Wandfasted

by Laurie Forest

  “All of them, Tessla.”

  My throat goes sickeningly tight. “Oh, Vale.”

  I cry for a while into my hand, until I’m numbed from cold and grief.

  “Did you send word to him?” I finally ask, my voice haggard. “Does he know they’re all gone?”

  Stricken, Vale nods. Then he looks down at his fastlined hands and grimaces, sagging against the wall. “He’ll never forgive me for taking you away from him,” Vale states with wretched certainty. “How could he?”

  “Vale...” My voice is stuffy and strange from all the crying. “I was going to be fasted to Malkyn Bane. You saved me from being taken by a...”

  “A monster?”

  I nod.

  “No,” Vale says, his mouth tight with self-loathing. “All I did was destroy both Jules’s happiness and yours.” Anguish streaks across his face. “It’s meaningless now, but... I’m sorry, Tessla.”

  “Vale,” I say, shaking my head to refute him. “It’s not how you think. I’m not in love with Jules. I do love him, a great deal. But...not in the way he was starting to feel. I...” I trail off, a stab of pain spiking through me. I look down at my hand, my fast-marked palm open and riddled with black lines. I know what this will do to Jules.

  Vale’s brow is tight with confusion. “But you were going to go off with him.”

  I give a long sigh. “I could have made a life with Jules. But... I don’t know that I would have ever felt...anywhere near the way he did about me.”

  “So was there was someone else, then?” he asks, confused.

  I give my head a tight shake, my lips trembling. I shrug. “No. I just... I had dreams of going to the University, apprenticing there as an apothecary. Learning how to use my magic.” I pause for a moment, tears welling up again. “And I had this romantic idea. I’d meet a Gardnerian scholar there. Someone who loves books, like I do. Someone kind. I had this stupid story in my mind.” There are tears dripping down onto my fastlines, and I absently smear them into the marks. “He’d bring me Ironflowers. And he’d kiss me in a garden. And then he’d ask me to fast to him.” I shrug again. “It was foolish.”

  Vale’s gone very quiet and still.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, shaking my head. “I should be thanking you. Although...” I wipe my nose against my forearm and give a hard sniff. “I suppose we’re helping each other. You saved me from a nightmare of a fastmate.” I look at him straight on. “And I’m helping you hide your secret.”

  His brow rises. “My secret?”

  I give him an incredulous look. “You and Fain. You...” I can feel myself flushing. “You fancy each other.”

  Vale lets out a short laugh. “No, we don’t.”

  My face pinches with confusion. “What?”

  He sighs. “Fain’s like a brother to me.”

  “But he said...he touched you. That he knows your affinity like the back of his hand.”

  Irritation flashes across Vale’s features. “Yes, well, he has touched me. My arm. My shoulder, perhaps. But not like that.”

  “But Vale,” I counter, “he told me he cares for you.”

  Vale shakes his head. “Tessla, we’re close friends.” He swallows, a shadow passing over his expression and he looks at me askance. “If we weren’t closely allied, do you know what would happen to Fain?”

  I nod gravely. “He’d have to leave Gardneria.”

  Pain slashes across Vale’s gaze. “Or he’d be imprisoned.” There’s a pleading edge to the way he’s looking at me now. As if he’s begging for my silence.

  “Ancient One, Vale,” I breathe. “I adore Fain. He’s been—” my voice breaks “—So kind. I’ll never forget how good he was to me.” I glance down at the soaked but exquisite clothes I’m wearing. The clothes Fain gave me.

  Vale nods tightly, as if he’s been carrying a heavy load.

  “But...” I’m cast into confusion. “If not Fain...then is there another man?”

  He shoots me a look full of amusement. “Tessla, I don’t fancy men.”

  What? “Then...why don’t you correct all the rumors?”

  His face goes hard. “I don’t care what people say about me. I’m too powerful to care, quite frankly. And it keeps away all the insincere attention from the women who want to fast to me for my connections. For my money.”

  I’m stunned. “So...you fancy women, then?”

