“What about the Release Seal – couldn’t she just create an endless supply of those?”
“Lesser or more basic level sigils don’t require a Seed to apply, but advanced sigils and every kind of seal do. So yes, she could make Release Seals, but we’d still need her to apply them and she’s Sealed against using her magic without three signatures on an Assignment.”
“She has a Seal Seal?” I hedge, unable to keep myself from smirking at the idea.
“She has a Tally Seal –”
I hold my hand up and cut him off, “Nope, wait. My idea’s better. She has a Seal Seal.”
His eyes sparkle as he picks up his sentence, “It tallies the number of times she uses her magic from the minute she leaves the Black Castle ‘til the minute she returns – leaving a sketch of the seal she has applied on her own hand for confirmation by the council when she returns.”
I shrug. Doesn’t sound like much of an issue to me. “I’d still do it.”
“Sure, she could, if she enjoyed spending time in the castle dungeons, rotting behind Saber-proof bars. She’s only young, our age, and she has superiors to answer to – Lithael being one of them, since she lives at the Black Castle.”
“Then she has no business coming here. You don’t need her – you need someone that can issue the orders.”
“Lithael already showed us how to get around his orders. The right words and a little tweak of the seal, and anything is possible. Getting the assignments, the ones we can use to our advantage, is Jada’s first task; once I explain how Lithael’s been making alterations, I’m confident she can do the same.” He’s turned, like this conversation has grown old and it’s distracting him from something much better.
“So you need Jada, and she’s going to come here, and what? Bring others?”
“Exactly.”
“And where are they going to stay?” I demand. I almost said ‘sleep,’ but that would have given away my true feelings.
He shrugs. “They probably won’t. They may hunt, eat, rest, then most likely ride out again. We can’t linger.”
I rub the palm of my hand against my temple; the musty smell of the room threatens to make me sneeze. Nope, wait – I do sneeze.
The sound echoes and makes Roarke turn to smile at me. “Your sneezes are cute.”
“No, they’re not,” I groan, giving my nose a wriggle to ease the leftover tingling sensation. “You were telling me the plan.”
“Right. While we wait for the others, we’re going to try to reverse-engineer the whatever-it-was Seth and Logan created. I’ve got no idea what Logan’s potion was called and even less idea which Potions Master created that recipe. The odds were in our favor that Eydis would have known or could have worked with the Rearrange Potion and her knowledge to undo things, but the scales are now tipped against us. I’m just hoping there’ll be a reference to it in one of her journals.”
“So we’re starting with what we do know? The Rearrange-thingy-potion that Seth tried to use on Logan’s workbook.” Well, that Seth got me to pour onto Logan’s book moments before blue mist filled the Potions lab and my bubble came into existence.
“Yes, but I already have a simple reversal for that. The Rearrange Potion is pretty common, and Seth has used it before. It does, however, need a key ingredient – water fresh from the Spring.” He stops and looks around the room with a furrowed brow.
Then, without any explanation, he starts sifting through all her bottles and jars, anything with water in it.
“Weildron blood. Blue moon rain. Ice thawed from an arctic dragon’s tooth,” he mumbles, plus a few others I don’t understand. Finally, he straightens. “No Spring.”
“So? Isn’t it here – I mean, out there?”
His hair sways with his slow shake, the metallic silver strands glinting in the lantern light. “Masters hide their Springs to stop people like us from helping themselves.”
“It’s an ingredient; you can get it anywhere, can’t you? She must bottle it –” He’s shaking his head again. “ – No? You can’t.”
“Supply moves between the Masters and the Castles in yearly batches. Eydis would lecture at the White Castle every year, and every time it was about responsibilities and repercussions. She was a bit of a broken record. I didn’t realize she delivered water from the Origin Spring.”
“Because it was in the Potion Master’s locked cupboard,” I whisper, remembering Logan needed a key to unlock the last ingredient.
“I thought the real challenge would be the addition of Logan’s potion, but this is going to make things complicated. And I don’t even have water to practice with. The annoying thing is the Rearrange Potion doesn’t even use Origin Spring water, it uses a lesser spring.”
Complicated. Like my life.
“Well, that explains your mother’s prophecy – Because I heard what the Origin Spring said to the tallest forest tree – the key will be in the last of me.”
“Certainly looks like it. I just hope that doesn’t mean the last of the Spring, meaning the last drops – the Spring drying up. That’s a very real possibility.”
“What do we do?” I ask, because I can see the wheels turning in his head and they’re definitely not turning in mine. “Should we look for the spring?”
He glances at the endless black outside the window. “No, we’ll wait for the others – and research.”
I don’t get to say anything else before Roarke has buried his attention back in the book, and returned to absently clearing items off the bench. Not for the first time I wish my other three guys would hurry back.
I groan, looking for something to shut my mind up.
“Where?” I ask, turning in a circle.
Roarke stops and looks at me honestly. He nods, like something just occurred to him, grabs a piece of bread, and shoves it into my face. I struggle to take it from him, chewing through the first unavoidable bite.
“You can’t read yet,” he says, turning away. Walking away, with his back to me, with his ass to me. Damn, he has a nice ass.
