Jane placed her hands on her aunt's leg, one above the wound and one below. She closed her eyes and reached for the magic inside her.

  The spell she needed was simple in theory, but complex in execution. It didn't heal, exactly. It just… encouraged. Prompted the body to prioritize healing over everything else, to pour resources into knitting tissue and fighting infection. It wasn’t that different from the work she did with her yeast, really, just requiring a great deal more intention and focus.

  The problem was that Jane wasn't aligned with this kind of magic. Healing required a very specific kind of mystical force, and Jane simply did not possess it. Every part of her own magic fought against her, but with effort, she wrested it in the direction she wanted it to go. She pushed power through her hands, through her aunt's skin, and down into the injured tissue.

  It hurt. Magic wasn't supposed to hurt the caster, not like this. Jane felt every moment of it as her magical nature rebelled against what she was asking it to do.

  Yet the spell took hold. She felt it click into place, felt the subtle shift as her aunt's body began responding to the magical encouragement. It wasn't much, but it was something.

  Jane held the spell for as long as she could, pouring power into it until her hands started to shake and sweat beaded on her forehead. When she finally released it, she slumped forward, catching herself with one hand on the ground.

  "Easy." Allen was beside her immediately, his arm around her shoulders to steady her. "You did enough. Rest now."

  "Not enough," Jane managed. "Need to do it again. Later. Multiple times."

  "Then you need to eat," Hugh said firmly. He had finished his preparations and was now ladling something into small bowls. "Can't pour from an empty pitcher, as my ma used to say. You're no good to anyone if you wear yourself out."

  The smell of the food finally worked its way into the conscious parts of Jane’s brain. It was some kind of stew, thick with vegetables and beans and what might have been dried meat reconstituted in the broth. Her stomach growled loudly enough that everyone could hear it.

  "Eat," Otto commanded. "All of you. We've done what we can for now. No sense starving ourselves."

  They sat in a circle around the fire. Jane found herself eating ravenously, despite the worry gnawing at her insides. She noticed the others were doing the same. Even Hugh, who had been doing the cooking, accepted a portion and devoured it.

  "Have as much as you want," he said between bites. "I brought enough for days. Figured it was better to have too much than too little.”

  He wasn't kidding about the quantity. When Jane finished her bowl, he immediately refilled it without asking. She ate that too, and felt substantially better for it. The magic had drained her more than she'd realized.

  As the sun began its descent toward the mountains, Otto organized the camp with quiet efficiency. He had Hugh set up a small tent, and they carefully moved Cecelia inside it, making her as comfortable as possible. Frank volunteered for first watch, settling himself near the fire with his back against a convenient boulder.

  Jane checked on her aunt one more time before the last light faded. Cecelia was still unconscious, but her breathing seemed steadier now. The color in her cheeks was perhaps a shade better than it had been. Jane placed her hands on her aunt's leg again and repeated the healing spell, gritting her teeth against the discomfort it caused her.

  When she emerged from the tent, Allen was waiting.

  "How is she?" he asked, drawing her to sit beside a large fallen tree.

  "The same. Maybe a little better." Jane settled her back against the log and looked up at the darkening sky. Stars were beginning to appear, more of them than she had ever seen in the capital. Out here, away from city lights, the night sky was overwhelming. "I keep thinking I should be doing more. But I don't know what else to do."

  Allen's voice was firm. "You're doing enough. You found her. You're healing her. What more could anyone ask?"

  Jane didn't answer. She couldn't explain the feeling of helplessness, of having all this power and still not being able to fix what was wrong. She leaned against Allen without thinking about it, letting his warmth anchor her.

  "Thank you," she said finally. "For organizing this. For bringing everyone.”

  "It's nothing."

  "It's not nothing." Jane pulled back enough to look at him. "It's everything. You did this. All of it. You got people together in the middle of the night. You've been taking care of me this whole time, and I don't know how to repay that."

  "You don't have to repay it." Allen's hand found hers in the growing darkness. "I like helping you. I like being the person you can count on."

  "I like you liking it," Jane said, surprising herself with the words.

  Allen laughed softly. "I could say I like you liking me liking it, but I'm afraid we're getting into a loop."

  Jane smiled despite everything. She shifted closer, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder. It fit perfectly there, as if designed for exactly this purpose. On impulse, she lifted her face and pressed her lips to the skin just below his ear, holding there for a moment before settling back against him.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Allen went very still. His arm came around her waist, careful and uncertain.

  "Jane?"

  But she didn't answer. The exhaustion of the day, the magic she had poured into her aunt, the worry and the walking and everything else, all caught up with her at once. She felt herself going heavy against Allen's shoulder, felt sleep pulling at her despite the uncomfortable position and the hard ground beneath them.

  The fire crackled. Frank hummed something low and tuneless. And Jane, exhausted and worried and still somehow content, slept.

  —

  When she woke, it was to the gray light of pre-dawn and her aunt's voice calling her name.

  “Jane?”

  Cecelia was hobbling out of her tent, something that couldn’t be allowed to happen. Blearily, Jane stood, stumbled over, and forced her aunt to sit on a small rock by the fire.

  “I’m fine,” Cecelia protested.

  “You aren’t.” Jane spoke through a wave of tears. “I should have come sooner.”

  “You came soon enough. I appreciate it. Now we can walk home.”

  Jane squinted at the leg, checking the flows one more time. The magic was doing its work. It was knitting flesh back together in slow pulses, but Cecelia needed to stop fidgeting, or she would tear something loose again.

  "I mean it," Jane said. "You sit. You eat. You let it finish."

  Cecelia made a face but stayed put, accepting the bowl of porridge Otto handed her. She ate mechanically. Her attention was fixed on her injured leg, as if she could speed the healing through sheer force of will.

