A Touch Of Darkness

7 || Somewhere Safe

Stumbling backward, I hold out a hand. A feeble notion, since I pull the fire back before it can escape. I doubt my glove will be any more a barrier to Edita's sword than it is to my flame.

"Please. I..." What can I say? Nothing will make what I did to her any better. "I'm sorry."

"Liar." She moves forward. I step back.

"I couldn't stop it. Oswin--"

"Don't speak his name," she snarls, practically baring her teeth at me. It seems I chose wrong. She is the predator here. "You have no right to it."

Another footstep crunches in the grass, but it isn't hers. My gaze darts sideways to find Tyler, bow held up, arrow resting against the string. His stare is even, directed perfectly along the arrow to fix on my chest. I have no allies here.

"Look, I really don't mean any of you any harm," I try. My voice is like a whimper, pleading uselessly. I hold up my other hand, palms facing each of them as my eyes roam Edita's face. I can look anywhere but into her eyes. "I told Oswin not to touch me. He shouldn't--"

Her sword's point lurches forwards, striking at my chest. I practically throw myself out of its path, feet sliding from under me as I rush back. I feel myself falling, but my shoulders collide with the thick tree behind.

The bark digs into my back. I press myself against the trunk, hardly daring to breathe for the sword hovering a feather's breadth from my neck.

"I told you," Edita growls, "not to speak his name."

I don't dare look up at her. All I can see is the sharpened edge of her sword, and the vague reflection in it, the shape of an eye clouded black.

I'm shaking. I claw at the bark as if the futile action will open some secret passage to carry me away. If I run my fingers along the grooves in the right way, they almost feel like markings, lines to count the days. What twisted familiarity this is.

"How did it feel?"

Her voice has changed. It is a whisper, a bare hiss, soft yet low and guttural. I snatch a breath.

"How did it feel?" she repeats, slower, fiercer. "When you stole him from me?"

My flame pulses within me. Steeling myself, I look away from the reflection in the sword, finding her eyes. They are wild. I know mine are worse.

"Answer me." The sword twitches, edging closer to my chin. I jerk my head up. "How did it feel?"

"You want the truth?" The words escape me as easily as fire. "It felt good." I hold her gaze. "It felt like breathing for the first time in years. And I want to do it again."

My hand whips out, already calling a blaze of flame. I let it seep through the tiniest breaks in the glove's leather, licking at the air, reaching for her in stunted tendrils. She scrambles back, fear breaking through her fury. Her sword doesn't lower, however, though I appreciate the distance between it and my neck.

A soft creak sounds from my left. Quickly, I throw up my other hand, pointing black fire in Tyler's direction as well. The sight is enough to relax his bowstring, the arrow no longer a moment away from release.

My heart is racing. Everything is spiralling out of control. But as long as I maintain the steady beat of the flame, keep a tight hold on its leash, it won't have to hurt anyone. Right now, its threat is the only weapon I have left, and if I want to keep my life I'm going to need it.

"But I won't," I continue, flicking my gaze between Edita and Tyler. I hope the words sound as sincere as I mean them to be. "I won't do it. Not unless I have to." The edge of intent, to remind them to stay back.