“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.
She wouldn’t push him on the subject, so she only said, “Okay.”
For a while, they stood together, the sun hot on their heads. Every few minutes, a gentle breeze would roll by, swaying the overgrown grass in the meadow that used to be the farm’s harvesting field. The grass was practically as tall as her hips, sprouting seed at the top of its stalks. The space closest to the house had no grass, perhaps because it didn’t get sun for half the day, or because its dirt was trampled and packed with small shavings of wood, fallen roof shingles and farming equipment.
Lena moved her hand, slowly weaving her fingers through his. She’d hold his hand for as long as they stood there, as long as it took.
She knew going back to Rivaini was not the most intelligent thing to do, but as she saw it, she wasn’t the smartest person around. It wasn’t smart, but it was the right thing to do. If her testimony could save the other mages in the College, she’d gladly walk into harm’s way for them.
Yes, most of them had shunned her, but Lena had never tried to be friends with them. She was the weird mage, the one who refused to cast, the adult who was still an initiate, in classes with young adolescents and children. She was weird compared to the others. Ingrid had always been enough for her; she’d latched onto Lena’s side the moment Bastian brought her to the College. As an orphan who was abandoned at the College’s steps and spent her whole life in its walls, Ingrid was liked, if not loved, by most of the other students and enchanters.
Ingrid. She had to go back to save Ingrid.
Besides, if Zyssept truly had his sights set on her, if Lena was fated to be his damned bride, there was no way the old god would let harm come to her.
Right?
Okay, so she wasn’t totally sure about it, but it was something she’d told the guys earlier. It made sense Zyssept would want to protect her…though he didn’t exactly pop into the picture when Gregain had her tied up, when he’d cut her hand and joined their blood. The acidity of her blood had to be due to her connection with the old god, but what good did black blood do when she had to bleed first to get it out?
Time passed in a blur. Lena couldn’t say how long they stood there, watching the field in silence, but soon enough Vale returned with a rabbit dangling from his hands. Its fur was singed black, some of its hair burnt off, as if it had been hit with a bolt of lightning. Bastian offered to handle the cleaning and cooking part; he said he’d done it during his travels between the capitals of Sumer and Rivaini. He had the rabbit roasting over a fire within thirty minutes.
Lena wasn’t looking forward to eating it, but she’d be the first to admit: she was starving.
As they sat around the same table where the Noresh text was, untouched since the day before, Lena’s eyes lingered on the fire. It was a small oven-like fireplace, built with stones in an otherwise wooden home. The flames licked underneath the rabbit, charring the outer flesh. Bastian had pulled up a chair, sitting closer to the fire. She sat between Tamlen and Vale, though her eyes roamed the room.
The guys would be safer out here than they would in the city. She had to leave them here instead of taking them to Harry’s inn. She’d already taken advantage of his kindness too much; whether or not the wyvern hunt was still going on amongst the chaos that Gregain caused, Harry deserved to have full control of his inn.
“So,” Tamlen spoke, breaking the silence. His dark gaze rested on Bastian’s back. It was clear he still wasn’t a fan of the man, but at least he wasn’t seething in jealousy anymore. “When are you going to tell us what you are?”
Bastian tossed a quick glimpse over his shoulder. “What do you mean?” His melodic, accented voice carried traces of reluctance.
“When we asked about what you did to us, why we couldn’t use our magic, you said it was a conversation for another time.” Tamlen pointedly glanced around. “It’s another time, isn’t it?”
He shifted in his seat, leaning closer to the fire, as if its bright colors would save him from this discussion. “I was not only a chevalier. I was trusted by the Empress, thus I was one of many who underwent a…procedure. It was supposed to be the Empire’s defense against Rivaini and its mages. The Empress called us eradicators.”
Lena felt her blood run cold. Eradicators. That didn’t sound pleasant. To eradicate was to obliterate, to get rid of something entirely. What had Bastian kept from her all these years?