  He lets out a short laugh and looks at me sidelong, his eyes flaring. “Quite ardently.”

  I’m speechless for a long moment, gaping at him. “I thought...”

  “Well, you thought wrong.”

  I blink at him. “So...you fasted to me...to protect me?”

  He gives me a cagey, sideways look. “Partially.” His face darkens with guilt. He looks down, his jaw tensing, then fixes his eyes on me. “I fasted to you to protect you, of course.” He hesitates, his gaze heating. “And also...because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Shock shoots straight down my spine.

  “But...” I’m at a loss for words. “You called me low-class. And said that my looks were rustic.”

  Vale winces. “I didn’t mean any of that. I felt such a strong pull toward you, and it unnerved me completely.” The heat in his eyes flares. “Gods, Tessla, our affinities—your fire is constantly calling to mine. But...” His brow tenses. “I thought you belonged to Jules. I was trying to put as much distance between us as I possibly could.” He pauses, his expression taut with remorse. “I’m sorry for what I said. The truth of the matter is... I’ve grown very fond of you.”

  His eyes meet mine with unwavering intensity. The fire in his gaze spreads down my neck like a fever.

  “So,” I say, still reeling. “You never wanted Fain.”

  He shakes his head.

  “And you...like me?”

  He nods. “And you don’t love Jules.”

  “Not like that.”

  We stare at each other in rapt silence as the rain pours down around us.

  Vale’s eyes are momentarily blurred, like he’s in a confused daze. “Would...would you like some tea?”

  Chapter 23: Home

  The kitchen is dark and chilled, but I can see carvings of sanded Ironwood trees rising up all around me, their stout branches supporting the walls and shelves and forming the rafters above.

  Vale pulls his wand out and lights three wall lanterns, then points it at a fireplace set in between two tree trunks.

  I jump back as a huge plume of fire bursts into life, the small kitchen suddenly glowing with orange light. A fierce wave of heat pushes through me, the fire’s sparking tendrils almost setting my skirts alight.

  I look to Vale, alarmed.

  His eyes reflect the bucking firelight as he points his wand at the fireplace and murmurs spells under his breath. His pushes his palm forward, and the fire retreats back into the confines of the fireplace. Vale eyes it with a look of rattled frustration.

  His careful control is shattered, and I can feel his affinity knifing in random patterns, straining toward me. Just like my affinity is flaring toward him, both of us trying futilely to rein it all in.

  “Sorry,” he says, glancing at me sidelong. The fire spits and hisses, but it’s now confined to the fireplace, and the chill of the room quickly dissipates. But we’re both soaked through, far too much for even an out-of-control fire to dry out.

  I take in his kitchen in one sweeping glance.

  It’s part kitchen, part laboratory, with small stacks of books covering the wooden table in its center and more books piled on every available shelf. Beakers, retorts, vials and jars of metal powders are scattered about. Containers of small, gleaming stones are mixed in with canisters of tea and herbs and a haphazard assortment of pots and bowls.r />
  It’s chaotic, but utterly fascinating.

  Some semblance of control regained, Vale sheathes his wand and shoots me a fierce glance, then distractedly pulls a mug and teapot from a cabinet. He spoons tea leaves from one of the many glass jars into the teapot, pumps water into it and points his wand at the teapot, murmuring a spell. Within a few seconds, steam is pumping into the air at a furious rate.

  I stare at him, feeling as if I’m caught in a surreal scene. The son of the Black Witch, as wildly intimidating in appearance as his mother, with soaking wet tendrils of black hair spiked and flopping unevenly all over his head, using his overwhelming Level Five demon-slaying powers...to make me tea.

  It’s so...bizarrely domestic.

  Vale pours the steaming tea and uneasily hands me the earthenware mug, warm to the edge of burning, and quickly steps back to lean against the counter. He eyes me, his wand held loosely in his hand, as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with me.

  Two black cats slink into the kitchen and twine around his legs, purring in a deep thrum. One is large and fluffy with pale green eyes. The other is short-haired with a yellow gaze and a questioning cock to its head.

