The Liberian

Chapter 50

“When was the last time you ate?” Hardy was in on it now too.

“I ...” Halle struggled to answer the question honestly. “I ate breakfast yesterday, and dinner the night before.”

“You call that eating?” Fritz shook his head. “Those were hardly snacks.”

“Let it go.” Annoyance crept into her tone.

“Halle,” a voice said sternly to her left.

Apprehension filled her at the sound of his voice. Derek had hardly spoken to her since the night Halle broke down, and she hadn’t had the courage to say anything to him. It was fine to imagine that she could cut her hair and become someone strong, the monster that the Senate had every right to fear. But the moment she was presented with the beast she was, she fell apart. She was weak, so it made sense that he wanted nothing to do with her.

“You are already a risk to everyone by not being skilled in combat or having a handle on your magic. The least you can do is keep your body in good condition by eating.” He gave her a long stare. “And sleeping,” the prince added, as if noticing the darkening circles under her eyes for the first time.

With a sigh, Halle grabbed the meat Fritz held out to her and tore into it. It was cold, and slimy, and tasteless. The food on the march had quickly lost its novelty, and now it was just another reminder of where she was, of who she was.

“Eat it all,” Derek instructed dryly. “It will be more graceful if you eat it yourself rather than one of us forcing it down your throat.”She took smaller bites, but managed to get—and keep—it all down. The food settled heavily in her stomach and threatened to come up with the swaying of the horse.

As if to capitalize on her sour mood, Elecia appeared out of nowhere and wedged herself between Halle and Derek.

“Good morning!” she said cheerfully.

Derek gave her a nod, and Fritz and Hardy offered their greetings. Halle focused on the road ahead.

“Come now, do not be rude,” Elecia said with a patronizing grin.

“Hello.” Halle did not even make eye contact.

“My, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Elecia laughed and clapped a hand over Halle’s shoulder. “Don’t be so serious!” She smiled, and Halle continued to ignore her. “Or not.” Elecia shrugged and turned to Derek. “So, I don’t know if you heard, but I recently began studying remedies for Channel blockers ...”

Halle was forced to spend the next two hours listening to Elecia and Derek discuss the properties of Channels and how they could be disrupted or blocked. The discussion was over Halle’s head, so she tried to tune them out. It annoyed her; they irrationally annoyed her. This woman, whom she had barely met, held a conversation with Derek that made Halle feel stupid.

Eventually her nonsensical frustration finally won and Halle interrupted the conversations. “So, when are we going to train again?” she asked with more conviction than she felt. All four people stared at her blankly.

“Train?” Elecia laughed. “Why would you want to?”

“Because I’m going to war,” Halle said sharply.

“But last time—”

“Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?” Hardy interrupted Elecia.

“Is that a good idea?” Fritz said uncertainly.

“I can.” Halle nodded to herself. “I will.” She turned to Derek, searching his silence for encouragement, approval—something.

“Very well,” he said after what seemed like forever. “We need to work on your Channeling first, so we shall focus on that tonight.”

“Channeling?” Halle repeated.

“Wait, you mean to tell me she does not even know how to Channel?” Elecia looked between Halle and Derek. “You have hope for her, and she doesn’t even—”

“It is not your decision,” Derek barked harshly.

Halle was pleased by the amount Elecia was being interrupted. The sentiment was not shared, and the other woman adjusted her red bandana before riding off in a huff.

“What’s Channeling?” Halle forced herself to ask. She hated herself for not knowing, but not asking would only exacerbate the problem. Derek had mentioned it months ago, but he’d never bothered to explain.

“It’s how a sorcerer uses magic,” Fritz began.

“I can use magic,” she retorted in a defensive and tired tone.

“Yes, you can but,” Fritz twirled his reins around his fingers, “but not well.”

His words were like a dagger to her gut. Even he saw her as useless. Halle swallowed the pain of that realization, forcing it away from her eyes where it may show.

“Think of it like this,” Hardy started gently. “You have a pitcher and a cup. You have to get the water from the pitcher into the cup. One way you can do it is by dipping the cup into the pitcher. But this is messy and maybe it doesn’t fit right and so on.”

“So you pour from the pitcher instead,” Halle finished the logic. Hardy nodded and smiled. It was a welcome sight that gave Halle some ease.

“Exactly, we can dip into our magic to accomplish things on a whim—like you’ve been doing. But it’s tiring, difficult, and normally inconsistent. That’s why we open up a Channel for it to flow—to pour—easily into us,” Hardy finished.

“And, for that reason, you will be working with me tonight,” Derek announced, loud enough that it drew Major Gales’s attention.

“Thank you, my prince,” Halle mumbled.

“I trust you will not disappoint me.”

After that declaration, it was a cold silence from the normally warm man for the rest of the day. They had never had an opportunity to be talkative, not really, so Halle was surprised to find how much his silence bothered her. It was a weight on her shoulders until Derek appeared by her and Hardy’s tent that evening.

“Are you ready?” the prince asked.

Halle nodded mutely.

“Should I fetch her dinner?” Hardy asked with a thoughtful glance between her awkward companions.

