I link my fingers with hers. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” I swing our arms in a happy motion.
“Lincoln, what did my eyes look like yesterday?” She stays flush against the wall, careful to pull her hood down.
“Oh that.” I frown, thinking things through. “They were changing colors. Brown, blue, red. You said it was from your lust demon awakening.” Leaning in, I nuzzle her neck. Damn, I adore her scent. “Did I mention how much I liked red?”
Myla laughs. “That you did. No less than six times, as I recall.”
“As long as I’m consistent, that’s what matters.” I give her a sideways glance. “Is that why you came here, to ask me that?”
Myla fidgets. “No, I came here to show you something.”
Concern tightens my features. “Okay. What is it?”
Myla’s hand trembles in mine, and I hate that she’s upset. “What if I were different from who you thought I was?”
A jolt of worry moves up my back. Of all the things I’ve faced in the last day, the idea of Myla being at serious and immediate risk? That sends my protective instincts into overdrive. Every cell in my body goes on alert.
“Like how, different?” I ask.
“What if I became someone who was a risk, a target?” Her voice quivers. “Someone who needs to disappear for a very long time.”
My poor girl. Something has her terribly frightened. I envelop her in my arms. “And you’re afraid of what, exactly?”
Myla leans into my shoulder. “We’ve already got a lot stacked against us, Lincoln. Maybe you’re better off with someone like Adair.”
“Really?” I kiss the top of her head, gently. “Did you know Adair thinks simia demons are cute?”
“You’re lying.”
“I wish.” I slide my hand up Myla’s side. “You’re hiding your eyes again, Myla.” I lift my fingers to the edge of Myla’s hood, and bit by bit, I pull it away from her face. “I already told you. I like it when your eyes turn red.” I tilt my head. “Your eyes are blue.” Last night, Myla’s irises flashed blue, but it wasn’t permanent. Is this what has my girl upset? Whoever changed her will pay. “Did someone from the House of Striga cast a spell on you? So help me, I’ll—”
“No, it’s not that.”
I cup her face in my hands. “Are you sick?”
“No, nothing like that either.” Myla winces. “My father is an angel named Xavier.”
“The archangel Xavier? I studied him at the citadel. Greatest warrior in history. Legend says he never loved anything but battle.”
Myla lets out one of her sarcastic ‘humph’ noises. “Until he met my mother.”
“I can see that. If she’s anything like you.” The revelation moves through me. Myla’s definitely part human and demon. Now, she’s half angel as well. “I don’t understand. That would make you—”
The Scala Heir.
“That’s impossible,” I add.
“I thought so too.” Closing her eyes, Myla raises her right arm to shoulder-height. An electric sense of power fills the air. When Myla opens her eyes once more, her irises glow blue. A dozen tiny lightning bolts of power swirl around her palm. The brightness is vibrant. Dazzling. The tiny bolts dance around her hand for a moment longer. After that, they spout into the air like a geyser. I know what those are.
Igni. Myla commands the power to move souls.
My breath catches. It’s true. These igni aren’t the piddle of sparkles that Adair summoned. This is true angelic energy.
Overwhelming.
Supernatural.
Breathtaking.
And unquestionable. Myla is the Scala heir.
A memory appears. Back at the awakening ceremony, Adair had to become angelbound to me in order for her powers to appear. Igni power is angel power. It’s the energy behind love. And for the true Scala Heir, igni are activated when deep love is shared equally between two people.
Can it be?
For months, I’ve followed Myla. Protected her. Obsessed over her. Only recently, I’d hoped that somehow, Myla might slowly grow to care for me. And now? Her powers became active when we kissed in the hedgerow maze. We’re angelbound. That makes me the happiest man imaginable.
I love and am loved.
“Myla, I—”
Myla raises both hands at me, palms forward. “No, I need to say something first. Now that my Scala powers are active, I must go into hiding. I don’t know when I’ll resurface, if ever. Walker told me about all the things stacked up against us … How the Earl wants you to marry Adair. And I heard what you said to Kamal and Horus before. Unifying the lesser Houses? You’ve got enough to worry about without adding me to the list.” She hugs her elbows. “What I’m saying is, if you want to see someone else, that’s okay with me.” She rolls her eyes. “Not that we’re really dating in the first place.”
