoke. The only sounds were the soft scrape of her stirring spoon and the pop of the fire.

  “I heard what happened,” she said at last.

  I looked down into the cup. “I didn’t mean to. He grabbed me, and I…”

  “I know,” she said gently. “Trent told me enough. You just startled them, that’s all. Folks here don’t see much casting, let alone Light like yours. Even Healing’s enough to make people uneasy. All they see is power.”

  Silence settled again. Outside, a cart rolled past, the squeak of its wheel fading down the lane.

  “I tried to buy a horse yesterday,” I said finally. “The man, Harven, he wouldn’t sell to me, only laughed.”

  Tersa’s brow creased. “Harven? Aye, he’s stubborn. But I can understand his sentiment for not wanting to part with the animal.”

  I swallowed the rest of the tea and set the mug down. “Is there anyone else who might sell?”

  Tersa shook her head. “Not in this village. Closest would be the farms east of here, but they keep theirs for work, not travel. It’s also leagues away, so not an easy road to travel on foot. You might have better luck with the caravans that come through. Traders stop every week or two. If you’re patient, you could catch a ride.”

  “But you can’t guarantee when the next one will show?”

  “I’m sorry, but I cannot. They come as they please and are as fickle as the wind through these hills. I can ask around for you, if you’d like.”

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  I nodded, grateful despite the heaviness in my chest. “I’d appreciate that.”

  Tersa smiled faintly, her eyes softening. “Eat something before you go poking about. There’s bread and broth left from last night.”

  She was already turning back to the pot before I could voice a protest. The smell was enough to quiet me. I tore a small piece of bread and dipped it into the bowl she’d set before me. My appetite was slow to return, but the warmth helped.

  The door creaked open behind us. A gust of cold air slipped through, carrying the damp scent of morning fog.

  “Tersa?” a voice called, low and uncertain.

  Tersa turned, wiping her hands on her apron. “Harve,” she said, a hint of surprise in her tone along with familiarity. “You’re up early.”

  The stableman stepped inside, hat in hand. His clothes were still dusted from the stables, and there was a faint line of guilt drawn across his face. He paused when he saw me at the table, his jaw tightening just slightly.

  “Morning,” he said, the word stiff as his posture. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

  Tersa arched a brow. “Then what brings you here?”

  He shifted, eyes darting between us. “I was looking for Anna. Wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings about yesterday.”

  I’d given them that name when I first arrived. Seems its already gotten around.

  Tersa crossed her arms. “Hard feelings? You turned her down and near laughed in her face.”

  Harven winced. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know how it is, can’t spare the stock.” His gaze flicked toward me. “Still, I shouldn’t have been short with you.”

  I swallowed, unsure what to say. The apology wasn’t much, but it was more than I’d expected. “It’s all right,” I said quietly. “You were honest. I can’t fault you for that.”

  He nodded, though the motion seemed weighted. “Word’s been moving quick since last night. People are talking.” He hesitated, then added, “About the Light. I told them you weren’t looking for trouble. Most’ll calm down once the morning’s work starts.”

  Tersa gave him a look that said she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Let’s hope so.”

  Harven hesitated. His hands tightened on his hat, thumb tracing the brim. “It’s not gossip I came for.”

  He shifted his weight, avoiding both our eyes. “It’s my wife,” he said finally. “She’s been ill for a very long time. We’ve never had a Healer pass through here before and the one’s who have weren’t actual Casters. The tinctures aren’t doing a thing. When I heard you healed Trent’s boy…”

  The room went still. The only sound was the faint crackle of the fire.

  Tersa straightened, her expression hardening. “You’ve got some nerve, Harven.”

  He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me,” she said sharply. “You turned the poor girl away and come here asking her for favors? You’re no better than the lot that cornered her in the street.”

  Harven’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “That was different.”

  “Was it?” Tersa stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks the same. Folk wanting something from her when it suits them.”

  Color crept into Harven’s cheeks. He looked from Tersa to me, shame cutting through his defensiveness. “I didn’t mean her harm,” he said, quieter now. “I just… I can’t watch my wife keep fading. If there’s even a chance she can help, I have to ask.”

  Tersa’s glare softened, though only slightly. “Desperation doesn’t excuse hypocrisy.”

  Harven dipped his head. “No. It doesn't.”

  The silence stretched. The smell of broth and smoke hung thick in the air, and for a moment, no one moved.

  Finally, I said, “Where is she?”

  He looked up, uncertain if he’d heard me right. “Home. I didn’t bring her to the square because she can barely walk. The stairs wind her.”

  Tersa looked at me with uncertainty but silently nodded her head.

  Outside, the morning mist had begun to lift, leaving the village washed pale beneath the growing sun. Harven led in silence, his long strides to match mine. The road wound past the square. People watched as we walked but no one moved to bar our way or plead for Healing like the night before.

  Harven’s house stood on the far side of the village, set back from the main road. The yard was small, fenced, with a shed leaning to one side and water trough near the posts. He pushed open the door and stepped aside for me to enter first.

  The smell inside was heavy. Herbs, sweat, and something faintly sour beneath it. A fire burned low in the hearth.

  “She’s through there,” he said, nodding toward a curtain drawn across a side room.

  I stepped through. The air grew warmer, stifling. The woman lay on a narrow bed, propped against a pile of blankets. Her skin had a pale, waxen cast, lips faintly blue, as though the cold had settled inside her. Every breath she drew came shallow and slow, as if her body had forgotten the rhythm.

  Her hands rested atop the quilt, thin veins raised beneath the skin with the edges of her nails tinged faintly gray. I didn’t need to touch her to know she was fading.