“Not necessary; I will make sure she eats,” Derek replied in a particularly sharp tone. Halle focused on the dust covering the toes of her boots. “Come.”

Halle’s and Hardy’s tent wasn’t far from Derek’s. The other sorcerers had the decency to smother their looks, but a few stared in curiosity at the new woman following the prince. Behind her she heard whispering and picked out the word “Windwalker” more than once. It seemed to be the explanation that was automatically assigned when anything different or special occurred near her. It was a nice excuse to prevent rumors of anything untoward, Halle reasoned. But the attention still made her uncomfortable.

Derek ducked his head under the flap and walked into the orange glow of tent beyond. Halle paused, assuring herself that there was no reason to be nervous. She was only about to enter the personal quarters of the crown prince of the realm, no matter how makeshift they were. Gripping her fingers tightly, she gathered her resolve and walked in behind him.

His tent seemed more spacious on the inside. To the left of the entrance, furs and thick blankets were piled on top of chopped brush to make a sleeping pallet. Her sleepless nights must be catching up to her because the sight of it was oddly appealing. Around the perimeter hung thin disks, flames burning impossibly above the steel braziers. To the right, a large rug of great finery had been unrolled upon the bare ground, a number of pillows and a small floor table atop it.

Derek stood on the opposite side of the room removing his greaves and gauntlets.

“Come and help me with the plate?” he asked casually, catching her off-guard.

“M-my prince?” Halle stumbled over her words. It was as though the second they were out of sight she was in a different world with a different man.

“Since when are you formal in private?” Derek arched a dark eyebrow. “Some help?”

He turned and raised his arms. Halle noticed a small seam on the back left of his plate. She crossed the room hastily and began fussing with the latches underneath.

“How, um, how do you get it on?” she inquired, desperate to talk over the blood rushing in her ears.

“I have help—a squire,” he explained logically. Halle’s clumsy fingers finally undid the last clasp and he unhinged it, slipping out through the side. Derek placed the plate on the ground and began to unfasten his scale.

“Derek, is this really ...” Halle swallowed, taking a step back and looking away.

“Do you think me n***d under my armor?” A small grin curled up the corners of his mouth as he slid off his scale, leaving just chainmail beneath.

“Your armor is the same as mine,” she observed, inspecting the thin links curiously.Why?” She felt like she was missing something obvious.

“I made it.” His eyes caught hers, and Halle couldn’t find words between her surprise and the look he was giving her.

“Why?” Halle repeated again, remembering Hardy telling her once about how Firebearers were jewelers or smiths due to their ability to manage flames.

“Why? Why do I make my own armor, my parrot?” Derek had to know that her inquiry was more than him making his armor. “Because I do not trust other craftsmen with something as important as my life.”

There was a hidden meaning between his words, and Halle felt overwhelmed trying to understand its layers. Derek spared her from the task when he shrugged off the last of his armor—and her mind went blank. He was in a loose-fitting, long-sleeved white shirt that hung mostly open at his neck. On his lower half were a pair of well-tailored White pants that clung close to his legs. It was more casual and undressed than she’d ever seen him before, and just the sight brought a bright blush to her cheeks.

If the prince noticed her modesty, he was good enough not to comment. Derek sat on one of the pillows near the low table. A paper caught his eye, eliciting a small sigh.

“What is it?” she asked, still hovering.

“Oh, nothing. Just some things I need to go over with Father.” He glanced back at her. “If you would like to get more comfortable,” he offered with a gesture toward a seat. His gaze shifted back to the paper, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in thought.

Halle fidgeted with her fingers. It was armor; she’d normally worn less around him. But something about undressing anything, here in his tent, made her heart race. With a deep breath Halle reminded herself to be an adult and stop acting like an excitable girl. In the end she compromised by pulling off her boots and gloves as well as her scale, but left on her chainmail.

She sat on the pillow opposite him and crossed her legs. The pillows were comfortable, as equally fine as the rug, with tightly woven threads that seemed to be some kind of silk.

“Oh sorry.” Halle put down the spare cushion with a nervous laugh when she felt his stare.

“What is it?” Derek asked, returning the paper to the stack.

“They’re very nice,” she said truthfully.

“You think so?” He seemed surprised, as if he was considering them for the first time.

“Well, for me they are.” She smiled faintly. He forgot so easily they came from different worlds.

“In any case,” he ceased his own inspection. “Channeling. It is much like Hardy explained: you will tap into the source of your power, which should be easy for you, given your Affinity.”

“How do I go about it?”

“Well, in a way that depends on you. I will help you understand the fundamentals of it, but ultimately it is your connection with yourself and the world.” It was a cryptic explanation, and Halle felt her chance of success diminishing to hopelessness. “Most sorcerers have a trigger that opens and closes their Channel. This is normally physical. Many find it easier to tie it to a tangible act.”

“What’s yours?” she asked.

“The major told me you are capable of magical sight?” Halle nodded, that much she could hang her hat on. “Very well—watch.” Derek held out his hands before her, palms open. Halle adjusted her vision and saw him bathed in the familiar golden flame. He clenched his hands into fists and suddenly the glow was extinguished across his body.