I can’t believe this. There is no one for me but Myla. But before going forward, I need to ensure there isn’t something else I’m missing here, so I keep my features carefully blank. “May I ask a question?”
Myla picks at non-existent lint on her ghoul robe disguise. “Sure.”
“Do you love me?”
Myla gasps. “Um, well, I…”
“Alright, I’ll ask a different question.” I keep my face unreadable. “When did this happen?”
“It’s been happening for a while, but I didn’t know it. The ceremony at the arena actually awakened me, not Adair. Then, I was angelbound last night when we—” She bites her lower lip.
And my world explodes into all kinds of happy.
I beam with joy. Rushing to Myla, I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her flush against me. “That’s wonderful, Myla.”
Myla freezes. “So, you’re not worried about what I just said?”
“No. Should I be?” On the list of trouble, it isn’t an item. At all. In fact, it clears things up immensely. Myla being the Scala Heir means power. Serious leverage to get her whatever she wants. And if I’m on that list, then I just need to position her abilities all to my parents, that’s all.
Myla’s mouth falls open. “But I must go into hiding. Who knows when I’ll resurface? Don’t you want to, you know, move on?”
Oh, my sweet girl.
Gripping Myla’s waist more tightly, I spin her around again. My girl laughs, fully and freely, and damn, I crave that sound. I kiss her once and softly. “Of course, not. You’ve made me very happy.”
At those words, Myla’s eyes widen. “You just heard blah-blah-blah ‘getting angelbound means Myla loves me like crazy’ blah-blah-blah. Am I right?”
“Yes.” I pull her so close, I can feel both our hearts beating in tandem. “And I love you too, Myla. Like crazy.” I brush my mouth along her jawline. “Now you say it back to me.”
She huffs out what could be a frustrated breath, but there’s no real edge to it. “I love you, Lincoln.”
“There now. The rest of it doesn’t matter.” I cup the back of her head, gently guiding her lips to mine. Our mouths meet in a slow kiss. A set of rather distinct rustling sounds echo in from the shadows.
Damn.
“Ahem.” A voice sounds from across the room.
I frown. “That would be Mother.”
Myla gasps. “I didn’t hear anyone come in.” She pulls down her hood and steps away from me. “Does she always sneak around like that?”
“Pretty much.” In fact, I’m lucky I heard her at all.
Mother stands by the closed door, her body stiff and tall in a black velvet gown. “It seems we’ve much to discuss. This way.”
Even from a distance, I see how Myla trembles. Mother has that affect on people. I step up behind my girl, firmly resting my hands on her shoulders. Leaning in, I brush my mouth against the shell of Myla’s ear. “We can do this.”
In fact, the revelation that Octavia’s here is a good thing. In her own stoic way, Mother’s trying to help. I’d explain that, but Myla seems edgy enough as it is. We c
an cover to the parental management part of things in a bit.
When it comes to my parents, the motto here must be, baby steps.
Myla wraps her fingers with mine. She smiles, and that’s all I need to know.
Yes, we can do this.
35
Myla, Octavia and I leave the mead hall. It’s a short but muddy walk through the early morning camp. Soon, we’re at the royal reception tent. Octavia enters first, which gives Myla and me a chance to chat. Namely, I give Myla a heads-up about Father.
How he wants me to marry Adair.
That he’ll likely be a bit gruff with Myla.
And that, for whatever reason, Father kowtows to Acca.
Myla’s not thrilled about those facts, but my girl’s a fighter. Plus we kiss a little bit, and that seems to help. In short order, Myla and I stride into the reception tent. My parents stand on the other side of the space. Myla pulls up the hood on her ghoul robes.
“Hello, hello!” calls Father. He lumbers over, wrapping me in a bear hug. After that, he turns to Myla. “What’s this? I wasn’t informed of any strangers coming to visit.”
