Touch of Power

Praise for New York Times bestselling author

MARIA V.

SNYDER

‘Inside Out surprised and touched me on so many levels. It’s a wonderful, thoughtful book full of vivid characters … Maria V. Snyder is one of my favourite authors, and she’s done it again!’ —Rachel Caine

‘A compelling new fantasy series.’

—SFX magazine on Sea Glass

‘An intense, excellent read.’

—Locus on Magic Study

‘There is a lovely light touch to this series reminiscent

of early Anne McCaffrey, so it’s gratifying to see that

Snyder has managed to deliver the old one-two

fantasy-literature punch.’

—Rhianna Pratchett, SFX on the Study series

‘Storm Glass is accessible, unusual and most of all fun. If you’re looking for a quick, entertaining summer read, you couldn’t do much better.’ —Deathray

Also by New York Times bestselling author Maria V. Snyder

Study Series

POISON STUDY

MAGIC STUDY

FIRE STUDY

Glass Series

STORM GLASS

SEA GLASS

SPY GLASS

Inside Series

INSIDE OUT

OUTSIDE IN

www.mirabooks.co.uk/mariavsnyder www.miraink.co.uk

Touch of Power

Maria V. Snyder

www.mirabooks.co.uk

For Jenna.

I hope you enjoy your story!

Acknowledgments

Novel number nine has a nice ring to it. Don’t you think? For the longest time, this book was either called the healer story, by my publisher/editor, or novel number nine by me. And yes, that’s why the mountain chain is called the Nine Mountains. I can also think of nine people who I need to thank for helping turn this idea I had into a story.

My daughter, Jenna, for asking every night, “What’s next?”

My agent, Bob Mecoy, for his help in sharpening the idea and selling it to MIRA.

My editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey, for her feedback and for the title of this and the next two books.

Assistant editor, Elizabeth Mazer, for all she does in getting the manuscript ready.

To my critique partner, Kim J. Howe, for all the comments and suggestions to improve this story.

My assistant, Becky Greenly, for helping with organizing the increasing number of reader emails and for getting the mail out so I have more time to write.

My niece and researcher, Amy Snyder, for finding cool little-known facts about the Black Death.

My husband, Rodney, for holding down the fort while I’m out and about promoting books and for finding those misplaced commas and gaps in logic.

My son, Luke, for learning how to juggle and inspiring the character Flea.

Thanks so much!

I also need to thank the following nine groups of people who also work hard on my books and who have supported me and my books.

The art department for, once again, creating the perfect cover.

The public relations, marketing and sales departments for continuing to get the word out about my books.

Those who worked on the copy edits and line edits.

The digital team for ensuring all my books are available as ebooks and audio books.

Dianne Moggy and Reka Rubin for coordinating and selling my foreign rights.

To my local community for all the support and kudos.

To Seton Hill University’s MFA program students and staff for the support, motivation and inspiration—every residency is a shot in the arm.

To my Book Commandos for their continuing loyalty and for recommending my books to everyone you meet.

To my extended family for the love and support as I continue to write books. Amazing, I know! And a shout-out to my father—who reads every book despite not being a reader and who tells everyone he knows about me whether they want to know or not. Thanks, Dad!

Thank you all!

CHAPTER 1

The little girl wouldn’t stop crying. I didn’t blame her. She was dying, after all. Her lungs were so full of fluid she’d drown in another few hours. Tossing and turning on my thin mattress, I listened to her cries as they sawed through the floorboards and through my heart, cutting it in two.

One piece pleaded for me to save her, urging me to heal the girl with the bright smile and ginger curls. The other side pulsed a warning beat. Her family would thank me by turning me in to the town watch. I’d be hanged as a war criminal. No trial needed.

The horrors from the dark years of the plague were still fresh in the survivors’ minds. They considered those times a war. A war that had been started by healers, who then spread the deadly disease, and refused to heal it.

Of course it was utter nonsense. We couldn’t heal the plague. And we didn’t start it. But in the midst of the chaos, no one listened to reason. Someone had to be blamed. Right?

The girl’s screams pierced my heart. I couldn’t stand it any longer. Three years on the run. Three years of hiding. Three terrible years full of fear and loneliness. For what? My life? Yes, I live and breathe and exist. Nothing else.

