Cursed by Christina Bauer

burn my skin.
    This was our entire experience along the walk. Every so often, Rowan would try to make conversation and I’d answer with one or two words. I knew he was trying to make up for tackling me, but I wasn’t in the mood.
    Finally, we closed in on the oasis. The place was pretty large, as it turned out. A small forest of palm trees surrounded a still blue pool. Hundreds of tents clustered around one side of the water, while the opposite bank was crammed with a busy market. The low murmur of voices echoed over the sands.
    Rowan gently touched my shoulder. I almost jumped out of my skin. “Yes?” My voice came out harsher than I’d like.
    â€œI didn’t mean to startle you.”
    â€œDon’t worry, it’s easy to do. I’ve lived the last half-decade in a Cloister.”
    Rowan nodded. “Ah, touch and Necromancers.” This time, the word ‘Necromancers’ didn’t have as much hatred tied to it. “My team is over there.”
    Rowan gestured toward a small group of conical tents by the water. The structures were formed with bent poles, so the shapes swirled upwards, a classic design for Creation Casters. Those mages seemed to work swirls onto everything. Rowan even had them embossed along the seams of his jacket.
    As we stepped closer to the group, I could feel the protective energy of a magickal ward surrounding the camp. It was some serious spellwork, too. If I hadn’t been a Grand Mistress, I might have turned away in fear.
    Rowan set his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Two pairs of men and women came out from the tents. I shook my head. These four could’ve stepped out of an illustration of Casters from one of my library books. The men were bulky and tall, while the ladies were petite and pixie-like. All of them wore brown leathers like Rowan’s—fitted pants and a matching jacket. They paused outside their tents and eyed me warily.
    Rowan pointed across the four Casters. “This is Flint, Laurel, Orion, and River.”
    â€œPleased to meet you.” I noticed how they all held their leather helms by their hips. Traditionally, those were only worn when their King was close by. “Is Genesis Rex here?”
    The other Casters looked wide-eyed. Rowan seemed to care less. “Why do you ask?” he said.
    â€œYou all have your helms.” From what I knew of Caster culture, Genesis Rex was a very hands-on ruler, which made him the easy focus for assassination attempts. Nothing like leaving your tower to make you a target. The helms were one way to fight it.
    â€œForce of habit, I suppose.” Rowan leaned in closer and grinned. “And if he were nearby, we certainly couldn’t tell you.”
    â€œForce of habit, eh? What are you, a member of the imperial family?” A painfully long silence followed. That intense look returned to Rowan’s green eyes. All the other Casters suddenly found other places to focus their gaze.
    â€œYou were the one who tackled me , Rowan.” I pulled on the torn fabric of my shoulder. “A little truth would be welcomed here.”
    Rowan nodded slowly. “I’m his nephew. Unless Rex has a child, I’m next in line for the throne.”
    â€œOh.” I’d never met someone imperial before. Was I supposed to curtsey or something?
    Rowan turned to the other Casters, and I was grateful he ended the awkward moment. “Everyone, this is Elea. She’s a Grand Mistress Necromancer and an independent one, too.”
    Laurel paled. “She is?”
    â€œAre you sure?” asked Orion. “We haven’t met on yet, unless you count the corpse.”
    â€œThat’s what I heard.” And I’m here to see if it’s true.
    Rowan scanned the tents. “Where’s Jakob?”
    â€œAle tents,” said Orion. “Where else?”
    Rowan muttered something under his breath.
    â€œWho’s Jakob?” I asked.
    â€œThe Necromancer