“Her hope was to eventually have every guard and every soldier turned into an eradicator. Assassins, trusted advisors—she surrounded herself with people like me because she’s afraid of magic, fearful of what King Philip can do with mages at his beck and call.” Bastian reached a hand to the back of his head, lifting up the short tuft of black hair at the base of his neck. There sat two markings, risen from his skin, a pure white.
Just like the runes carved on Vale’s chest and biceps.
Bastian’s were simple, practically dots, as if someone took an inkwell, dropped a dot of ink and then dragged a pen through it, twice. They looked like tadpoles, almost. Caught in a circle. When Bastian dropped his hand, the markings, the runes, were covered completely.
“Those look like runes,” Vale said.
“The art of runic-tracing has been lost,” Lena was quick to say, feeling sweat beading her brow. If Sumer had somehow regained the lost art of runes, it was only a matter of time before it invaded Rivaini. The two kingdoms were constantly in a state of undeclared war.
Bastian shrugged. “I know not how the Empire came upon the knowledge to recreate runes. All I know is I am proof of it, as is every other eradicator.”
“So the runes,” Tamlen interjected, “let you control our magic?”
“No, they let me nullify it, even before your magic is cast. When fighting an eradicator, a mage is powerless. Without magic, they are as dangerous as any other non-mage.”
Vale shook his head. “How were you able to stop mine? My magic does not come from my blood—mine comes from runes as well.”
Bastian pursed his lips, flicking his hazel stare between Lena and Vale as he thought. “I cannot say. Perhaps because yours are older? Or maybe Namyra found a way to make these runes more powerful than the runes of old. Either way, I am able to quash all magic use.”
“Does the King know?” Lena asked. Surely, if the King knew about what Sumer was stocking up, he wouldn’t annihilate the College. He’d want mages to study, to investigate, to help find a solution. He wouldn’t take the information lying down.
“I told him, right before he…” Bastian straightened his back, stopping himself. “Before I caught ill.”
Lena stared at him, knowing he wasn’t telling the whole truth.
He abruptly stood. “It should have a few more minutes to cook, then it should be done. Take it off the fire for me. I…must be excused.” Bastian hurriedly walked out of the kitchen, not throwing a single glance to Lena or the others.
She watched him go with an open mouth. Honestly, Lena was shocked at the admission. How long had Bastian been a…an eradicator? How many visits had they shared, and he kept this from her? Yes, she was a child at the time, but surely such information mattered to her as well. And it’d been years since then—there was no telling how much of Sumer’s forces were now eradicators. The threat of all out war had never been stronger, and until this very moment, she’d been oblivious to it.
“He’s dangerous,” Tamlen whispered.
Vale said, “We’re all dangerous.”
Lena hated that…because she hated to admit to herself it was true. Tamlen was a powerful fire mage; Vale was a rune-carved warrior who could wield both blade and lightning; Bastian was an eradicator who could impede all magic use. And she…she was perhaps the worst of them all. A necromancer. A necromancer who, at first, hated its use, but now felt the opposite.
A mage who believed dark magic wasn’t wrong to use was the most dangerous mage of all.
Metal grating against the stones
in the dirt, little balls of earth rolling on his chest, past his neck. Rotting flesh, oozing boils. Faces of those dead of the plague staring at him, watching as he was snuffed out. His breathing, all he could hear. His thoughts too frantic to make sense of anything. What had he done? Did he deserve this? Was this the fate awaiting spies and liars? Darkness swallowed him, but it took its time. Madness and fear grabbed hold of him before his lungs gave way to the dirt. Breathing, gasping for air, but finding none. Hands and legs useless. He could not scream, could not beg. He was dead.
Bastian’s breath came out unevenly as he walked through the farmhouse, ending in what must’ve been the farmer’s bedroom. The bed was big enough for two people, its sheets clean and fresh since Lena had washed them. But he couldn’t focus on the room around him. All he could feel, all he could think about, were the last moments of his life.
Panic swept over him, sheer terror, as if he were once again in that hole with those rotting bodies. His eyes squeezed shut, his body shaking. What madness lingered in his head? Why could he not forget it and move on? Why in all of Rivaini did he still feel as though he were trapped?
