Birds competed with the morning light for Lina's attention. As her eyes fluttered open, a thread of excitement tangled with unease—a sense she had forgotten something important. She threw off the blankets and rushed to pull on her dress for the day.
'I'm late.'
Fin had asked her to weed the herb garden before midday.
Lina grabbed her basket and rushed down the stairs. With any luck, Fin wouldn't notice.
"Sleep in?" Fin coughed from beside the bar.
Heat rushed to her cheeks as she nervously brushed at the immaculate fabric, wishing she could disappear.
Before she could form a response, Fin laughed. "It's all right, Lina. It's a late morning for everyone."
He motioned to the common room.
Soldiers teetered on their chairs and held their heads. One of the men who broke the chair last night gave her a sheepish wave. A smile cracked her lips.
"This lot offered to muck the stables for you today, isn't that right?" Fin said.
The room of half-awake soldiers blinked at him. Fin crossed his arms. A few nodded. He may not have been a soldier, but he outweighed most of the soldiers in muscle alone.
"Go on, Lina. Once you finish in the garden, you can take the afternoon off."
She opened her mouth to protest—
"With pay," Fin interrupted.
Lina snapped her jaw shut, glanced at the now unblinking stares of the soldiers, and chuckled.
Who was she to get between Fin and his idea of restitution for breaking his tavern?
'Good morning,' the man said.
She dropped her basket on the soft dirt path. How could she forget about him?
'Good morning.'
He chuckled, 'You don't seem happy to hear from me.'
A sigh deflated her, the weight of being misunderstood pressing down.
'It's not that, but—' she huffed, 'This is crazy. If I told anyone, they'd think I'd gone insane.'
Lina placed the basket on the ground and leaned over to pluck weeds around the mugwort.
"Maybe I have gone insane," she muttered with her hand hovering over a dandelion.
She tapped its yellow petals. Its color was a welcome reprieve in a sea of green herbs.
'Then, let's keep it between us.'
As Lina stood up, fingers trembling, she untied her braid, heart pounding so hard she wondered if he could hear it.
'Didn't you want to be rid of me as soon as possible?' Lina's lips quivered as she asked.
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She tried to steady her thoughts, but fear spilled out, too raw and too real for her to conceal.
'No.'
'No?'
He sighed and said, 'Our connection doesn't seem harmful.'
'You found information on this?'
Lina tossed her braid behind her shoulder and ripped weeds from the ground as she waited.
'Nothing... conclusive.'
She wiped the sweat from her forehead with her forearm.
'Is Lina a nickname?'
'Yes.'
'May I ask your name?'
'It's Elinora, but no one has called me that since my mother...'
'Elinora.'
She shivered, sitting back on her heels, the cool earth pressing against her calves and fingertips. Hearing her name in his voice felt like surfacing for air after a long dive—her lungs filling with something new and exhilarating, the world sharper and brighter for a moment.
After tossing the last of the weeds into her basket, she dumped them by the woodpile and headed to the market.
'Where are you going?'
Lina kept her mind blank.
'I'm on a stroll,' she teased.
'Barmaid and gardener, is there anything else that you do?'
'Are you curious?'
He fell quiet at her non-answer.
'What a beautiful yellow bird.'
Lina watched as a tiny lark flitted between the trees above. The sun warmed her face.
She moved with fluid grace and hummed the bard's love song from the night before. Her mother taught her to dance as a child, and nothing would steal away her love of it.
When the sounds of the market pressed against her, his voice broke through.
'Why are you there?'
She approached the sanctioned mage store. Filigree and carvings swirled through the walls. The most opulent building in Stonecross.
He cautioned, 'Don't go in there.'
Usually blasé, his caution cut like glass. She hesitated. The street—and the shop—felt deceptively peaceful.
Her hand hovered over the door, and she pushed through.
The village mage, Arystelle, with soft red curls and lupine eyes, chatted with a man in armor coated in runes.
"As you well know, this is quite the magicless town. A few trinket runes. I've not seen anything of interest lately," Arystelle said and batted her eyelashes at the man. "We've not had a child test for magic affinity in years."