My back teeth lock with frustration. Sure, Father wasn’t informed. Like Mother hadn’t sped into the tent first. We all know why she rushed inside. Octavia warned Connor that Myla was on her way.
And undoubtedly, Mother also asked he be nice to her.
Which Father’s already ignoring.
And all because my own father can’t say no to one of our earls.
For years, I’ve put up with Father’s preferences for Acca. After all, it isn’t easy to rule. Anyone can have a blind spot. Or in some cases, a blind canyon. For Father, the canyon in question is Acca. For Mother, it’s Father. Overall, I’ve never been one to judge him too harshly.
Until now.
Outside the tent, I prepared Myla for Father to act gruffly. I suppose I should have prepped myself far better. Because seeing Father’s inhospitality in action? Anger streams through my nervous system, more fierce than anything I’ve ever felt before. Gripping Myla’s hand, I meet Connor’s gaze. “This is Myla, father. She’s the girl I’ve been telling you about.”
From the corner of my eye, Myla’s false smile turns into a real one. Good.
“Yes, I remember.” Father scans Myla from head to toe. “You’re the quasi-demon.”
“Her name is Myla.” Fury rumbles through my tone. How dare he?
Father crosses the room, taking his favorite seat at the table. Mother takes the chair beside his.
I stand with Myla, not moving. It’s one thing to be gruff, but then there is outright unacceptable behavior.
Father exhales a long breath. “If you’re here, I assume the two of you are in trouble.”
There’s no question what Father means here. He thinks Myla’s pregnant.
Something happens next which is rare indeed. I’m in shock. Speechless. Father and I don’t discuss sex. Sure, I’ve had my relationships, but every girl I’ve been with knows what I’m looking for, which is nothing more than one encounter. And I always use protection. Father has never said a single word about my dalliances. And yet, here is the woman I wish to marry, and he’s accusing her of carrying my child. Bands of outrage tighten around my throat. There aren’t even words for how disgusting this is.
Mother gasps. “Connor!”
Connor slaps the tabletop with him palms. “Well, they are in trouble, aren’t they?” He turns to Myla. “Aren’t you?”
“That would be no, your disgustingness,” says Myla. “Keep your dirty mind to yourself.”
Now, I was ready to tell Father off, but I’m his son. “Myla, what are you doing?” I lower my voice to a whisper. “No one speaks to my father that way.”
Myla sniffs. “Don’t worry. I got this.”
Closing her eyes, Myla pulls back her hood and raises her hand. Hundreds of igni whirl around her palm. Fast as a whip, the igni churn into a tornado of power that dances before her before breaking free. The tiny pieces of energy then whip around the tent, knocking over knick knacks and a candelabra or two. They end by forming a great whirlpool in the center of the room that speeds faster and faster.
Then, with a burst of light, all of them disappear.
Myla shoots me a look that says something like, and that was me, getting this.
Never thought I could love Myla more. In this moment, I do.
Myla then shifts her focus to Father. “I’m the Scala Heir, Connor. I’m not in trouble.” Her irises glow so blue, the entire room gets washed in turquoise brightness. “I am trouble.”
Myla lowers her hands. Her eyes return to their non-glowing shade. The universe seems to pause while I stare at the woman I love. What just happened was amazing. I felt too beaten down to fight, so this amazing woman battled for us both. How did I get so fortunate?
Father slams his hand onto the tabletop. This is his motion for, I might change my attitude.
About time.
“Well, well.” Father shakes his head. “I’ll be damned.” He breaks out into deep peals of laughter. Combined with the tabletop slam it means, one attitude change coming up!
Myla frowns. “Are we good here?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s loving this.” I lean in closer. “Well played, Myla.” Smiling, I gently kiss her cheek.
Father’s laughter slows. “Lincoln, my boy. What a treasure you are.” He points to Myla. “And you! A spitfire.” He gestures to the empty chairs at the table. “Have a seat, both of you. Let’s talk a bit, see what we can do here.” He looks to his left. “Octavia, I’m sure you’re behind this. At least in part?”