Flinging my blankets off, I hurried downstairs. I didn’t need to change since I would never sleep in nightclothes or without my boots on. When you were on the run, the possibility of being surprised in the middle of the night was high. There was no time to waste when escaping, so I wore my black travel pants and black shirt to bed every night. The dark color ideal for blending into shadows.

Another trick of being on the run involved finding a second-floor room with both front and back doors and no skeletons. They were hard to find as most towns had burned the plague victims’ homes in the misguided attempt to destroy the disease. And many victims died alone. My current hideout was above the family with the dying child.

I knocked on my downstairs neighbors’ door loud enough for the sound to be heard over the child’s wet wails. When it opened, her mother, Mavis, stared wordlessly at me. She held the two-year-old girl in her strong arms, and the knowledge that her child was dying shone in her brown eyes. Her pale skin clung to her gaunt face. She swayed with pure exhaustion.

Underneath the sheen of tears and red flush of fever, the little girl’s skin had death’s pale hue. In a few moments, she wouldn’t have the breath to scream.

I held out my arms. “Mavis, go to sleep. I’ll watch … Fawn.” Finally, I remembered her name. Another rule to being on the run was to avoid getting close to anyone. No friends. But I needed to earn money, and I had to make a few acquaintances in order to keep up with the gossip. I’d stayed with Mavis’s children on occasion, which helped with both.

Panicked, Mavis pulled Fawn closer to her.

“The rest of your family needs you, as well. You should rest before you collapse or get sick.”

She hesitated.

“I will wake you if anything changes. I promise.”

Mavis’s resistance crumpled and she handed me Fawn. Well beyond lucidity, the little girl didn’t notice the change in the arms around her, but my magic sprang to life at the touch, pushing to be released from my core. Fawn’s skin burned and her clothes were damp with sweat. I cradled Fawn as I sat in the big wooden rocking chair in the living room. The lantern burned low, casting a weak yellow light over the threadbare furniture. This family hadn’t looted from their neighbors, which said much about them.

Next to the window I had a clear view of the street. A half-moon illuminated the burned ruins of buildings huddled along a dirt road. Rainwater had filled the holes and ruts. The plague had killed roughly six million people—two-thirds of the population—so there was no one left to attend to minor tasks like fixing the roads or clearing away the debris. The fact that this town … Jaxton? Or was it Wola? They all blurred together. Either way, having a local government town watch, basic commerce, no piles of skeletons and a tiny—a few hundred at most—populace was more than many other towns could claim.

I rocked Fawn, humming a tune my mother had sung to me years ago. Tendrils of my magic seeped into Fawn’s body. Her cries lost the hysterical edge.

Mavis watched us for a few minutes. Did she suspect? Would she take her child back? Instead, she heeded my advice and went to bed. Waiting for Mavis to fall into a deep sleep, I rocked and hummed. Once I was certain enough time had passed, I stopped the chair. Concentrating on the girl in my arms, I allowed my full power to flow into Fawn until she was saturated with it. The release of magic sent a ripple of contentment through me. This was my area of expertise. What I should be doing.

Then I drew it back into me, cleaning out the sickness inside Fawn. My lungs filled with fluid as hers drained. I broke into a fever as hers cooled.

She hiccupped a few times, then breathed in deep. Her body relaxed and she fell into an exhausted sleep.

The sickness nestled in my chest, causing me to suck in noisy wet breaths. I couldn’t pull enough air into my lungs. Goose bumps raced across my skin as a sliver of fear touched my heart. I hadn’t healed anyone this sick before. Would I be strong enough? Had I waited too long to help Fawn? My own cowardice would kill me. Fitting.

The effort to breathe consumed my energy. Black and white spots swirled in my vision as I fought to stay conscious. Even though my body healed ten times faster than a regular person’s, I was quite aware that it might not be fast enough.

Luckily, this wasn’t that time. The crushing tightness around my ribs eased a fraction. I concentrated on the simple act of breathing.

Mavis woke me in the morning. I had fallen asleep with Fawn still in my arms.

“How did you get her to sleep? She hasn’t stopped crying in days,” Mavis said.

Still groggy, I searched for a good explanation. “My tuneless humming must have bored her.” My voice rasped with phlegm and set off a coughing fit.