"There's an unusual magical signature here," the man pressed. "It'd be difficult to miss, it's quite strong."
He interrupted her eavesdropping and asked, 'Who's there?'
'The mage assigned to Stonecross, and a man in armor.'
'What kind of armor?'
"We have reason to believe there is unsanctioned magic here," the man growled and thrummed his gloves on the counter.
'So many runes,' she mused.
The voice in her mind ground out, 'Sentinel.'
"What did you come for, Lina?" Arystelle prompted.
The sentinel turned to look at her. If Lina's eyes were clouds before a storm, his reflected the raging sea. He tilted his head and assessed her. Was this how a mouse felt beneath the gaze of a falcon?
'What's a sentinel?'
'Mage killer.'
'I don't have magic,' she mentally hissed.
Her shoulders relaxed. A sentinel wouldn't be interested in a magicless barmaid.
"Miss, were you ever tested for magic? Do you have any runes on you?" The sentinel's eyes narrowed on her hands clutching the basket.
She pulled out the warmth rune from her pocket and offered it to the man. No words left her lips.
He grabbed her hand and let the rune drop to the floor with a thud. The sentinel's armor flashed with blue slivers of lightning that slithered in and out of the runes.
"Why does it glow like that?" She asked.
The man's eyes flashed as the lightning streaked across his irises, and his hand stilled.
'Leave, now,' the voice reverberated in her mind.
Lina looked into the sentinel's eyes. How they pinched at the corners.
"I've never noticed magic on her before," Arystelle said and watched where the man's hand held Lina's wrist.
'Leave,' he ordered.
'What?'
'Please.'
'I can't just leave. I wanted to ask about the voice...'
'You don't understand what they'll do. Do not mention me. You need to leave.'
This was ridiculous. He was overreacting.
'Why?'
'Do you not understand the situation you are in?'
'I've never seen a sentinel before.'
'They hunt unregistered magic users.'
'So?'
'Our connection.'
She shook her head. What did that have to do with her?
He explained, 'I'm an unregistered magic user. I don't use approved magic, and it's likely seeping through our connection.'
A shiver ran through her mind at his words. Her mouth fell open. She didn't think unregistered magic users existed.
"This isn't Eryndorian magic," the sentinel mused and smacked his lips as if he could taste it.
"Lina, have you been in contact with anyone outside of town?" Arystelle asked.
"No," Lina said and shook her head.
A tremor ran through her as their gazes drilled into her, her breath shallow and skin prickling with fear.
'Besides the voice,' she admitted to herself.
"She doesn't have magic; it may be someone else's residue. We could bring her to the council to assess." Arystelle said, then covered her mouth as she watched Lina.
"The council doesn't have time for a peasant girl," the sentinel laughed.
Lina pulled her hand from his and hugged her basket closer. She took a step back towards the door.
The sentinel's hand dropped down to the hilt on his side.
"What if her potential is untapped?" Arystelle asked.
"How old are you, girl?"
"Twenty-three summers," Lina squeaked.
"Too old to train," the sentinel drew his blade.
Her pulse spiked.
'Run.'
Lina didn't know whether he'd said it or she'd thought it, but she spun and pressed the door. A crack of sunlight broke through and warmed her face. The dichotomy between the dark rune store and the bright day seemed like an omen now.
She reached through the door, eager to pass the threshold and escape this nightmare.
White-hot pain exploded through her back, stealing the air from her lungs.
Her mother's face flickered—soft, laughing—before dissolving into static.
Something tugged at her, faint and distant. The bond. Still there.
Every gasp tortured her chest. Blood bubbled at her lips as she stared, wide-eyed, at the blade piercing through her—her body numb save for the burning where iron filled her mouth.
'Why?'
She fell to the ground.
Rune-coated boots were the last thing she saw as darkness closed in.
Arystelle's and the Sentinel's voices sounded underwater.
As she floated in darkness, an uninhibited rage cut through her.
"No—" his voice tore through her skull.