  Jane stared at her aunt, slowly letting her own nerves settle. “What happened? What did you find?”

  “Nothing.” Cecelia shook her head. “I traveled a good way downstream, but no results. I could have turned back, but I decided to go looking for the other river.”

  “The other river?” Jane echoed.

  Cecelia gestured towards the tent, where they had placed her pack by her bedroll. “I got a map in town. There’s supposed to be another river up this way. Since I wasn’t finding anything wrong with the water in the main river, I thought I should check this other one out. But I couldn’t find it, either.”

  “That river isn't far, but it's been dry for years,” Otto told her. “It diverted.”

  Cecelia gave a short, humorless laugh. “That explains it.”

  “So why did you make the circle?” Jane asked.

  “The circle was my last-ditch effort to find that other river.” Cecelia sighed. "It was foolish, in the end. If I had just stuck to the plan, I’d be at a tavern by now.”

  Cecelia rested one hand on her thigh. Jane could feel the small surge as her aunt pushed more magic into the wound, reinforcing what was already there.

  “It'll be afternoon at the earliest, if you really want it fully closed,” Cecelia said. “Before I can keep up, I mean. But it's closing.”

  Otto was watching her closely. "The boar?"

  "Jumped out at me. I think it must have been hiding from me in that cave until it panicked. I was halfway through my circle when it hit me. Knocked me flat. I don't…” Cecelia paused, frowning. "I don't know how long I was out. Could've been a minute, could've been ten."

  “Probably more like a day,” Otto said. “Judging by what we saw.”

  Jane thought about the blood, the torn fabric, and the way Cecelia had been slumped against the stones when they'd found her. Otto’s guess seemed much more likely, though she didn’t say so. Instead, she checked the porridge pot, found it nearly empty, and set about making more. They would need it.

  "Should've been more careful," Cecelia muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

  "Should've had someone with you," Otto countered.

  "Wasn't planning on getting mauled."

  "Nobody plans on it. That’s how the woods are. The things that happen, happen on accident."

  Jane stirred the pot and said nothing. The argument was pointless. Cecelia had gone off alone because that's what Cecelia did. She was careful and methodical, and she didn't like company when she was working. Nine times out of ten, that worked fine.

  This was one of those ‘tenth’ times.

  She had told Jane about other times just like it, though they had never felt real to Jane before this. If those occurrences hadn’t stopped Cecelia, then neither would this.

  The porridge started to bubble. Jane pulled it off the fire, ladling it into bowls. She handed one to Cecelia, who took it without comment, then passed the rest around. Nobody spoke until Otto set his bowl down and looked at Cecelia.

  "You feel up to moving today?"

  Cecelia touched her leg again, feeling the magic and the skin pulling together. "Not yet. Maybe by afternoon, like I said. Depends."

  "On?"

  "On whether I sit still, mostly. Jane wasn’t wrong to tell me so. I probably set it back an hour just getting out of bed."

  "Then we wait," Otto said.

  And that was that.

  The morning dragged by. Despite the general relief in Cecelia’s recovery, no one said much. They simply rested in the sunshine’s warmth. Allen, Frank, and Brit took turns checking the perimeter.

  Cecelia dozed off around midmorning, her head tipped back against the log. Jane checked her leg again to make sure the healing was still holding. It was. The wound had closed to a thin red line, still tender but no longer bleeding. Another few hours, and it'd be solid enough to walk on, though Cecelia would be limping for a day or two at least.

  Jane looked up to meet Otto’s questioning gaze.

  “She’s looking better. The wound is closed.”

  "Then we move this afternoon," Otto said, glancing at Cecelia. "If she can."

  Cecelia cracked one eye open. "I can."

  "You sure?"

  "I'll be fine."

  After lunch, they broke camp slowly, packing up the gear with deliberate care. Cecelia stayed seated until the last possible moment, then stood and tested her weight on the injured leg. She winced, but didn't fall. After a few cautious steps, she nodded.

  "It'll hold.”

  "Don't push it," Jane warned her.

  Cecelia smiled ruefully. "I won't."

  The afternoon was cooler than the morning had been. The sun was hidden behind a layer of thin clouds that turned the light flat and gray. Otto led the way, as usual, with Frank and Brit close behind him. Jane and Cecelia were in the middle. Allen and Hugh brought up the rear.

  Cecelia limped, but managed to match the group’s pace. Her breathing was steady, her face set in concentration. Jane kept half an eye on her, ready to step in if the leg gave out, but it held. The magic was doing its job.

  It was early evening when they reached a clearing with a stream running through it. Otto called a halt.

  "We'll camp here," he said. "Get water, make a fire, and then we eat."

  Jane helped with the fire, her hands moving through the familiar motions while her mind wandered. She didn't regret coming one bit, but she was tired, and the weariness made everything feel heavier than it should.

  Dinner was quiet again. Hugh made another pot of thick stew, and they ate it with hard bread, washed down with water from the stream. Cecelia's leg was holding. The skin was fully closed now, though Jane could see the strain in her aunt’s posture. She would need rest, real rest, before she was back to normal.

  After dinner, Jane sat with the others by the fire and watched the flames. Otto was checking the perimeter. Cecelia had her eyes closed, her breathing slow and even. Everything felt slower now. Jane was exhausted in a way she had never experienced before, a sort of post-stress release that left her feeling entirely beaten down.

  She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. The fire popped and crackled, sending sparks up into the darkening sky. She thought about tomorrow, about the bread she wasn't baking, and about the customers she wasn't serving.

  Her aunt was safe. Allen’s presence beside her was as warm and reassuring as ever. But Jane realized she wanted to be back in her own house, enjoying the new life she had only just begun to cultivate. She wanted home.

  If magic could have helped her be there now, there was no spell she wouldn’t have cast to get it.

  .

  !