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Touch of Power
Maria V. Snyder
THEY DESTROYED HER WORLD. BUT SHE'S THEIR ONLY HOPE…Avry’s power to heal the sick should earn her respect in the plague-torn land of Kazan. Instead she is feared. Her kind are blamed for the horrifying disease that has taken hold of the nation. When Avry uses her forbidden magic to save a dying child, she faces the guillotine. Until a dark, mysterious man rescues her from her prison cell.His people need Avry’s magic to save their dying prince. The very prince who first unleashed the plague on Kazan. Saving the prince is certain to kill Avry – yet she already faces a violent death. Now she must choose – use her healing touch to show the ultimate mercy or die a martyr to a lost cause?
Praise forNew York Timesbestselling 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.’
—SFXmagazine onSea Glass
‘An intense, excellent read.’
—LocusonMagic 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,SFXon theStudyseries
‘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 authorMaria 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 (http://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.”
