“Damn it,” she swore. “By all that is good and holy. Sorin, look what you’ve done.” He returned from the clearing as she groaned in disgust. “Fine, no camp. We’ll keep riding. He may need one of the healers. And how can I stop you from killing him if I’m asleep?” She cursed again.

“I knew the horses could do it” was all Sorin said. Was that an attempt at humor, or was he just that much of a jerk?

“Shut up. Help me get him on his horse.”

Many curses from Miara later, she and Sorin had managed to get a comatose Aven onto the horse and tied such that he wouldn’t fall off. Pretending he was unconscious throughout the process might have been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, requiring him to ignore both the awkward, painful positioning and nearly being dropped a time or two. The position they left him in was not terribly comfortable, with the pommel jutting into his stomach, but he hoped it would be worth it. If he did indeed pass out after what he was about to do, they would be none the wiser. He had never successfully tricked Miara before, but if she had any clue that his unconsciousness was a ploy, she didn’t show it.

The night had only just fallen by the time they were back on the road. The sun had set, but the stars were not yet bright. He caught glimpses of a sliver of moon when he felt sure they weren’t looking in his direction.

He could not see Sorin. His horse was between theirs, and his head had fallen facing to the left. Sorin was on his right side. From the sound of it, though, Sorin appeared to be dozing upright from the slight snores and snorts coming from his general direction. Miara stared straight ahead, cold, leaden, her eyes and face dead of emotion.

The gods were with him, it seemed. They were traveling west, and so not only was his face turned toward Miara, but it was also turned toward the southern sky. It was hard to catch sight of Casel amid the tall trees, but if there was a chance for him to do it, he would find it.

His eyes closed, he fought sleep and waited until the group neared a clearing. He watched for the faint light on his eyelids to brighten. The forest was dense around them, but if he could just get a brief expanse of open sky, he could get a clear view of Casel.

He listened to the horse’s hooves, Sorin’s snores, Miara’s quiet breathing, the sounds of the forest at night. The slight amount of light from the sky flickered on his eyelids, but he waited for it to brighten just a little more, just enough to be worth the risk—

A moment later the light was even greater. He opened his eyes the tiniest sliver. The hillside they passed had fallen away, and there were no trees on that side of the road. There, just to the right of Miara’s shoulder, he saw the familiar sparkle of Casel.

Don’t second-guess yourself, he thought, hearing her words again.

As he had with the boy, he reached out, but this time more desperately, more determinedly. His fists clenched, sweat broke out on his forehead. A cold, silver, fragile energy twisted into his soul, like white smoke coming from the sky. It came from far away, and it was weaker than the sun, but… it was still there. He drank it up like he had never been so thirsty, feeling his chest grow warm, then hot. He drank it up till he felt crazy with energy, full of this peculiar, whispering, twisting magic—

And now—to try to use it.

He knew where the wound was. Of course, he could not touch it without revealing his unconsciousness was a ruse, but he knew. Would it be enough? He trained his mind on her shoulder, like he had focused on the movement of the wind, and pushed.

For a moment, nothing felt different. Then something caught, like a key suddenly turning in a lock. The swirling white energy flew faster now, faster, no longer swirling but streaming toward her at breakneck speed, until he found himself suddenly empty and starting to shiver. He turned his eyes to the sky again, found Casel, and pulled. There came the whispery tendrils of power, and then there they went, funneled toward Miara with all his might. He could not do both at once. He could hardly control the rate that the energy flew through him, so much so that he worried he would pass out before he’d done the job.

How much would be enough to cure her? Would any amount be enough, or was he throwing energy at her for nothing? His gut told him that it was working. But Miara didn’t flinch or move; she only stared ahead with that hard, dead face.

The look on her face spurred him on even as he felt himself tiring. Pull, push, repeat.

He wondered if this were a brute-force system or a coaxing system. He did not know how to coax anything, or sing to it. If that was what was needed, he was just too undertrained… but perhaps he could try? Making something up couldn’t really hurt anything, could it?

He fixed his eyes on Casel, hoping Miara would not notice his more open stare. As he began this new pull, in his mind, he whispered, Casel, star of freedom, liberator, my guide. I seek the freedom of this woman that I love.

Immediately, the energy did not seem so fragile, nor so whispery—the cold smoke turned to a trickle of icy water flowing into him, faster and faster. Was it working?

Freedom star, guide me. It is not the Way of Things that this woman be a slave. I seek to restore the Balance. Aid me!

Energy surged, making him glad he was tied to the horse. He didn’t need any training to know that this much would drive him mad in only a moment or two. He stopped pulling and just pushed as quickly as he could, shoving down a growing panic and forcing his thoughts to focus on her and only her.

More and more energy poured into him. He felt his body twitch involuntarily. He poured energy back out as fast as he could, but it was barely fast enough. He was filling up. The star’s magic was too much, more than he could handle. It was going to drive him insane. In fact, he was pretty sure if he tripped up in the slightest, the sheer energy would addle his brain and kill him.

He wanted Miara to be free, but he did not particularly want to die trying. Surviving would be nice. The only way out was to keep going.

He pushed aside the panic and concentrated on pushing. As he drew his mind nearer to her, he could sense the burning in her skin. The antithesis of the cold, hard, watery energy of the star, it was hot and festering and writhed like so many maggots. There. He pinned it down with his attention, trying to drown it in the cold deluge of the star and hoping he didn’t drown himself in the process.

And then suddenly—the outpour stopped. Stopped so fast that he had emptied nearly all the energy in him at that horrible little spot in her shoulder—he felt his chest grow cold, then suddenly icy.