“Uh-huh.” She peered at me with a contemplative purse on her lips.

“Her fever broke last night,” I tried between coughs.

Unconvinced, Mavis gently lifted Fawn and transferred the girl to her crib. “You should rest, as well. You look …”

I waved off her concern. “Nothing a couple of hours of sleep won’t cure.” But my legs betrayed me as I staggered to my feet. Moving with care, I headed toward the door.

When I reached for the knob, Mavis said, “Avry.”

I froze and glanced over my shoulder, waiting for the accusation.

“Thank you.”

Nodding, I hurried from the room. The climb to my place drained all my strength. I hacked up blood as the sweat poured from my body. I needed to grab my escape bag and leave town. Now. But when I bent to retrieve the knapsack from under the bed, a wave of dizziness overwhelmed me. Instead of fleeing, I collapsed on the floor.

A part of my mind knew I only required a few hours of sleep to recover, while another part planned the quickest route out of town. A third part still worried. With good reason.

A fist pounded on the door hard enough that I felt the vibrations through my cheek. Waking with a jolt, I scrambled to my feet. A male voice ordered me to surrender. Darkness filled the room and pressed against the windowpane. I had slept all day.

Unfortunately, this situation wasn’t new to me. I scooped up my escape bag and exited through the back door. Pausing on the landing, I scanned the area. Moonlight lit the wooden steps. No one blocked them. Hurrying down, I shouldered my pack and ran through the empty alley that reeked of cat urine.

A figure stood at the alley’s southern exit so I turned around. Except the northern route was also blocked. The only way out was through the tight space between buildings to the street where there would no doubt be more town watchmen.

The crash of a door echoed off the bricks. Upon my landing, a man called, “Do you have her?”

The two in the alley closed in. Guess I would take my chances. I darted through the narrow opening and right into a waiting town watchman’s arms.

Voices yelled, “Don’t touch her skin.”

“Take her pack.”

“Cuff her quick.”

The drowning sickness had rendered me too weak to put up much of a fight. In mere seconds, my hands were manacled behind my back. My three years on the run had ended. It was hard to tell if fear or relief dominated. At this point, both had equal sway.

The captain of the watchmen yanked my shirt off my right shoulder, exposing my healer tattoo to the crowd. It appeared as if the entire town had gathered to witness my arrest. As expected, they gasped at the proof of the monster in their midst. And to think, I had once been proud of the symbol of my profession—a simple circle of hands. From a few feet away, it resembled a daisy with hand-shaped petals.

I scanned faces as the watchmen congratulated themselves on their catch. Mavis and her husband stood among the gawkers. He glared and approached me, dragging Mavis along. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. Little Fawn clung to her mother’s leg.

“It doesn’t matter that you saved my girl’s life,” the husband said. “Your kind is responsible for millions of deaths. And the gold your execution will bring this town is sorely needed.”

True. Tohon of Sogra placed a bounty of twenty golds for every healer caught and executed. I suspect the plague killed one or more of his loved ones. Otherwise, why would a powerful life magician care? The disease certainly didn’t care, eliminating people without rhyme or reason.

Right before I was escorted to the jail, Fawn waved bye-bye to me. I smiled. My empty, pointless life for hers. Not bad.

Inside the town watch’s station house I endured endless rounds of questions. They wanted me to turn over my healer cohorts. I almost laughed at that. I hadn’t encountered another healer in three years. In fact, I’d guessed they had been smarter than me and had found a nice refuge to hide in while they waited for this current madness to pass.

I refused to answer their ridiculous queries, letting their voices flow past me as I concentrated on Fawn’s healthy face. Eventually they removed the manacles, measured me for my coffin and locked me in a cell below ground level, promising tomorrow would be my last day. I had an appointment with the guillotine. Lovely.

At least the guards left a lantern hanging on the stone wall opposite my cell—a basic cube with iron bars on three sides and one stone wall. Equipped with a slop pot and metal bed, I had the space to myself. And no neighbors in the adjoining cells. The bedsprings squealed under my weight. My lungs wheezed in the damp air thanks to Fawn’s stubborn sickness.

I wasn’t as terrified as I had imagined. In fact, I was looking forward to my first solid night’s sleep in three years. Ah, the little things in life.

Too bad, I didn’t even get my last wish.

