Burned: Weslan's Story (A Destined Series Short) Read online

  I pinched the fine fabric of my shirt and tugged it away from my body. “The clothes. Shoes. All of it.” I didn’t have to pretend as urgency made my words clipped. “How much?”

  The man heaved himself out of his chair and sauntered out from behind the shop desk, then looked me up and down in the dim light. “One-fifty.” He smirked. “Less twenty-five for a change of clothes.”

  Weakness from expelling so much magic made it difficult to stand straight, but I managed to stiffen my spine through sheer frustration. “Two hundred,” I shot out. “And you’ll throw in a laborer’s shirt, pants, and boots for free.”

  “Two hundred, huh?” The man rubbed his jowls as though considering my offer, then he threw back his head and chortled. “You want aurae something fierce, don’t you?” He shook his head. “I bet you think you’re above me.” He leaned closer and gave me a conspiratorial wink. “But we know better, don’t we? It’s the great leveler, aurae is. Brings down the weak.” He grinned. “Two hundred it is, and I’ll even throw in a little vial to tide you over, Son.” He clapped me on the back. “Strip down. I’ll get your new clothes.”

  My hands shook as I undid the gold-coated buttons and removed the shirt. I draped it carefully on the nearest shop display, removed my pants and boots, and stood barefoot in my drawers, trying not to think about the view I was displaying through the shop window. Ella’s swollen face, still green and blue from lingering bruising. Whimpers of pain and quiet sobs audible through the thin pantry door…

  “There you are.”

  I caught the tattered shirt and pants he threw at me, then I stumbled as he tossed the dirty, old boots at my bare feet with unnecessary force. It took just a moment to shove my legs through the pants and my arms through the threadbare shirtsleeves, but by the time I had jammed my feet in the unlaced boots, he was already holding out a stack of marks and a tiny, crystal vial.

  I took them numbly, avoiding his eyes. “Thank you,” I mumbled.

  “Go on, Son. Get out of here. And don’t worry,” he added as I fumbled with the knob on the shop’s door. “You can barely even tell you used to be somebody.”

  Outside, I shoved the marks and vial in my pocket and paced toward the River Quarter, buttoning my shirt as I went.

  Weak? I was worse than weak. I was worthless.

  But I was all Ella had, and somehow, the knowledge that she needed me had become its own source of strength.

  When my shirt was buttoned, I took the miniature vial of aurae from my pocket and hurled it into the gutter.

  5

  Back at the bakery, I removed the small, brown envelope of medicine from my pocket and set it on the kitchen counter. The movement drew the ragged edges of my new, too-short shirtsleeves up my arms. I looked away and focused on the little blue pellets spilling onto the countertop.

  “How many, again?” Zel hovered nervously over my shoulder.

  Ella cried out from her bedroom, and I felt Zel flinch.

  “Three every day.” I put three on my palm and glanced at her, my eyes dry from exhaustion. “We’re supposed to space them out, but she’s in so much pain now …”

  Zel ran a hand through her loose braid, nearly making it come apart. “Just today. Fine. Give her all three at once, and we can space them out later.” Her decisive words were at odds with the way she chewed worriedly on her lower lip. “Do you want me to do it?” She wrapped her robe tighter.

  “I’ve got it.”

  Inside Ella’s bedroom, the air was stale. She writhed on her bed in her sleep, her legs tangled in the sheet, and pulled frantically at the bandage along the side of her face. No doubt she was too lost in her nightmare to realize the movement was only causing her more pain.

  I sat on the edge of her bed and shook her shoulder, gently at first then more firmly, but she only whimpered fearfully instead of opening her eyes. I wanted to crawl into bed with her and wrap my arms around her, to somehow show her that she wasn’t alone in this, that I would fix it for her.

  Only one thing would fix Ella right now, and it wasn’t me. It was the three, blue pieces of comfort I held in my palm.

  At the first flutter of eyelid movement, I leaned over her and held out my hand. “For the pain.” My voice was hoarse with some emotion I couldn’t name.

  She blinked at me, then she sat abruptly and grabbed my hand. She held it to her mouth and ate the pellets right off my palm, her lips and tongue shocking my skin with their soft warmth.