His fist connected with the nearest wall. The wood barely creaked with his punch, though his knuckles immediately ached from the impact. His lungs, for a moment, refused to work, as if they were still filled with dirt. He fell to the edge of the bed, hands curling into fists. The pain that shot up his injured hand was nothing compared to what he felt that night, to what he still felt, because the blasted memories would not dissipate.
Bastian never thought himself a weak man, but what kind of man let his memories take hold of him? To let them cause him so much panic, so much fear, even now after years had passed…he was weak. He was weak in so many ways.
He wasn’t whole.
Perhaps he’d left his sanity in the unmarked grave. Perhaps his sanity was shattered when he was buried alive. Maybe that’s all there was to it. This was his new life, his new normal. Anytime he closed his eyes, he was destined to remember and fall prey to the damned memories. He was no chevalier anymore. He was hardly a man.
Warm, soft skin touched his, and Bastian opened his eyes to see Celena kneeling before him, her hands atop his, more gently atop the one he’d thrown at the wall. His knuckles bled only a little, the pain near nonexistent now.
“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice soothing his fried nerves. He was able to slowly draw himself out of his anxiety-ridden stupor, meeting the violet hue in her gaze. He missed her blue eyes, but her stare right now was just as beautiful. She took a single hand to his face, cupping his cheek tenderly, her fingertips barely grazing his flesh.
For a minute, Bastian merely breathed, feeling himself calm down. “I’m sorry. I don’t…I fear I did not come out of the ground whole.” A weak thing to admit, but he could do nothing else. She would know what he felt; she could force it out of him if she so chose.
Celena crawled next to him, cradling his head to her shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He swallowed. Not really, but did he have a choice? If he kept it to himself, it very well might only grow worse. And that was something Bastian knew he could not handle. His eyes grew watery—Gods, he did not wish to show such feebleness to her, but the emotions he felt were too strong to hold in.
“I didn’t catch the plague,” he murmured, turning to hug her to him. Bastian heard her inhale sharply at his admission, and her grip around him strengthened. “I met with the King and told him about the eradicators. He said I served my purpose and then he…he had me buried alive, with the dead.”
Celena shook her head. “Oh, no. Bastian, I am so sorry. I don’t…I don’t know what to say.” She tilted his chin so she could meet his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have pushed you so much—”
“No,” he cut in, lifting his head, pressing his forehead against hers. “I needed you. I’m glad you did what you did.” A shaky breath left him before he breathed her in. She was soft and smooth, all curves and loving warmth. He blinked back his tears before kissing her cheek. “Truly, I am.”
She gave him a smile that sent his insides aflutter. How had she grown up to be so beautiful? She was already a goddess. Her skin pale and without a blemish, her eyes kind and gentle. There was nothing he would change about her. “Bastian,” she said, “you are whole. Anytime you start to think otherwise, come to me, and I will remind you. I will remind you for as long as it takes.”
Her words shook him, took his core and rattled it. He could do nothing but nod in response. Anything he could’ve thought to say wouldn’t have matched the intensity of her words. This woman, Celena, had taken him, swallowed him up the very moment she could. She had him utterly and completely. Zyssept’s warning to never hurt her again had been pointless. Bastian would never harm the gorgeous, delicate woman in his arms.
Deep down, even though he struggled with his memories, he knew. He knew he loved her.
“I love you,” he whispered, knowing it was a pittance compared to what she had given him.
Her fingers went to his neck, slowly creeping up and tangling in his curly hair. Her stare was clear and steady. “I love you, too.” Celena closed the distance between them, pressing her luscious mouth on his. Those lips of hers could devour him, and he would not put up a fight. He would give her anything, everything.
Bastian leaned into her, pinning her down on the bed. She gave him no resistance. Just when his embrace turned hungrier, more fervent, a sarcastic voice quipped, “How sweet. Touching, really. Makes me want to gag.”
