Quill of Thieves

Chapter 28

By the Scribes, what if he had murdered Queen Davina's daughter?

Sebastian hadn't dared to take his gaze off the mountain as if his stare alone could call Astrid back down it. Hopefully all in one piece and not splattered to the face of a cliff. While the avalanche she'd created had threatened to bury them alive, Sebastian had felt the elements surge within him, tangling amongst his shoulders, waist, thighs, and fingers as he had been tossed around in that damned tram. The threads must have acted on impulse alone, a survivor's instinct to live, and Sebastian's terror had pulled it forth.

Wind had exploded from him.

He still wasn't sure why he'd directed it towards Astrid first.

Maybe this whole Saviour's Tournament was giving him some messed up hero complex.

"That was quite a show, young man!" someone declared with a clap of his hands, running to Sebastian's tent where he stood, still watching the mountain.

He was surprised to see Master Lambert, his cheeks red from the chilling air, which had only gotten colder once the sun had disappeared below the horizon. Sebastian blinked at the man, hands wringing in front of him. The valley remained too quiet.

Lambert patted Sebastian on the back. "You should be proud of yourself, I would think."

Sebastian nodded. The motion caused his hair to flop against the thick bandage two Halorian healers had wrapped around his head after they had pulled him from where the elements and avalanche had pinned him between a broken tree at the mountain's base. He must have hit it at some point, struck in the chaos of all the snow and ice. By all accounts, he shouldn't have survived it.

Any normal man would not have stood a chance.

But he was not merely a man, was he?

And, if he wasn't, what was he? An Author from his mother's stories he had scoffed at? Born of the royal line of Lady Guinevere Verilibros? A woman who had the same family name as Crazy Ol' Norham?

He felt like such an idiot for not having put it together sooner.

Sebastian's hands shook, so he clasped them.

He should be dead.

"I—" Sebastian cleared his throat. It felt hoarse. "I failed. I didn't make it to the top."

"Ah, young d'Aximos! Modesty does not suit you any better than your denial of elemental magic. To think, just days ago, you sat with me asking about such fiction, and here we stand! You displayed your truth, and that is, perhaps, more important than the win."

He looked away from the master scholar's bouncing grin. It somehow made him feel nauseous. Of course, that could also have been the concussion, but he had been given some herbal potion for that almost two hours ago.

Two hours of anxiously waiting for Astrid to materialize down that mountain.

He really hoped she was still alive; there were so many questions he still had of her.

The spectators remained quiet, which only meant those lucky enough to afford paying the fee for the telescopes hadn't yet seen any signs of their last remaining champion. It must be rather dull, Sebastian imagined, unable to see what was happening up on that mountain. Had she made it to the pond? Found a dead man to return to her mother?

A purplish hue lightened the night sky.

His insides flipped at the sight of dawn's nearing approach. He needed to distract himself before he puked all over Lambert's shining shoes. "You and Norham, how did you know each other?"