CHAPTER 2

A low cough woke me from a sound sleep. Instincts kicked in and I jumped to my feet before I realized where I was. In jail, awaiting execution.

“Easy,” a man said. He stood near the door to my cell. Although armed with a sword, he wasn’t wearing the town watch’s uniform. Instead, he wore a short black cape, black pants and boots. The lantern’s glow lit the strong and familiar features of his face. I remembered him from the crowd that gawked at my arrest.

I waited.

“Are you truly a healer?” he asked.

“You saw the tattoo.”

“For a town on the edge of survival, twenty golds is a considerable sum. I’ve learned that desperate people do desperate things, like tattoo an innocent person. Is that what happened to you?” He leaned forward as if my answer was critical.

“Who wants to know?” I asked.

“Kerrick of Alga.”

I’d thought he was a town official, but the Realm of Alga was north of the Nine Mountains. If he wasn’t lying, then he had traveled far from his home. “Well, Kerrick of Alga, you can go back to your bed and rest easy. The watchmen caught the right girl … and by tomorrow this town will be safe once again.” Which wasn’t entirely true. At twenty years of age, I wouldn’t call myself a girl, but woman sounded too … formal.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Why do you care?”

“It’s important.” He sounded so sincere and he stared at me as if I held his fate in my hands.

I huffed. What did it matter now? “Avry.”

“Of?”

“Nowhere. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

“It does.”

“Of Kazan. Happy?”

Instead of answering, Kerrick clutched the bars with both his hands and leaned his forehead against them for a moment. I had thought he felt guilty about my impending execution, but his recent behavior failed to match.

When he knelt on one knee, worry replaced curiosity. He withdrew long metal picks from a pocket. I backed away as fear swirled. Should I yell for the guards? What if he already had knocked them out?

He unlocked the cell. The door swung open. By this time, I had reached the back wall.

Straightening, he gestured. “Come on.”

I didn’t move.

“Do you want to be executed?”

“Some things are worse than death,” I said.

“What … Oh. I won’t hurt you. I promise. I’ve been searching for a healer for two years.”

Now I understood. “You want the bounty for yourself.”

“No. You’re worth more alive than dead.” He paused, knowing he had said the wrong thing. “I meant, I need you to heal someone for me. Once he’s better, you can go back into hiding or do whatever you’d like.” Although muffled, raised voices and the sounds of a commotion reached us. Kerrick glanced to his left. “But if you don’t come right now, there won’t be another chance.” He held out his hand.

I hesitated. Trust a complete stranger or remain in jail and be executed in the morning? If he was sincere, Kerrick’s offer meant I would have my life back. My life on the run. Not appealing, but that survival instinct, which had spurred me on these past three years, once again flared to life. What if he was lying? I’d deal with it later. Right now, it didn’t matter; living suddenly took precedence over dying.

I grabbed his hand. Warm calloused fingers surrounded mine. He tugged me down the corridor. I hadn’t been paying close attention when I had arrived, but I knew this way led to more cells. There was one door into the jail. And loud noises emanated from that direction. Fear twisted. Crazy how a few hours ago I hadn’t cared if I lived or died, but now a desperate need to live consumed me.

Our way dead-ended, but Kerrick pushed open the last cell’s door. Moonlight and cold air streamed from a small window high on the stone wall.

Kerrick whistled like a night robin. A young man poked his head though the opening. “What took you so long?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer as he reached both hands out.

“Grab his wrists,” Kerrick said as he boosted me up.

I clasped wrists with him. He pulled me through the window with surprising speed and strength for a skinny kid. His feat was due to the two men holding his legs. He reached in for Kerrick and I noticed the window had been covered with iron bars at one time. The stumps of the bars appeared as if they had rusted right through.

Glancing around, I understood why these men had used this window. The back of the jail faced a pasture and stable for the watchmen’s horses. Since the jail marked the edge of town, there were no other buildings behind it. Just the well-used north-south trade route.

Kerrick joined us. A crash echoed, a man cursed and then the pounding drum of many boots grew louder, heading toward us.

“Belen.” Kerrick sighed the name.

“Flee or fight?” the young man asked.

Kerrick glanced at me. “Flee.”