  “You’ve cats,” I marvel.

  “Yes, well,” he says, distracted, as if he’s carrying on a furious conversation with himself that’s sapping all his focus, his hand gripping the counter behind him so hard his knuckles are white. “I’m partial to them.”

  “Do they have names?” I ask.

  He nods, his lip quirking. “Vorn’in and Strill’ian.”

  High Elfin. I’m surprised and oddly delighted by this. It’s so un-Gardnerian to use another language for things.

  “Ah.” I nod. “Midnight and...what’s Vorn’in?”

  “Coal,” he says, his eyes hot on me.

  I nod, then sigh deeply. “My clothes are soaked through, Vale.”

  He blinks at me for a moment, thrown into confusion. “Yes, of course.” He looks around like he’s absently searching for a solution. “We’ve no clothes for you...” He immediately stops himself, a spot of color appearing high on his cheeks. He looks away.

  I suddenly realize that brash, suffer-no-fools Vale can be...shy.

  He swallows and looks back at me. “Of course, I’ll send for your things.”

  Sadness rocks through me. I think of our tiny cottage, and all our meager possessions. Momma’s needlework. The small bear I sewed for Wren. A pretty camisole I embroidered with tiny pink roses. All of it rendered to ash.

  And our cat.

  My throat feels tight and raw as tears prick my eyes. I blink them back. “I have no things to send for, Vale. Everything was...destroyed.”

  His brow tenses as he searches my eyes, his fire flaring hot, angry on my behalf. “Well,” he says tightly, the word clipped. “That will change.” He says it with an assurance that’s so rock solid, it momentarily cuts through my misery and softens the edges of my pain.

  Vale looks around again, thinking. “Perhaps, just for a bit, you could...wear one of my tunics.” He swallows, his eyes darting over me, and there’s heat in his gaze. He quickly pulls back on it, drawing it firmly in.

  My heart hammers against my ribs. I’m suddenly aware than I’m alone, in a completely isolated place, with a powerful young man. A man I’m fasted and sealed to.

  A man who desires women and not men.

  I take an almost imperceptible step back, my internal wall of fire rearing up.

  His head gives a small jerk as he straightens, his gaze now edged with concern. He looks closely at me, then walks toward the spiraling Ironwood staircase at the edge of the kitchen, stops and turns back to me. “I’ll show you to your room. You can take off those wet things.” He swallows, his heat momentarily coursing outward, only to be quickly tamped back down.

  I set my tea on the counter and tentatively follow him as he starts up the stairs.

  He could force me to do anything he wants.

  On some level, I know my alarm is unfounded, but it spikes just the same. With each step up the staircase, I become more and more nervous.

  The upstairs is cast in shadow, but I can see his body straight and strong in front of me. The smell of him wafts back on the air—damp sweat and wool mixed in with the clean odor of wood smoke and something distinctly male. It sets my affinity fire flaring, and my irrational fear edging higher at the same time.

  Vale reaches the top, turns around and looks surprised when he notices how much distance I’ve put between us.

  He lights the sole lamp in the short hall with his wand and pushes the door before us open, stepping back with formal politeness as I reach the top floor. I hesitate, then peek inside the room, my unease mounting as I take in the sight of a canopied bed.

  Large enough for two.

  “This is my bedroom,” he tells me, his brow knit in concern and confusion, his fire giving off a heat that’s turned distractingly, overwhelmingly sensual. “It’s your bedroom now,” he tells me, his fire brushing against me in slow strokes. “I’ll...um...” He glances back down the stairs. “There’s a small room just off the kitchen. When weather’s bad, Edwin stays in that room. I’ll sleep there.”

  I round on him, stunned. “I can’t take your room.”

  He blinks at me, as if I’m uttering nonsense. “I can’t have my fastmate sleeping in such cramped quarters.”

  My fastmate. A disconcerting heat streaks through me at his use of the word—and relief at his reserved and thoughtful manner, so at odds with his aggressive fire.