  “How long has she been like this?” I asked.

  “Years, but it’s been gettin’ worse,” he said from behind me. His voice had lost its edge. “Some days are better than others, but lately…” He trailed off, then added, “She can hardly stand. The healer that came through last spring said it was her blood. Gave her herbs to make it strong again.”

  I reached out, brushing the back of my fingers along her wrist. The skin was cold, but not lifeless. Her pulse was there, faint and unsteady.

  Her eyes fluttered open. Clouded gray met mine, unfocused but aware. “You’re the Healer?” she whispered, before nodding off again.

  I hesitated, then nodded.

  Her pulse stuttered beneath my fingers. Weak, but there.

  The color in her face had gone the color of ash. When I lifted my hand, the mark my skin left behind was pale, fading almost instantly.

  “She’s fading,” I said finally. “Not fevered. Just… tired all the way through. Her heart’s slow.”

  Harven stood by the doorway, hat twisting in his hands. “Can you heal her?”

  The question came like a plea.

  I met his eyes, searching them for any sign of hesitation. “Yes,” I lied. “But it won’t be easy.”

  Harven’s breath caught. “Tell me what you need. We have coin put away. Food. Cloth. Whatever will see her through.”

  “I don’t want coin,” I said.

  He frowned. “Then what is it you want?”

  “Your horse.”

  The word landed heavy between us. He stared at me, thinking hard.

  “You asked me to save her life,” I said. “That’s what it costs.”

  His face tightened, lines drawing deep around his mouth. “Those horses are the only way I keep this family fed. Without them, I can’t haul, can’t plow, and I can’t sell.”

  “You have another,” I said evenly. “Use your coin and your horse to buy yourself another one. I’m stranded here and I have somewhere I need to be as fast as a horse can take me there.”

  He studied me for a long moment, jaw clenched, eyes sharp with calculation more than outrage. He wasn’t a fool.

  Finally, he exhaled. “And you’re certain you can cure her?”

  I held his gaze. “I am.”

  The lie left a bitter taste on my tongue.

  Inside, I knew there was no such certainty. I could mend torn flesh and even pull the poison from a wound. But this… this was something buried deeper, something I wasn’t sure Healing could touch. I wished I’d asked Art if sicknesses like this could be Healed and if Light alone could reach what couldn’t be seen.

  Still, I couldn’t sit here waiting, hoping to catch Art on foot. Hope wouldn’t bring him back – not without sacrifice.

  Harven nodded once, grim and resolved. “Then you’ll have your horse.”

  I didn’t thank him. I couldn’t.

  He stayed close, one hand gripping the frame of the doorway as if afraid to move. The young boy from the night before wasn’t anywhere in the house. Harven must have sent him out before I began. His eyes never left me.

  The woman’s breaths came shallow and thin, lips barely parting with each one. For a moment I only stood there, staring at her, this stranger whose life I’d just bartered for. The weight of it pressed cold against my chest.

  I sank to my knees beside the bed and rested my hand over her heart. The beat beneath my palm was faint and irregular, skipping like a stone over still water.

  “All right,” I whispered, more to myself than to her.

  The first flicker of Light came slowly, a soft pulse, warm beneath my skin. I guided it downward, letting it thread through muscle and bone, searching for something I could fix. But there was no break to mend, no tear to close. Just a quiet, steady resistance, like trying to pour water into a sealed jar.

  Still, the Light kept drawing, siphoning through me as if it knew better than I did where it was meant to go. The ache built low in my chest, the familiar pull that came when the body drank too much from mine. I let it.

  From the doorway, Harven shifted. “Gods,” he whispered, voice hushed and half afraid. The glow painted the walls in soft greenish white, his wife’s skin reflecting the same hue. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The Light demanded too much focus. I pressed deeper, searching through the warmth for any sense of change. But there was nothing certain.

  All I could feel was the draw. The endless, hungry pull of her body taking what it needed until mine began to shake. My breath quickened. Sweat gathered at the base of my neck.

  Time passed. The ache spread through my shoulders, down my arms. Still, I held on.

  The Light wavered, then steadied again. Slowly, the faintest trace of color crept back into her cheeks. Her lips warmed from gray to rose, and her breathing deepened, slow and even again.

  Harven took a step closer, the floor groaning under his boots. “She’s breathing normally,” he said softly, as a tear streamed down his face.

  The Light finally faltered. I let it go, drawing back my hand as the last threads faded into the air. My arms trembled from the strain.

  She looked better; alive, even. But I couldn't feel that quiet rightness I always sensed when a wound truly closed. There was only silence inside me, hollow and uncertain.

  Maybe I’d reached whatever part of her was failing. Maybe I hadn’t.

  I wiped the sweat from my brow and pushed myself unsteadily to my feet. “It’s done,” I said. My voice sounded distant, not entirely my own.

  Harven’s eyes were wet when he turned to me. “You’ve done more than anyone ever could. I’ll have the horse ready.”

  I nodded once, keeping my voice steady. “She’ll wake soon.”

  The lie was easy now. Too easy.

  Harven lingered beside the bed, brushing a hand through his wife’s hair, his voice breaking with quiet relief. “You saved her,” he whispered.

  I said nothing.

  The Light had gone, but its echo still burned beneath my skin, aching through my ribs and down to my bones.

  She looked whole. That should have been enough.

  I turned toward the door, steadying myself on the frame. The air outside would be cold again. Clean. Easier to breathe in.

  Behind me, Harven’s soft voice reached my back. “Thank you.”

  I didn’t look back. “See that the horse is ready.”

  And then I stepped out into the light.