Beneath the Forsaken City by C. E. Laureano Page B

else’s daughter?
    If it had been Ruarc or Conor or one of her brothers, she might have taken comfort in his arms. But Taran was a stranger, and they were still days from Forrais. She straightened her spine and swiped a dirty sleeve across her eyes. If she were to survive, she had to be strong.
    “By the gods, you are a witch!”
    Aine and Taran spun toward the prisoner, who was staring at Aine with a mixture of revulsion and wonder. “My ribs! He broke them, and now they’re healed. I feel not even a twinge of pain.”
    Taran strode to Gabhran’s side and jerked his head back as Aine had done and then ripped open the front of his shirt. Even at this distance, Aine could see that the blood remained, but the wound the mercenary had inflicted was already closed.
    Taran looked wide-eyed at Aine and then scrubbed his hands wearily over his face.
    “Now we are going to have to kill him.”

    “I told you before, I don’t know how I did it.” Aine sighed in frustration and wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders as if it could deflect the hard stares from three pairs of eyes.
    Four pairs, if she counted the prisoner’s. Gabhran watched Aine as if he weren’t quite sure whether she was his salvation or his damnation. She could be either, depending on what was decided in the next several minutes.
    “Tell us what you do know,” Taran said.
    The calculating glint in his eye unsettled Aine, but she nodded anyway. “My gift was healing, but not directly. When I touched someone, I could feel their sickness, but I relied on my training as a healer to cure them. I had no idea it had changed into something more.”
    “So it’s possible you touched someone and accidentally healed them, like you did with that sorry bag of flesh and bone.” Taran jerked his head in Gabhran’s direction. “The innkeeper, his wife . . .”
    “The ship’s captain.” It made sense. Cass Mac Onaghan had wanted her safe and secluded. He must have known Riagain would reward him for turning her in.
    Aine should have guessed, though. Hadn’t she been marveling at how quickly Conor had healed, how his wounds had miraculously disappeared in mere days? But Conor had hisown magic. She had seen him do things that should have been impossible. How was she to know it was due to her and not his own innate abilities?
    “We can’t take him to Forrais,” Pepin said to Taran. “He’ll trade the information to Macha the minute we turn him over.”
    “Probably. I can’t say I haven’t dreamed of ending his sorry life myself, but I haven’t the time to do a proper job of it.”
    Sigurd shrugged. “There are ways of making sure he dies slowly without having to wait around to watch.”
    Taran loosened the dagger at his waist and weighed it in his palm for a moment, his jaw clenched. Finally, he nodded. “Pepin, stay with her. Sigurd and I will take him into the trees. The lady shouldn’t have to see this.”
    The Lakelander rose to follow Taran while Aine stared, open-mouthed. They were discussing a man’s life as if they were discussing their supper. And now, in half a minute, they’d decided to kill a landed Aronan lord to keep Aine’s secret. Slowly and painfully, if she understood aright.
    “Wait! Stop!”
    Taran turned. “It’s the only way.”
    “Why? Macha is my aunt. Surely she won’t let Riagain have me.”
    “Riagain? No. But you know how Aronans feel about magic.”
    “I know it’s frowned upon   —”
    “Under your father, perhaps. Under Macha’s leadership, it carries a sentence of death. King Bress is content to let the clans make up their own minds about such things.”
    Aine swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “She wouldn’t kill me.”
    But even as she said it, she doubted her conviction. Macha had barely tolerated her. Given a legitimate way to rid herself of Aine, would clan ties really stop her? No wonder Taran had said there was no safety in her aunt’s house.
    But even that didn’t justify this