He let out a groan as he pulled off of Celena to look at Tamlen, who stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. It seemed to be his usual stance, but at least the anger in his tone had been replaced by facetiousness. Bastian would rather deal with that than outright rage or jealousy.
“Rabbit’s done,” he added. “Unless you’d like to push aside dinner and eat Lena instead.”
Beside him, Celena flushed a ridiculously adorable shade of pink. Odd, given how intimate they’d already gotten. Odd, but darling nonetheless. “Tamlen,” she cried his name, aghast.
“What? I think it’s a good suggestion. Me, for example, I’d much rather be in here with you than eating the rabbit.” Tamlen frowned. “I think Harry spoiled me.”
Who was Harry? Bastian looked to Celena, hoping it wasn’t yet another suitor she was with. A man could only take so much. She took on a pouting look as she got to her feet, mimicking Tamlen’s stance by crossing her arms, too. The action was too cute to take seriously.
“We were having a moment,” she said.
“And I wasn’t stopping you.” Tamlen’s dark gaze fell to Celena’s feet, slowly traveling up. Like an animal on the hunt, he consumed every aspect of her appearance. She was beautiful, striking with her wavy, violet hair. “I wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to carry on.”
Celena flipped her hair before reaching for Bastian’s hand, pulling him up. “Oh, we’ll carry on, after the meal.” There was a pause as she dragged him before Tamlen. Tamlen towered over them both, a mighty and strong man, for a mage. “Without you, I think.”
“What a cruel woman you are,” Tamlen whispered, doing nothing else as she pulled Bastian past him.
His Celena had become quite the…woman, hadn’t she? Bastian felt a bit embarrassed, having witnessed the exchange, but he supposed he should learn to overcome it, for it sounded as though they were all going to get to know each other very well.
There was a heaviness in the air as they sat at the table and ate. The rabbit was a little charred, but it wasn’t awful. Bastian had much worse in his journeys. He noted the way Tamlen stared at Celena, how he chewed slowly, licked his lips each time he caught her attention. It was more than clear what he wanted to do after the meal was done.
Celena must’ve seen it too, for as soon as she was through eating, she left her seat and moved to Bastian’s lap. He wasn’t finished, but he set down his fork all the same, turning his gaze to her.
She was beyond beautiful. It wasn’t a wonder why the others cared for her so.
Still…having her sit on his leg and drape hers across his other was a little public, wasn’t it?
She reached for his fork and brought a piece of meat to his lips, opening hers somewhat as if demonstrating how to eat. Bastian was aware both Tamlen and Vale watched, and he was slow to open his mouth and accept the bit of rabbit. He found he could not chew it fast enough, for the very moment he swallowed, Celena’s lips met his. She licked the juices off his mouth, moaned into him as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Bastian was slow to set his hands on her waist. Half of him wanted to pull her off, because he was not so much a fan of having both Tamlen and Vale watching, but the other half was too smitten. It was the smitten half that didn’t care who was watching, the smitten half who wanted nothing but Celena. She had him wrapped around her fingers, and he was fine with it.
Just as he let the part of him that wanted her here and now take over, Bastian felt her pull away. She ran her tongue over her lips, shooting him a grin before she slid off him. He watched as she sauntered past Tamlen, sitting on Vale’s lap. The bodily excitement the heated kiss had stirred within him did not diminish when he realized she was doing this to taunt Tamlen.
Celena ran her hands up Vale’s chest before bringing her lips to his neck. Vale leaned his head back, no qualms about such a public display of affection. Bastian supposed they were used to it by now; he was probably the only one who was hesitant about that particular thing, though the growing erection in his trousers said otherwise.
When she hopped off Vale, Bastian noticed he was not the only one with a problem in his pants. She swayed her hips, about to return to Bastian as she said, “None for Tamlen.”
The man in question, though, had other ideas. His arm shot out, grabbing hers, tugging her onto his lap. “Tamlen,” he spoke of himself, burying his face in her neck as she squirmed futilely, “will get some, too.” He moved her closer, her back against his chest, one strong arm wrapped around the small of her stomach.
Blood and Sorcery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 2) Page 9