After hopping the pasture’s fence, we raced to the woods. The herd of watchmen behind us sounded as if they would tread on my heels at any moment. The last remnants of the drowning sickness impeded my breathing and I gasped for air. For a second, I marveled that Fawn had lived as long as she had.

When we reached the edge of the forest, Kerrick shouted, “Become one with nature, gentlemen. We’ll meet at the rendezvous point.” He snatched my hand.

Kerrick led me through the dark woods, but my passage sounded loud compared to his. However, my stumbling noises became undetectable when the watchmen chasing us burst into the woods. The cracks of breaking branches and crunching leaves dominated.

They soon settled and moved with care, pausing every couple of minutes to listen for us. Holding their lanterns high, they spread into a line. I counted twenty points of light. Kerrick stopped when they did, but our progress remained agonizingly slow. I feared my recapture was imminent unless we encountered a Death Lily first and it consumed us. I shuddered at the thought. I’d rather go to the guillotine than be snatched by a man-eating plant.

“There they are,” a voice called.

I froze, but Kerrick seized my shoulders, ordered me to stay quiet and flung us to the ground. We rolled through the underbrush. A strange vibration pulsed through my body. The sounds of pursuit approached. Convinced they would trample us, I clung to him as my world spun. We halted with me flat on my back.

Kerrick covered me from view. He kept most of his weight on his elbows. He peered to our right. Shadows bounced as boots stepped near us. A few watchmen came within inches.

My throat itched with the need to cough. I suppressed the overwhelming desire to squirm, to yell, to scratch. Then the rustling of leaves and tread of boots faded. I relaxed, but Kerrick kept his protective position.

“Once they realize they lost us, they will come back,” he said.

So I remained still despite the cold dampness from the recent rains soaking into my clothes. Despite Kerrick’s warm body pressed against mine. Despite his intoxicating scent tickling my nose. He smelled of living green, moist earth and spring sunshine. Two of the three made sense, since leaves and dirt covered his clothes as well as mine. I couldn’t explain the sunshine. The fall season was in full swing. I suspected my lack of sleep played a role in altering my senses.

To distract myself from my uncomfortable position and his closeness, I watched the moon descend through the trees. It would set soon, leaving us in total darkness for a few hours.

As Kerrick had predicted, the watchmen returned. Light swept dangerously close. Footsteps crunched nearby. My heart thumped so loud, I swore it would give us away. And just when I wanted to scream, they were gone.

We waited for a while, listening for many nerve-racking minutes … hours … days. Or so it seemed. Finally, Kerrick stood and pulled me to my feet. I swayed. Icy air clawed at my skin through my wet clothes.

He scanned the sky. “We need to put as much distance between us and Jaxton before sunrise,” he said. “Can you keep up?”

I drew in a deep breath, testing my lungs. The drowning sickness had finally gone. “Yes.”

“Good.” He took my hand.

A tingle spread up my arm. I debated breaking his hold, but Kerrick moved through the forest with confidence. Once the moon set, the trail disappeared. Kerrick slowed our pace, but otherwise he continued on as if he could see in the dark, leaving me stumbling in his wake.

By the time the sun rose, I had lost all sense of direction, I was frozen and exhausted. Trusting this stranger seemed like a good idea in the middle of the night, but in the light of day, I questioned my judgment. What would stop Kerrick from turning me in for the bounty after I healed his friend? Nothing. His promise not to hurt me hadn’t included his accomplices. Still, for now, my head remained attached to my shoulders. A positive thing. I decided to stay alert and stick to my own survival instincts—taking it one problem at a time.

As daylight lit the red, yellow and orange colors of the forest, Kerrick increased his pace. I dug in my heels and tried to extricate my hand from his, but he wouldn’t let go.

Stopping to glance at me in annoyance, he asked, “What’s the matter?”

“I need to rest. Healers are not indestructible. If I’m too weak, I won’t be able to cure your friend.”

While he considered, I studied him. The color of his eyes matched the forest—russet with flecks of gold, orange and maroon. Blond streaks shot through his light brown hair. Most of his shoulder-length locks had escaped a leather tie. He was five inches taller than my own five-foot-eight-inch height. And I guessed he was five to ten years older than me.

“It’s too dangerous to be out in the open. We’re not far from the rendezvous point,” he said.

“How long?”

