I gasp. “You... You’re—”

“A healer,” Isolde finishes, just as surprised.

Olani leans back, studying both of us again. Her sleeveless shirt looks bleached at the hem, little tendrils of white streaking up her torso against the previously ocher-colored fabric. She looks at the spreading stains—the price of a magic that cleanses and purifies—and lets out a little sigh of annoyance. “Something wrong with that?”

I shake my head, still stunned, stretching my arms and rolling my shoulders. The ache still lingers just below the surface, but it’s quieted for now.

Isolde leans forward with her elbows resting on her sprawled knees, eyes bright. “Why didn’t you say something?”

A brief trace of a smile crosses Olani’s face. “Enchantment...not really my strongest suit. This, and one shielding spell every month or so. That’s about all I can do with it.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry for, you know—”

Olani waves me off with one hand. “I don’t care what you did. I don’t care if you like me or not. I’m not Raze.” Our eyes meet again. “You shouldn’t let him get to you,” she adds. “He’s a spoiled brat, but he’s trying his best.” I turn my gaze to the floor, refusing to even consider discussing this. “I think,” she adds.

“Does he pay you to say that?”

Olani surprises me again by actually chuckling at that. “You’re funny, changeling. Sorry—Seelie. I’ll work on it.”

I feel a different warmth that has nothing to do with healing magic. It fades quickly, drained away by the question that bubbles up inside me, refusing to be ignored.

“Do...do you think it’ll scar?”

My voice is barely audible. Olani is packing her bag, hanging it up on one of the hooks on the wall beside her drying cloak. She pauses, staring at me strangely. “You’ve...never done that before, have you?”

I don’t answer, but I think the stiffness of my posture as I stare down at the floor tells her everything she needs to know.

“I don’t know,” she replies honestly. “If it was just lightning...well, the burns themselves don’t look too serious. It’d probably fade. But magic is...less predictable.”

You’re telling me, I think, balling my fingers into a fist, pushing my nails into the tender center of the compass in my palm.

“It’s greedy,” she continues. “Magic always takes, from someone or something. Even if you don’t see how at the time. It won’t...it won’t want you to forget the price.” Olani must see the looks on our faces then, because she quickly adds, “But I can make you a salve for it. No promises one way or the other.”

At least my head isn’t splitting open like last time. At least I’m still conscious. I look down at my arms, streaked with the echo of lightning that still stings and blisters with its own malevolence.

I hate myself, and the magic simmering within me, more than ever.

chapter thirteen

Unsurprisingly, the clothes that Raze brings back for me are too big. The neck of the rust-orange gown scoops a little lower than I’d prefer, sliding crooked over my collarbones every time I move. But the sleeves are wide and mercifully loose on my tender skin, abruptly narrowing a few inches above the wrist into a tighter swatch of embroidered material that almost covers my hands, so I can’t complain too much.