Years ago, the Trolls were banished into the Nether, a void of evil and darkness between the magical realms. With their greed and treachery locked away, peace has reigned throughout the worlds. But not for nineteen-year-old witch, Aramina. Being dis...
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Roane says I slept for a day. When I woke up, I found he still held me. His jacket was draped over me, my half naked body pressed against him. Whether because I was brimming with his magic or because I was too worn out to care, I wasn't embarrassed. We've Shared so much, I feel he's already a part of me. My tattoo healed perfectly, and so I felt confident to set off again, even though Roane was and is still unconvinced.
Unlike the last division, the bridge we approach looks sturdier. As oppose to a rope bridge, it's a wooden arch bridge, and not so long. Roane shifts the duffel bag over his shoulder and holds a hand to me. Ever since I woke up, he's been so observant of my needs. I think he feels guilty for hurting me, despite the countless times I've told him that I'm fine and that I'd asked for it.
I take his hand. Warmth skims my skin in gentle currents as he seeps magic into me. I squeeze his fingers. "I'm fine, Roane, really."
"I know, but you used the last of my magic to finish healing." He looks to the bridge. "This is for crossing."
I follow his gaze. "Do you really think there'll be any Trolls there? It's morning."
Roane blows out a breath, his body tense. I can feel him, readying for a fight. He takes on a different aura, and if he wasn't on my side, I'd be scared. "We can stand light for a limited time, more if we haven't been exposed to it recently. I don't want to take my chances—"
He stops sharply. Lifting his nose into the air, he then whirls us behind a tree. Dry bark stabs into my back. I hiss, but he cups my mouth and shakes his head, a keen warning in his brown eyes: Don't say a word.
I dig my hands into the bark, part pain, part expectation, part fear. We've practiced and I'm rested. Not to mention, I have a weapon that won't fail me. Still, the thought of fighting again numbs my joints.
Roane inches his head from behind the tree. Looking back to me, he points in the direction of the bridge. I turn and peel my head out. My blood feels to stick to the inside of my veins. A Troll appears out of the mist, leading three girls behind him. They're tied together by rope and blindfolded, and when they make it off the bridge on our side, they're led down a muddy bank and onto the river's edge. Three shadows step out of the mist and the ground feels to shift beneath me. One is a Troll. The other two are human. After what happened with Lachlan and Perry, I'm not surprised to see the humans. What roots me to the tree and my heart to my ribcage are the robes the girls wear—Convent robes. The white coats with red trim are the robes worn by Convent non-magics. And their human captors are from Convent as well. They walk with an air of a long lineage of magic and privilege.
They vanish into the darkness under the bridge.
"I feel sick." I lean my head back against the bark and gather my breaths. "They're from Convent."