“Another hour. Maybe two. If you’d like, I can carry you.”

“No. I’ll be fine.”

He quirked a smile at my quick reply, causing his sharp features to soften just a bit. Some women might think him pleasing to the eye in a rugged way. Four thick scars—two on each side of his neck appeared to be bite marks from some beast.

As he pulled me along, I wondered what animal had had its teeth around Kerrick’s throat. The ufa were reported to be thriving and breeding like rabbits. Feeding off the plague victims’ dead bodies, the large carnivore possessed the strength and pointed canines to rip open a man’s throat. Packs of them lived in the southern foothills of the Nine Mountains.

After another hour of hiking, I lost all feeling in my feet. I stumbled. Kerrick grabbed my arm, preventing me from falling.

“Another two miles,” he said.

“Just … give me … a minute,” I puffed while he didn’t have the decency to even appear winded. “Aren’t you tired?”

“No.” He gazed at the surrounding forest. “In the past two years, I’ve walked thousands of miles, searching for a healer.”

“No horses?”

“No. They’re too big to hide.” Seeing my confusion, he added, “We didn’t want anyone to know about our mission. Healers are skittish.”

“Most prey are.”

“True.”

“How many healers did you find in those two years?” I asked.

He met my gaze. “One.”

My heart twisted. “But you heard of others. Right?”

“Yes. Pattric of Tobory, Drina of Zainsk, Fredek of Vyg and Tara of Pomyt.”

Tara had been my mentor. I had lost track of her whereabouts during the awful plague years. “And?” I dreaded the answer.

“Executed before we could reach them.”

Even though I’d braced for it, the news slammed into me. I sank to the ground and covered my face with my hands. My little delusion that the healers had been holed up together burst. They hadn’t deserved their fate. Grief rolled through me, jamming at the base of my throat.

When the waves settled, I asked, “Anyone else?”

“Just you.”

“How did you find me?”

“Later. We need to keep moving. It’s not far.” He pulled me to my feet.

In a daze, I followed him. My hands and feet were numb. It was a shame I couldn’t say the same for my heart. There hadn’t been many healers before the plague—about a hundred. When my family had learned that Tara agreed to take me in as her student, we’d all been excited. My tattooing ceremony had been the best moment of my life.

Kerrick’s voice jerked me from my memories.

“In here,” he said, gesturing to a narrow opening between two oversize boulders.

I glanced around. The stones were part of a larger rock fall, resting at the base of a steep cliff.

Kerrick grabbed my wrist, tugging me along as he squeezed through the gap. Probably afraid he’d lose me. I guess I couldn’t blame him. If I had been searching so long, I’d be extra-protective, as well.

We entered a dark cave. The wet smell of limestone mixed with the acrid odor of bat droppings. Lovely. Kerrick paused to let our eyes adjust. After a few minutes, I noticed a yellow glow coming from our left. He turned in that direction and soon we arrived at a small chamber.

A campfire burned in the center of a ring of stones. The two leg-holders from last night’s rescue sat beside it. They scrambled to their feet with wide smiles when they noticed us.

“Loren, why didn’t you post a guard?” Kerrick asked the man on our right.

The men exchanged a glance.

“I did,” Loren said.

Kerrick flung me at him. “Watch her. Quain, you’re with me.” He pulled his sword and left with Quain right behind him.

In the tense silence, Loren studied me. “I’m watching. Are you going to do any tricks?”

I searched his expression, gauging if he was serious or not. “I can juggle.”

Interest flared in his blue eyes. “How many balls?”

“Five.”

“Impressive. Anything else?”

“Six scarves, but it can’t be windy. And three daggers.”

“Ohh. That would be something to see. Too bad Kerrick would never allow it.”

“Why not?”

“You might cut yourself.”

“So? I’m a healer.”

“Exactly. You’re the last one. From now on, our sole purpose is to protect you.”

The last one. Loren’s words sliced through me. Hard enough to be a healer, but to be the sole survivor increased the pressure and the fear. At least these men appeared to be safeguarding me. After all, they had rescued me from certain death. Loren’s pleasant expression seemed genuine. He was older than Kerrick. Maybe thirty-five. His black hair had been cut so short, the strands stood straight up.

“What happens after I heal your friend?” I asked.

“You’ll be a hero,” he said.