Chapter 7
Two Years Prior
Certain days hold weight. I can feel Fate pressing in on me from all sides. For the first time in one-hundred-and-four years, my friend is alive. I fear her heart will not beat long, and this time, I do not think Vane will allow himself to live once she is gone.
—Lady Anabeth, Royal Scribe’s Apprentice, Royal Rider’s Training Camp
Summer had returned in full swing, bringing with it wave after wave of oppressive heat.
Nya had slipped out of the house early this morning to try and avoid walking in the worst of it, having told her parents she was going on another ‘hike’ last night at dinner.
They hadn’t questioned it, even as she’d started to go more often, and she was grateful for it, even if she felt a bit guilty for lying to them.
Down creek, Varax was splashing in the clear water, terrifying small fish and creating waves as she slapped her enormous tail.
Morgen was laying on his back next to Nya, a broad arm slung over his eyes.
She could see the smile he was trying to suppress as Varax made a noise Nya had once quietly penned as ‘excited crowing.’
Earlier, they’d all flown together for the second time, and though it was exhilarating for more than one reason, it had left Nya overheated and sticky. They were lounging halfway in the shade, but it did little to keep the heat of the sun from reaching them.
She turned her head to face Morgen, squinting against the sunlight filtering in through the branches. “We should go for a swim.”
He lifted his arm, glancing at her. “A swim?”
“Yes, a swim. In the water. Is that a foreign concept to you?”
He snorted and flicked her nose lightly. “No. I know how to swim. Why, though?”
She scowled, batting his hand away. “It’s hot out. It will help cool us down, and it can be fun, if you can find it in yourself to conceptualize that.”
“Am I boring you, Nya?” He rolled onto his stomach, chin resting on his hand. “I would say I could leave, but I’m going to guess Varax would throw a fit if I suggested it so soon.”
She pushed playfully at his bicep, ignoring the hard tension of the muscles beneath her palm. “No, I never said that. You’ve just been quiet today.”
“Hm, have I?”
“Morgen.”
He didn’t like it when she pushed like this, but she couldn’t help it.
She had tried to talk to him plenty, but he’d barely said anything until now.
He became closed off and quiet like this when he was in pain.
Which, to be fair, she was realizing was the case most of the time, but she had begun to be able to read him well enough to know when it was worse.
He sighed softly, sitting up, palms pressed against the dirt behind him.
He was wearing a sleeveless tunic that was halfway undone at the top, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest. She pretended she didn’t notice and that looking at him didn’t make her feel like she was halfway on fire most of the time.
If she wasn’t such a coward, she would ask if it was the same for him.
“It’s my birthday today,” he said after a moment, still not looking at her.
Her lips parted, and she exhaled slowly. She understood enough to know this was not a happy day for him. Not in the slightest.
His fingertips brushed against the scar at his throat. “When I was ten years old, as a birthday ‘gift,’ my father decided to test how well my superior healing abilities would work on myself.”
“Are you saying he…he was the one who did—”
“Yes, he slit my throat. I left my room that morning because I was a child and an idiot, and I thought, surely, he won’t torture me today.
” He laughed bitterly. “I choked on my own blood for nearly an hour before I could breathe normally, and I didn’t make the mistake of thinking he gave a damn about what day it was ever again. ”
“Why are you telling me this?” she whispered. Her face felt cold, and barely suppressed rage was making her shiver.
His jaw rolled. “You look at the scar a lot. I figured today was as good of a day as any to tell you how I got it.”
Her breath caught. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare, I just—”
“I don’t mind,” he cut in abruptly. “I never have. You don’t look at me with pity…more like you want to hurt whoever did it.” He chuckled dryly. “Perhaps I like it when I see a little violence in your eyes.”
Her stomach dipped at the words, at the low tone of his voice, at the heat she swore was suddenly simmering in his eyes, despite what he’d just told her. They stared at each other for a little too long, until Morgen inhaled sharply and got to his feet, offering her his hand.
“Alright, a swim it is.”
She took it, the familiar callouses on his palm and fingers scraping against her skin. He let go once she was on her feet and they meandered over to the creek. When they reached the smooth, gray stone at the edge of the water, she paused, glancing down at herself.
She was wearing light canvas pants and a woven shirt. Not really the best clothing for swimming, though she did have a shift and shorts beneath the clothes. They were technically undergarments, but if she didn’t want to swim in her clothes, she had no other options.
Morgen was already pulling off his tunic, though he left his pants on. She tugged her clothing off too before she could think twice about it again. Except that he had definitely not been expecting her to do it, because as soon as he turned back and saw her, he froze.