“And you need to stop doing that,” he says, not turning around.
“Stop doing what?” I stammer.
He doesn’t respond.
Pacing up to the table in the middle of the room, I put the bread down and hand him a piece of chalk.
“Show me what the word looks like,” I say as soon as I can swallow down my bite. He smiles at me, like he hadn’t expected me to have such a good idea. “Don’t look at me like that. Just because I can’t read doesn’t make me stupid.”
Which he ignores, taking the chalk in confident fingers and scrawling a word across the painted surface in one corner of the work bench.
“Rearrange,” he says, then he waves to the cabinets on the left wall. “Check the files. I’m going to search her books for anything to do with invisible walls or barriers, physical impediments, or any relation to the Tiradon Potion that allows a triune to disband.” He stops, maybe because he’s realized I have no idea what he’s on about. “There are too many variables in the words that might be used for a potion I don’t know the name of.”
I take an extra long inhale of his paper and ink scent before saying, “I’ll look for this,” and tapping the word on the bench.
“Thank you,” he says, leaning forward so his hair falls about his face and momentarily shields the world.
He draws in several delicate breaths – and it’s not that the guy isn’t allowed to breathe, but the way he’s doing it, like he’s savoring my scent, is sending shivers down my spine. Which isn’t fair because we agreed to give each other space.
“For looking for a word?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, one word – then he turns away.
Also not fair.
No time like the present to teach myself to read. I trace my finger over the series of lines and flicks that he’s drawn, three sharp shapes, a swirl that connects them, and three dots over the top of it. The weirdest language ever.
Then I move to
the filing cabinet.
Yanking it open, I say, “You really need to get around to teaching me to read.”
“When Pax gets back.”
“How long exactly will that be?” Or how soon, I’d rather it be soon.
“I’m not sure. They think Eydis is here, so they’re probably not rushing.”
I glance down the labels on the black folders. Folder after folder with sheets, diagrams, lists, paintings of plants, dried samples, you name it she collected it, sticking up at odd angles. Before I can begin looking, the exact word I’m searching for has already been mashed-up in my memory. Mixed with all of these other words jumping out at me.
I move back to the bench where Roarke is standing almost directly in front of my word, a book open in his hands and no hint that he’s going to move. So I lean into him, nudge his book to the side, and try again to memorize the pattern of lines – and again to keep my mind off of his body.
His incredibly yummy body.
He takes a deep breath and freezes – like I surprised him. Almost like he’s trying to control himself.
He’s not the only one.
“They need to hurry,” he groans, walking away from me.
Heading for the other side of the room.
Bubble – life-threatening.
Sabers attacking us – life-threatening.
Roarke looking like my stray thoughts are causing him pain – not life-threatening, but important.
“Okay, you need to tell me what I keep doing wrong.” I point at him as I talk.
And he just keeps working. “Nothing, just try to focus.”
But in truth, the only thing I want to focus on is Roarke. For a moment I don’t care about the consequences, I just want him to get over here now.
The very idea is muffled by the remnants of his power knocking me out and a sharp, vision-blurring ache through my temple.
Roarke turns on his heels, bringing with him a draught of fresh jasmine. He doesn’t even look up from his book as he ambles towards me, and when he doesn’t stop, I snap the book shut in his hands.
He freezes and glares at me. Glaring is not an emotion I usually see on Roarke. I get a butterflies-low-in-my-stomach reaction, which is uncomfortable and nauseating.
“Sorry, I’m not sure why focusing is so hard.”
“I feel like we need to revisit our space issue,” he says.
“Or not? You could just accept that I like being in your space?”
I was scared of him once – very scared. Then Logan, bastard-nephew-of-the-Crown, had his men break my arm. Roarke slept next to me all night, taking my pain away, and when I woke up, I trusted him. Pain can change a person like that. I trust him, but he doesn’t seem to trust himself.
Or trust that I’m genuine. I don’t know – but I want to know.
“No,” he says, that far too serious look on his face not going away.
You don’t get to say no, I think.
My head thrums with sudden pain, and I swallow hard against it, concentrating on his lips as he opens his mouth – then closes it again. Then chuckin’ smiles.
The book falls to the floor with a loud thud before his hands cup the sides of my face. Fingers in my hair. Thumbs tracing along my cheek bones. My breath just evaporates in my chest.
Gone.
Just Roarke, and my whole being focused on the soul-yearning sensation of his skin against mine. I could almost call it fire, like burning heat flooding through me, but it feels far too good to be likened to something that would leave the roses in the air charred and ruined.
“Roarke?” My question is a whisper.
“Kitten,” he whispers back. He holds me, looking into my eyes like I’ve hidden something there, and he’s excited to find it.
“Roarke,” I try again. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“This is the kind of bad that leads to more bad, but tell me to do something again.”
I frown at him, wrapping my one good hand around his wrist and trying to get him to let go of my face. He’s stronger than he looks, and he doesn’t budge. Probably helped by the fact that I don’t really want him to let go.
“You have to tell me what’s going on first,” I say.
“Make me.”
