The Flicker and the Forget Continued
476 Words
Thalia met his gaze, unflinching. “They’ll have to try harder.”
He almost smiled, just a glimmer in his eyes. “Good.”
For a long moment, neither moved. The fire in the hearth threw shifting shadows across his face, highlighting the old scar on his forearm. She remembered the rumors—Rowan fighting off a witch’s coven to save his pack, nearly dying in the process.
Thalia cleared her throat. “Why do you do it? Defend me, I mean. It can’t just be the council’s rules.”
He looked at her—really looked, as if seeing her for the first time. “I know what it’s like to be surrounded by wolves with nothing but your own teeth. No one should stand alone, even if it’s all for show.”
His answer was so honest, so unguarded, that Thalia couldn’t summon a retort.
“Besides,” Rowan said quietly, “I’ve never seen anyone talk back to Bryndis and Osric and live. You’re either the bravest person I’ve met, or the dumbest.”
Thalia let out a startled laugh, the tension breaking. “You’d be surprised how often those are the same thing.”
He nodded, almost fond, and moved toward the door. “Rest. Tomorrow won’t be easier.”
He left her in the firelight, the door clicking softly shut.
Alone at last, Thalia curled up on the bed, the taste of ginger and honey still lingering.
Her mind spun with faces—Rowan’s, Mara’s, Livia’s sneer, the unreadable glances of the council.
How many enemies do I have now? How many friends? Is there even a difference in a place like this?
The moon was high, casting pale light across the furs. Thalia turned her hand in its glow, searching for the tell-tale shimmer of magic she’d once known so well.
She felt nothing. For a moment, the disappointment threatened to swallow her.
Then, as she let her mind drift, panic flared—her old enemy, sharp and sudden. A memory flashed: darkness, wolves, blood in her mouth, power exploding behind her eyes.
Her breath caught; her pulse hammered; her palm tingled, burning cold. The candle on the mantel flared, the flame leaping high, and for a second, the shadows on the wall twisted into impossible shapes—wings, claws, the echo of her own scream.
Just as quickly as it began, it ended. The flame stilled. The air was still again.
Thalia sat up, gasping, clutching her hand.
Not yet. Not now. Not here.
She stared at her palm, heart pounding, and smiled—small, sharp, wicked.
The witch within still burns.
Tomorrow, she would play their games again. Tonight, she was alive, and for the first time in her new life, she remembered what it felt like to have power, even if she had to keep it hidden.
- Writer
