A Clove of Fates

11. Here Boy

I was unable to meet her eyes as I wrapped her wounded forearm with bandages that I'd scrounged from my bag. My own cut sat open, exposed, and still bled profusely. I would have to deal with that later. At the moment, I had bigger problems on my hands.

For one, I was currently dressing the wounds of the princess I was meant to kill.

I danced around the obvious question, glancing at Fraed who stood over my shoulder. "How did your dog manage to do...this?"

I referenced the fact that in a matter of seconds, we went from being in the hall outside of the princesses's room to here, an alleyway a little ways off from the palace. It was quiet here, quieter than it had been since I first arrived in the city. Even so, Fraed assured me that this place wasn't safe. We couldn't stay too long.

Fraed took in a breath. "He's not a dog."

I frowned, turning to watch it stand guard at the mouth of the alley way. He looked like a dog to me. "He's not?" I asked.

"No." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He's a service familiar. He has all kinds of different forms. He just happened to prefer his four legged one."

"And that thing he did in the hallway?"

"Portal summoning. A service familiar specialty. But it takes a lot of energy, so it's used only for emergencies. Come, Vikvik." Fraed patted the side of his leg, and Osvik immediately can trotting toward him.

I felt the princess flinch under my hands. I looked back to her to see her staring intently at what I now knew was not a dog. She swallowed.

When she noticed that I was looking at her, she turned her focus to me. Her bright green eyes caught mine, and I could almost feel a slight humming in the air. I looked away quickly and stood, feeling a pain in my chest.

And here was that guilt that I'd been trying to avoid. 

I tried my best to quell it, reminding myself that we wouldn't be here at all if she'd tried harder (if at all) to convince my sister that she was making a mistake. It worked, but not all the way. There was still that nagging at the back of my mind. Now you know this isn't right, Jarelis. Mama's voice, no doubt.

I looked down at my arm, at the jagged cut that sliced through it, from my wrist to the crook of my elbow. I prodded at the edges and winced. I felt sick. Growing up on a farm, I'd seen—and experienced—far gnarlier injuries. But nothing like this. Nothing that appeared on skin that had not been touched. Nothing that mirrored the misfortune of another so accurately.

I almost didn't want to know what it was, or how it happened. How much I would give to just go back home, back to the farm where magic trickled like water through a stream and gods were the idols of a distant people. But there were the dreadful words that Fraed had said in the hallway.