Mother half-smiles. “Always, Connor.” She slips onto the chair beside Father. Myla and I seat ourselves at the other side of the table.
“It seems we have the Scala Heir with us today,” says Father. “What does that make Lady Adair?”
“A fraud,” replies Mother. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. Adair only showed Scala powers when Gianna was whispering nearby; such spells are nothing for the House of Striga.” Mother clicks her tongue. “Gianna’s witchcraft could have changed Adair’s eyes as well.”
“The Houses of Acca and Striga have quarreled for centuries. Now they team up.” Father sighs. “Dark news.”
Darker than he knows, as a matter of fact.
“Their treachery has worsened,” I say, my voice stony. “Striga asked to abandon the alliance against Acca.”
Father scowls. “And when did they make this request?”
It’s hard to keep track of time, considering how I haven’t slept. I make my best guess. “Two days ago.”
Connor grits his teeth. “Interesting that you waited until now to tell me, boy.”
“You know why I waited, Father.” I make sure to stay perfectly calm. “If I told you two days ago, you’d have done something rash.”
I pause, allowing that phase—something rash—to sink in. No doubt, that would have been Father running to Aldred and ruining everything.
“Now,” I continue. “We can consider the news about Striga in the context of what’s really important.” Myla’s fingers are still linked with mine. I give her palm a gentle squeeze and then—THUNK—set our entwined hands onto the tabletop.
This is happening, Father.
“I thought you wanted to talk about me and Myla?” I ask.
“Perhaps.” Father’s using his growly and petulant tone. Normally, that gets him what he wants.
Not this time.
Father meets my gaze. In his eyes, I see all the concern about Aldred. Their warriors. Our people. Peace. A thousand worries battle it out in his head, and I see the conflict. I know it well. After all, I carried a similar battle in my own skull for weeks.
But I’ve moved on.
I’m trusting to love. To Myla. To Us. Nothing else matters. This love is what I’ll fight for it, whatever the cost. Because, at the end of all things, I know the world will be better if Myla and I are together in it.
My stare with Father never wavers. If anything, the intensity in my gaze only grows more fierce.
At last, Father looks away.
I’d say there’s a sense of triumph in winning this war of wills—and there is, to a certain extent—but there’s also a heavy sense of sorrow. My future with Myla is so important to me. I’m heading along a new path, and although Father may seem to follow, I know he never will.
I’m losing him.
No, that’s not it.
I lost Father a long time ago. Myla just makes the truth unavoidable.
When Father turns to Myla, his manner becomes gentle. “The Scala Heir must excuse my temper.” He clears his throat. “Now that your powers are active, do you wish asylum with the thrax?”
“I came here to see Lincoln,” explains Myla. “Mom and I have other plans for what happens next.”
Mother focuses on Father. “You remember Senator Lewis from the era of quasi rule?”
“Absolutely,” replies father. “Very capable. The only one who predicted Armageddon’s rise, as I recall.”
Mother gestures toward Myla. “This is her daughter.”
“Interesting,” says Father. “Very interesting.”
Mother turns to Myla and grins. “Do you know how Connor and I met, Myla?”
“Not this story, Octavia.” Father half-rolls his eyes.
I focus on Myla. “It was at the ball to celebrate the spring equinox.”
“That’s the official story,” says Mother. “It was actually at the winter tournament. I used to fight in those, you know.”
“Yes,” says Myla. “Bera told me.”
Mother mimes shooting an arrow. “My skill lay with the bow. The tournament beast that year was a manus demon. I shot it full of arrows—and was within seconds of winning—when I ran out of time. Connor waltzed onto the field of battle, ran the monster through with his sword, and won the tournament.”
“It was quite a bit more than that, Octavia.” Father chuckles. “This was two hundred years ago and she still carries a grudge.”
Myla does a double take. “Two hundred years?”
I nod. “Thrax live a long time.”
Myla’s gaze meets mine, her eyes lighting up with interest and excitement. I can almost see her thinking, the Great Scala lives a long time, too. And she likes the idea of a full lifetime together.
Lincoln Page 30
