Page 91 of Reign

He held his hands over Dog’s injured leg, inhaling deeply through his nose before turning to me. “Would you like to cast the spell?”

I shook my head. “I’ve never practiced sorcery before.”

Fitzroy tutted, exasperated. “We’re trying to create an army of wizards to defend ourselves, and you’re too scared to perform a simple healing incantation?”

“I’m nervous that I’ll hurt her more,” I said, my fingers combing gently through Dog’s fur.

“You are smart—for a villager,” Fitzroy reassured me in his characteristically condescending manner. “I think you’ll manage to bewitch the dog’s leg.”

I shot him a glare, aware of his deliberate emphasis on the word “witch.”

Then, with a soft chuckle, Fitzroy took my hands in his. They were softer than I’d imagined—no callouses, just smooth and supple. Something stirred inside me—a tingle danced along the nape of my neck. I shook off the sensation, certain it was the chill that made me shiver. Fitzroy didn’t evoke that kind of reaction in me. I wouldn’t let him.

He placed his palms firmly on the backs of my hands and guided them over her wound.

“Focus on the fear you have for her life,” Fitzroy instructed, his gaze steady on Dog’s injured leg. “Embrace that longing for her to be better. Think about how much she means to you.”

I closed my eyes and ruminated in my feelings for my furry companion.

Fitzroy cleared his throat, signaling it was time. “Now, repeat after me—don’t forget to focus on your sentiment.”

I nodded slightly, letting him know I was ready.

“Closen hire wund, hiersum tou hattan. Halen hire flasc, hedan tou crafa.” Close her wound, obey my command. Repair her flesh, heed my demand, Fitzroy chanted.

I repeated the incantation word for word, my voice trembling with desperation for Dog to be healed.

A tear slipped down my cheek as the thought of losing her overwhelmed me. As if in response to my internal plea, Dog stretched her legs.

“Is she better?” Bash asked, his voice breaking the silence.

I didn’t need to answer. Dog leapt to her feet, placing her paws on my shoulders and licking my face. I laughed as her slobbery tongue tickled my skin.

Fitzroy grabbed my wrist and twisted it gently until my palm faced the stars.

“Remember to cover your hands after casting spells—at least until the stains fade,” he advised, tracing a finger along the purple mark blooming on my skin.

The nighttime chill tickled me once more.

“I’ll give you gloves when we’re back at the encampment,” he added.

I nodded, unease creeping in as I realized the physical manifestation of my magic made me more vulnerable.

Fitzroy sighed in relief. “Come on—if we don’t hurry, we’ll see sunrise before the Anchor.”

With Dog trotting beside us, we followed the track up the cliff edge toward the brothel.

When the Anchor came into view, it was clear closing time had arrived. The last patrons staggered out, heading for their cliffside homes, while Margaret doused the rushlights. Spotting us waiting in the distance, she waved.

“Come on, loves,” she beckoned, holding the door open.

I turned to Dog. “Stay,” I commanded. She whined, but obeyed, disappearing into the shadows as she sat.

Margaret ushered us in, and I was surprised to see Jane chattering to Mr. Bednot beside the bar. Before I could wonder if he, too, was a wizard, the slamming door diverted his attention from polishing tankards.

“We’re closed,” he said curtly—far less hospitable than on our previous visit.

Fitzroy stepped forward, flashing his usual smolder. “Sorry,” he bellowed.