“Make you?” I raise an eyebrow.
This is Roarke. ‘Make me’ sounds more like a challenge, and challenges are more like Seth. Or Killian, but Killian wouldn’t be smiling like a crazy person.
Seth definitely smiles like a crazy person. This is such a Seth moment.
“Roarke, stop acting like Seth, or at least do a dance to go with this song of yours.”
His hands sweep around me, and we rush forward in a long-strided ballroom-type movement. The kind Cook would tell stories about, but I’ve never seen done. I struggle, tripping on his feet, and two steps later, we stumble to a stop. His hands are instantly on my cheeks again, eyes lit up with childlike wonder.
“What was that for?” I demand, rubbing my aching forehead.
“That was you,” he says, pulling my hand down, like I was obstructing his view of me.
“I made you do that?” I ask.
“Yes,” he nods, a little ferociously.
The gesture is at odds with the worried crease on his brow. He lets go of me and starts doing his pacing-and-rambling thing.
“I just don’t know how, and that scares me. My power is almost impossible to contain. I don’t need to try to lure people toward me – they just latch on and get drawn in. Sabers pull power from each other. I am always trying to pull from you – taking. But you cannot pull from me. Maybe you should be able to, even just a little with your Silvari heritage, but you can’t. Could be a blockage – but we don’t have time to explore that just now. Can you see the problem there?”
“Roarke, we’ve had this conversation before. I’ve been with you guys for weeks now, and I’m still fine in the soul department. Now tell me how to do that thing just now again. How did I make you dance?”
He shakes his head. “Not what I was saying, Kitten. Without your own Seed, the only possible explanation is that my power is using you.”
“How do you know? Maybe I do have a Seed. The Seed of Awesomeness.”
He chuckles. “There’s no such thing. We’ve got no idea who your father was, but we do know your mother was mortal. Mostly-mortals do not get Seeds.”
“But I could be using you and not the other way around, right?”
He’s still pacing, and it’s really getting annoying.
“Roarke, stop and give me answers.” Or I will kick you in the balls – and it will hurt.
My head pounds, a ringing noise pulsing through my ears, while his smile pulls back into a sharp expression of agony, his knees quivering even though I haven’t touched him.
“Don’t,” he grunts, his voice flat – hollow.
My heart is hammering so hard I can barely draw in a breath.
He’s in front of me in an instant. His hands on my face – again. Drawing my pain away.
“I just did it again, didn’t I?” I ask, excitement overriding everything else.
“Yes.” He tilts my head back, pressing his thumbs under my eyes as he inspects whatever pain-ecstasy expression I’m wearing.
“And you’re hurting yourself. Which means I’m hurting you,” he says.
“This sting is linked to me using Allure?” I ask.
Sting is a bit of an understatement. Sometimes it’s stabbing, other times pounding.
His hands trail to my shoulders, the hurt in his eyes not relaxing away. He opens his mouth but seems to swallow the words back down. Taking a deep breath, he starts again.
“What do you think of me?” he asks. He’s avoiding my question about Allure causing pain – which I translate to yes.
His voice is so open, so raw, that I don’t even hesitate to answer with full honesty.
“You’re my clarity. You make the world feel right. Things make sense when I’m with you, on a soul level.” You feel ri
ght. There is no way I’m losing this argument now. “Problem solved. I am awesome.”
He groans. “My brothers have developed an immunity, of sorts, to my Allure. But they can’t ask me to walk over to them and make me do it, and they’ve had a few hundred years to try – so I’m impressed. But your mortal side negates anything awesome you might have inherited from your father. You’re never going to be strong enough to survive the full force of my power, even just to wield it. We need to be very careful. ”
“Why?” I demand, because my insides are cringing at that idea. That I will never be right for them, that this little thread of hope – this part of me that might be Saber – is still not going to be enough.
He grits his teeth. “Because,” he tries to say, stopping to relax his jaw just a little, “what my power wants, it gets.”
“Then why are you smiling?”
He shrugs. “I can’t help it. It’s been a long long time since Allure magic was used on me.”
The slight dimple of one cheek, the way he’s chewing at the corner of his lip, his fingers kneading into my shoulders, all tell me that he enjoyed it.
“But now you want us to keep even more distance?”
He nods, and before I know what I’m doing my hand grips his shirt, my fingers holding tight, and I’m tugging him closer to me. I don’t have words, just a need to keep him from walking away again.
“I won’t let you,” I say.
It’s a promise.
He wraps his fingers around mine, prying them off, but not letting them go. I get about one beat to process the fear in his gaze, the glimpse of a real battle going on inside of him, before my heart literally stops.
I drop to the ground.
Crumple.
Crushed.
Heat burns through my core and floods downwards. Pain and pleasure pulse side-by-side, like fire destroying to survive. I moan, the sound so full of sensations that it doesn’t even feel like it’s mine.
The tingling in my fingers begs me to run my hands all over Roarke, and I have a sudden yearning that my hips have to thrust forwards. My legs want to wrap around his, to entangle us together – and through all of this I have the vague notion that breathing and a heartbeat should be important.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 71
