I never should have come here and couldn’t stay here any longer, dwelling in despair and hopelessness. So I stood, folding the cloak to carry with me to Woodcourt, another place where every corner would echo with some memory of her. But at least I had distractions there.
In my hurry to leave, I stumbled over a small table beside the chair, knocking a book to the floor. I picked it up and thumbed through the pages, quickly realizing this was Joth’s diary.
Curious, I briefly browsed through the entries. He must have had several journals, for the first page on this book was only a little over a month old, and every day contained a new entry.
“Mother has spoken of a plan involving the girl she brought from the Hiplands,” he had written. “She believes the girl can help us. I’m wary of her plan …”
A few pages later, “The girl, Kestra Dallisor, seems to be able to draw in the curse from these woods. Mother worries what it will do to her. I worry what it will do to Mother, to be so near a corrupted person.”
On the following page, “Mother has just explained her ultimate plan for bringing Kestra here. I don’t like it. I think it’s too risky …”
And a few pages later, “Mother insists that I try to connect powers with Kestra. She believes that our people cannot be corrupted by magic, and I hope she is right, but I cannot deny that I am worried …”
The final entry was only half-written, but it read, “I have decided to try connecting powers with her. It’s our only hope. If I corrupt, may my people forgive me. But if this works, my people will live once again.”
I closed the book, incredulous at what I had read. The person who wrote these pages was nothing like the Joth who now occupied the Scarlet Throne, or even the arrogant Joth I had first met at Woodcourt. What I had seen from him yesterday and in recent days was only an evidence of his corruption, but it was not who he really was.
Yet I would have to destroy him all the same.
Just as he had destroyed Kestra, who had been every bit as innocent once.
With that single thought, every ounce of pity I might have felt for Joth evaporated. He would get what he deserved, and sooner than he might have expected.
I awoke to a searing pain in my shoulder, shooting heat through my arm that brought tears to my eyes and a scream to my throat. A hand instantly covered my mouth, and I heard a whisper, “I know, I know, but it’s all right. Please try to relax.”
Tears fell to my cheeks, and my breathing became ragged. This was the same shoulder where Harlyn had shot me not many days ago, and that earlier wound had not fully healed.
“You must be as quiet as possible,” the voice said. “We’re inside the palace.”
I nodded, then the hand left my mouth. I fumbled for the disk blade that was lodged in my shoulder, though each miss at grabbing it only made the pain worse. Someone kept trying to push my hand away from the wound. How had this even happened? I must have been unconscious when I’d been shot.
No, not unconscious. I’d been dead. That had been the purpose of this disk, to restore my life.
I tried again to reach the disk. I felt its edge but had no strength to grip it. I needed to do it. The object that had saved my life would kill me if I could not remove it.
Failing yet again, I brushed away the tears in my eyes, frustrated with being weak at a time I had to be strong. When I tried for the disk a third time, Darrow came into my field of vision. He must have been the one who had whispered to me before, and now he said, “I’ll pull it out; then you need to take as much strength from me as you can to heal yourself.” I shook my head and he added, “Kestra, you must. This wound is serious.”
I shook my head again. “I can’t. There’s no magic.”
“Because you’re weakened—”
“Joth took it all in the same moment that I stabbed him. He took everything … that’s what killed me. I have no magic, Darrow.”
He crouched near me and took my hands, looking into my eyes despite the low light of wherever we were. “Take strength from me, Kestra, try it.”
I obeyed, but it was just as I had told him. I felt nothing of magic in myself, had no sensation of abilities beyond those of any other person, and, most of all, felt none of the heat inside me that had become my constant companion, nor the ice. I was simply me.
Simply me, with a white disk lodged into my shoulder. This was the same one I had given to Darrow earlier, containing one ability only—to control a person’s heartbeat. A disk designed to separate a person’s body from their soul had reunited mine.
I’d had the idea from the story the Ironheart told me, of how Tenger had once killed Sir Henry, only to find Sir Henry alive the following day. Endrick had the ability to restore life. That was the one power I had put into this disk. Darrow must have understood that I gave him the disk for a reason, and the disk did exactly as I had hoped.
“The disk must come out,” Darrow said. “I’m so very sorry.”
I nodded and gritted my teeth. After a gentle squeeze to my hands, he stood and put his hands on the blade. “Count to three,” he said.
I closed my eyes. “One, two—”
And he yanked the blade from my shoulder. Once again, I felt as though fire was piercing me from all directions. I clamped one hand over my own mouth to keep from screaming out loud; then, when it was over, he immediately pressed a cloth to my shoulder and began tying it. “We’ve got to get you to Loelle,” he said.