“You…” His throat worked. “Won’t you get cold?”
She shook her head. She was trembling again, but this time, it wasn’t from anger. Still, she kept her voice level, almost bored, when she replied, “It’s boiling out, and we’re swimming. Besides, I didn’t want to get my clothes wet.”
“Right.” He turned away from her for a moment, his hand on the back of his neck. “Right,” she heard him mutter again, so low, she nearly couldn’t hear it.
She wasn’t completely naive and had an inkling as to why he might be acting like this. If he was feeling anything like what she was right now, she understood.
“Doubtful,” he said under his breath, back still to her.
Her cheeks warmed, and she glanced over to where Varax was still splashing around, seemingly ignorant of their conversation. Except that the damn dragon was the one who had just strategically opened the pathway at the worst moment possible, ferrying Nya’s silent pining over to Morgen.
She scowled at her and didn’t wait to see the dragon’s reaction before reaching out to touch Morgen’s arm.
“Morgen—”
“Don’t.”
A sudden wave of energy slammed into her, and she stumbled back, nearly falling on her ass. She knew without even asking that it was a manifestation of his magic. He grabbed her arm just before she completely lost balance and then let go abruptly as if he’d been burned, his expression horrified.
Once the shock of what had just happened registered and passed, she reached out again. “Hey, it’s alright—”
“No…no, it’s not.” His breath was ragged, each word rushed and panicked, and his eyes were wide and shining with a strange light. “You should be running. Why are you not running?”
Her brow creased. “You didn’t hurt me, Morgen. And you’re surely not the first person with magic to accidentally release too much power when your emotions are running high.”
“I lost control,” he was saying, over and over again, shaking his head.
She didn’t know what to do. He appeared to be on the verge of some sort of panic attack, perhaps already there. Touching him would probably just make things worse, so instead, she reached out in another way.
A wave of fire, so cold it burned, blasted through the air, shimmering with midnight. He stumbled as it flashed and faded just shy of his body, the panicked words stopping and his eyes widening for a different reason.
The icy-hot feeling of the magic left her quickly. It always did, but it had been just enough to bring him back to the present moment—and to make her point.
“See?” she said, fighting to keep her voice level. Her heart was beating too fast for comfort, though she didn’t know why she was so nervous. “It happens, and I didn’t hurt you.”
“Your magic,” he murmured, not looking at her yet. “That was it.”
She tentatively took a step closer to him. “I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.
“You should be.”
She shrugged, forcing herself to appear as apathetic as possible. “What, because you had the equivalent of a magical temper tantrum?”
He shook his head, and every inch of her came alive as he traced his long fingers lightly over her collarbone. “No. Because I never lose control. But when I’m around you…” He shook his head slightly. “I can’t make sense of it.”
Her breath grew shallow and uneven as he traced his thumb up the curve of her jaw. He wasn’t looking her in the eye, but when she brushed her fingers over his bare chest, his gaze shot to hers.
“Maybe it’s good to lose a little control sometimes,” she whispered.
He muttered a low, “Fuck” and dipped his head—not to kiss her like she wanted, but instead resting his brow on her shoulder.
Her breath hitched, and she knotted her fingers in his hair.
One of his hands was resting behind her neck, the other gripping her hip, his fingers twitching against the fabric of her undershorts.
She shivered when he spoke, his lips moving against a sensitive spot just below her throat.
“Losing control is never good. Not for anyone like you or me.”
“Because our magic could hurt someone?” Her voice sounded strange; breathy and low.
His breath fanned across her skin as he laughed roughly, his voice still muffled when he replied, “Because a lack of control and an excess of power always ends poorly.”
“Do you never let go? Even just for a moment?”
He lifted his head slowly, and she found his expression had evened out again. “No,” he said softly. “Not even for you, oíche rionn.”
He pulled away and headed for the water before she could register what he’d just said. She was certain the words were in the Old Language of the gods and filed them away so she could figure out their meaning later.
Once she was in the water too, they fell back into their usual routine. She talked, he listened, only occasionally interjecting. She stuck to safe topics, things that didn’t matter, like her opinions on types of tea, her favorite star, asking what the worst weather was for flying…
But something had shifted, and they both knew it. She just wondered how long she would have to live with him pretending it hadn’t.
Hours later, when she returned home, she asked Heles, What does ‘oíche rionn’ mean in the Old Language?
Heles blinked at her slowly, eyes shining in the dim light of dusk. She nudged Nya’s shoulder with her gigantic snout. It means you, little one. Night, speckled with the ever-burning fire of dying stars.