A Ragged Magic Read Free Page B

flames pick out elaborately braided hair, a dark cape. Blue gems dance at her throat.
    “Don’t just stand there, Connor. Undo her arms, will you?”
    The dark figure moves forward. I am unable to move or speak. The flames jump, casting him into sharp relief. Dark hair curls into dark eyes. He is tall, taller than I am. Even taller than Keenan.
    The woman hisses as she catches sight of the carving on my body. The blood and burns conceal the patterns they make.
    “Oh, my dear, this is monstrous. So many wounds. I’m afraid those will scar.”
    I stare, confused. Scar? I’m dying. I don’t understand the worry.
    The lady reaches for me and I flinch, to ward her off. Connor grabs my chin and growls a warning I can’t understand, and my head knocks against stone, rings like a bell.
    But I See. I See that in those deep brown eyes lies a flame for this lady. I See he follows her and gives her all in his power and grants her his life, if needed. I See he is terrified this harebrained idea will take that life, and hers with it. I See things that got me named witch to begin with.
    “Connor, let her go. She was only afraid. She can hardly stand, much less attack me,” the lady is saying.
    Connor’s hand drops slowly from my face. My head vibrates in pain.
    “Quickly, Connor. There’s no time!”
    Connor shakes his head. He hands the lady the torch, turns keys. The shackles fall away, into his quick, quiet hands. He leans close.
    “Not a word, little witch, or we’re all so much kindling. Do you hear?”
    My eyes narrow, but even that hurts.
    He takes my silence for acquiescence, and tosses his cloak around me.
    I stumble to my knees as he pulls me toward the door. I am far too injured to walk. I cradle my hands to my chest and whimper. Connor swings me into his arms, not over his shoulder as I expected, and heads out of the cell.
    Out in the corridor he sets me on my feet and leans me against the wall.
    I sink slowly sideways, panting and hissing as my torn body cries out in anguish. But I cannot stand any more. I bite back sobs and try to force scorched lungs to open. Coughing into a fold of the cloak, I hear a scraping and open my eyes. Connor drags a bloody bundle wrapped in linen into the cell.
    “Connor! What are you doing?” the lady whispers hoarsely. She stands halfway down the corridor, torch held high so the shadow flares out behind her and engulfs her head in fluttering darkness.
    “This woman died today of the Wasting, and was carted out for burning. I hid her back here after you made it clear you wouldn’t be dissuaded. The burial detail will be here before dawn to collect bodies. The guardsman there won’t wake before then, and will be assumed drunk. Gantry won’t hear of her death until well after noon.”
    His voice is scratchy, and he scrubs his face on his sleeve. “The bishop will notice if she’s missing, my lady. He won’t ask questions if she’s dead.”
    He stands from his task and locks the cell door behind him. His shadow looms closer. I’m lifted back into his arms and the world spins as I whimper and shudder. When I can see again, the ceiling shifts jerkily in the light from the flames. Connor strides down the stone corridor and another flight of stairs appears suddenly before us.
    My vision shifts as much as the torchlight. Moss on stone, a sprawled guard, and flickering shadows. I think we have descended deeper into the Inquisitor’s dungeon: I hear moaning cries, smell death in the fetid air.
    At a dead-end we pause, and the lady grumbles as she appears to wrestle with the wall. Then with a dark wind comes the smell of brine. Connor bangs my feet into the wall and I gasp — bite back a cry, and all is darkness.
    ～
    I am on fire. My skin blackens and my lungs ache, the heat gathers around and inside me and I whimper in fear.
    Hands, alternately icy and feverish, touch my face, my arms. Pain blossoms at each spot. I try to brush the hands away but my arms are so heavy. Wavering