  Ella released me as soon as the medicine was gone and lay back in her bed, turning her back to me.

  I stood awkwardly and backed out of the room, my palm burning with the feel of her lips.

  Out in the kitchen, Zel said goodnight. I rolled my thin bedroll out on the floor and collapsed onto it with my hands over my eyes.

  What would I say to Ella when she emerged from this nightmare?

  You probably don’t remember me, but I carried you home from the hospital and sold the clothes off my back to pay for your pain medicine.

  Oh, no. Don’t thank me.

  While you were lying in bed, injured and in pain, I was in the next room thinking about your lips.

  Weslan Fortis. Worst man in Asylia.

  Nice to meet you.

  6

  Two Months Later

  My collar was too tight.

  I shot magic into it, enlarging the cut, but it didn’t help. I scratched the back of my neck and tried to remember the words I’d been up half the night planning to say.

  Ella, would you accompany me out for coffee this morning? I’d like to—

  No. Too formal. It would probably scare her off.

  Ella, I’ve missed you. Let’s catch up, shall we?

  Really? Catch up? It was something a casual friend would say, and that was the last thing I wanted to be.

  Of course, I would lose my touch at flirting on the day when I needed it most.

  Ella, did you know that your hair is gorgeous, and your lips haunt my dreams, and you smell like sugar, and I think about you all the time, and I could stare into your stunning, light-green eyes every day for the rest of my—

  “Master Weslan! What lovely rosedrops.” Two common girls, around the same age as Ella’s stepsisters, wiggled their fingers at me and smiled brightly as I passed them on the footpath. It seemed people all over the Common Quarter recognized me from our short stint running the mage-craft bakery stall at the market.

  “Hello, ladies,” I managed, my voice cracking partway through the greeting. I may have smiled—I wasn’t sure. I was dimly aware of them giggling as I sped past them, the bouquet of pink rosedrops clutched in my sweaty fist. No time to waste. I had to get this over with. I’d honored Zel’s wishes and given Ella a week’s worth of space after we stopped the Crimson Blight, and now I had to tell Ella how I felt.

  Zel had probably been expecting me to wait a month, not a week. Well, I’d done my best. Besides, the past week had certainly felt as long as a month. I missed my best friend—hey, maybe that was it. You’re my best friend, Ella. With you at my side, I can face anything. Will you—

  “Master Weslan.” A tall, brown-haired man in a craftsman’s leather apron clapped me heartily on the back. “Good to see you, young sir! We’ve missed you and the lovely Ella at the market.”

  I nodded, searching through my memory to recover his name. He’d had a stall just a little way down from our bakery stall at the Theros Street Market. “We’ve missed everyone at the market, too, Master … James.”

  He nodded and smiled widely. “I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to thank you for everything you did at the market. We almost didn’t rent a stall, knowing the market’s past, but you and Ella drew so many customers, we started turning a profit in the first week. Sales are down since your bakery closed, but not as much as you’d think. Plenty of profit every day.” He held out his hand, his expression sober. “We’re in your debt, Son.”

  A strange sensation hit m
e hard, a satisfaction so deep, so intense, it was a moment before I could respond. “It was an honor to be there, Master James.” I stood a little taller and shook his hand.

  We said good-bye, and I continued toward Thrush Street, checking the building numbers against the address I’d gotten from the new owner of Ella’s bakery.

  There. I’d found her. The tall apartment building was crookedly-built, and the bricks were cracked in several places, but the glass windows on each level sparkled cheerfully. I opened the front door and stopped in front of an elderly woman who was just coming down the stairs.

  She raised her eyebrows. “How may I help you, young man?”

  “Hello, Mistress. I … ah … I’m looking for Ella Stone, please.”

  I barely heard her response. My heart pounded in my ears. It was all I could do to follow the woman as she grinned, turned, and hurried up the stairs.

  Ella, I have to tell you something.

  I’m in love with you.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Kaylin Lee is an Army wife, mama, and white cheddar popcorn devotee. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her real-life hero husband and sweet toddler girl. After a lifetime of staying up too late reading stories, she now wakes up too early writing them. It was probably inevitable.