The Spell of Undoing by Paul Collins Page B

the icefire itself,’ she said, thinking back. ‘And that eventually helped me become an apprentice magician. I've had that dream from as far back as I can remember.’
    All the while she kept her tone low and gentle, though the things the boy seemed to respond to most were her sudden smiles and the silly laughter which she tried to hold in but couldn't.
    Tab realised later that it had probably been a long time since the boy had seen a smile that wasn't cruel, or heard laughter that wasn't at his expense.
    She ended her story by bringing him up to date. ‘And they tortured me for hours, but I didn't tell them anything. They did this.’ She held up her burnt hand. She had actually managed not to think about it while she related her story to the boy, but seeing it again brought the horrible memories back, and the pain seemed worse than before.
    She tried very hard not to, but suddenly she burst into tears, cradling her wounded hand. Wave after wave of pain throbbed along her arm.
    Through the blur of tears she could see that the boy had crept forward to the edge of the bed. Tab didn't dare move, in case she frightened him again. Despite her tears she smiled at him, wanly.
    As she watched, he reached out towards her wounded hand. Instinctively, she started to pull it away, and the boy froze. His eyes seemed to appeal to her. She swallowed, and tried not to move as he touched her hand.
    Even that gentle touch sent a shockwave of pain racing along her limb, but she bit her lip and forced herself to remain utterly still.
    Then, with a quickness which surprised her, the boy wrapped his hand around hers. She gasped in pain, went to jerk it away, but then a sliver of light shot out from between their two hands, and the pain ebbed, then disappeared.
    Just like that, the burning sensation was gone.
    Tab's free hand flew to her mouth. The boy released her hand and crawled back to the wall, not taking his eyes off her.
    Tab looked down at her hand. It was still blackened and ruined, but the wound was now … old. As if it had happened weeks ago. She looked up at the boy. ‘What did you do?’
    There was the tiniest of shrugs.
    ‘Do you … do you have a name?’ she asked, barely above a whisper.
    Nothing. Then the boy's lips moved. Tab bent closer, and this time she heard it.
    ‘Torby.’ ***
    Tab sat back and smiled. ‘Thank you for fixing my hand.’ She wished fervently that she could heal Torby's wounds, knowing that healers couldn't cure their own injuries.

    Tab woke later that night to find a small warm body pressed against her. Very slowly she rolled over. Torby whimpered but did not wake or leap away in alarm. She made sure he was covered with a blanket then slid her arm around his shoulders, and held him tightly as her eyes filled slowly with tears.
    What's going to happen now? she wondered bleakly. Because one thing was very clear to her: she had to escape from this place, and she had to take Torby with her.

    Shockingly cold water hit Tab's face. She sat up, gasping and spluttering. Immediately she was aware that Torby was gone. She looked about frantically. He was nowhere to be seen.
    In a fury that took even the boy-king by surprise, she leapt off the bed and attacked him. Momentarily stunned, he took a step backwards, then regained his composure and laughed, holding her off with ease.
    The next second a guard grabbed her from behind and threw her back on the bunk where she crouched, snarling. Kull clicked his fingers and another guard stepped into the cell doorway, holding Torby. Tab held out her arms and Kull nodded. The guard released the boy and he hurtled across the cell and into Tab's arms, burying his face against her shoulder, his body trembling.
    ‘What did you do to him?’ shouted Tab.
    Kull seemed amused. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Not today at least, and it can stay that way – if you cooperate.’
    Tab's sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the cell. So that was why they had moved her. They