  “Vale, you shouldn’t stay in cramped quarters either,” I insist. “I can’t possibly take your room.”

  His jaw tenses. “I’ll be quite comfortable.”

  “But...all your things...”

  “Our things,” he insists. “They’re our things now.”

  I’m thrown by this additional display of chivalry. Nervous amusement bubbles up within me. “Even your breeches?” My eyes go wide, and I flush hotly. “I meant...your clothing,” I stumble. “I... I’m sorry...” I’m horrified, my flush deepening. “It struck me as funny.”

  He’s gone still, watching me with narrowed eyes. “I doubt they’d fit you, Tessla. But you’re welcome to them.” His mouth turns up in a subtle smile.

  I take a deep sigh, resigned to my scarlet face. “Thank you, Vale.”

  His mouth lifts in amusement. “You’re welcome, Tessla.” He cocks his head. “I will have a wardrobe ordered for you. Until then...there’s always my breeches.”

  A smile dances on my mouth, then widens. Vale’s face lights into a grin that mirrors my own, our affinity fires suddenly loosened and curling around each other.

  I realize I hadn’t yet seen a smile on his face that didn’t hold withering disdain or barely concealed malice. His green eyes are lit up with delight and affection.

  He’s handsome, I muse, flustered. So distractingly handsome. And all that fire...

  “Let me just grab some dry clothing,” Vale says, a bit falteringly. He shoots me another small, tentative smile, and I nod and step back. He’s careful not to touch me as he passes, even though his fire brushes against me.

  He lights a bedside lantern, strides over to the closet and quickly grabs a tunic and pants from a line of uniformly dark Gardnerian garb. Then he lights the room’s woodstove with his wand, shoots me another small smile and stalks out, his fire trailing behind him.

  I close the door behind him and turn the latch, then lean against the door, my palms pressed flat behind me. My heart is pounding, my breathing uneven.

  His presence is overwhelming. I swear I can still feel the edges of his heat from a floor away.

  I look around, feeling decadent in this new, private knowledge of him.

  Mage Vale Gardner’s bedroom.

  It’s
as chaotic as the kitchen. His bed looks hastily made up, with deep green blankets over white sheets. Sturdy Ironwood posts support a plain, forest-green canopy. Ironwood trees, like the ones downstairs, flow out from the walls, their branches supporting the roof in an intricate tangle, more branches supporting shelves in their hollows.

  Half the room pushes out into a semicircle that hangs over the lower story, and windows reach from floor to ceiling, continuing up to form a glass roof. A small side door opens onto an arcing balcony that looks out over the storming ocean.

  Rain pounds the glass, the wind rattling the panes in violent fits and starts.

  A table is set up against the wall of windows. It’s covered with books, as well as a mariner’s sextant, compass, scope and half-unrolled maps. A library of haphazardly arranged volumes is set into the surrounding walls.

  He’s quite the artist, Vale, and I find his drawings everywhere. Maps he’s drawn, carefully detailed. Affinity patterns done up in multiple colors of ink. I can see he’s tried to fit streams of elements together in elaborate, geometric designs. I pick up one of his patterns and study it, careful turning it this way and that, and immediately spot the errors in what he’s working out, the equations worked in a firm, slashing hand along the edges. I can see the pent-up fire in his very handwriting—it’s very similar to my own.

  Weapons are scattered about, some even hanging from the walls. A number of swords, knives, three metal stars with runes engraved into them. I pick one of the stars up, the metal cold against my fingers. I gently touch the star’s edge and draw in a sharp breath as it cleanly cuts through my skin, a small line of blood appearing, the sting following shortly afterward.

  On Vale’s bedside table sits a small tower of books. There’s a slim white volume on top covered in complicated Alfsigr lettering.

  I set the insanely sharp star down and go to his bed, sitting on its edge as I take the small volume in hand. I flip through it, making out scattered words in the flowing Alfsigr script.

  Poetry.

  And not just any poetry. Love poems.

  I listen for Vale downstairs, awed by this secret discovery.