Chapter Fifty-Four #2
I held him closer. We remained that way for a minute, his fingers in my hair, my shoulders against the wall, and his arms encircling me, before he pulled away.
I’d taken off my caul upon reaching Cyril’s family apartment so that my tresses spilled, loose, down my back as he leaned over me, his elbow braced above my head.
“Lovett.” He spoke my name again, somber this time. “You need to know—Eliot came by yesterday evening. He told my father where you were staying. If the others who fled with you are still there—Manon, Anais—they could be in danger.”
I nodded. “I know. He came to me first.” Anais and Manon had departed Cyril’s estate around the same time as the Owl and I had, though they had gone to seek out Manon’s parents rather than return to Fortblanche with us.
Manon felt confident her fathers would provide safe haven to the both of them until they sorted out next steps.
Apparently, they’d always liked Anais. “Where is your father now?” I asked.
Noé shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he replied, frowning.
“He left without speaking to me. His allies have been here, though—Reginald Lear, Adélard. It was the Cloister Master I was arguing with just now on the stairs.” He jerked his chin toward the door, then glanced back at me.
“They’re terrified of you, Lovett,” he said.
“My father told them of what you discovered during the Vainglory—the true origin of Weavers’ magic.
They’ll do whatever is in their power to keep that secret from getting out. ”
I was certain they would. Still, I returned Noé’s gaze steadily. “I’m not scared of them.”
He smirked. “You have a plan,” he guessed. I lifted my shoulders in a shrug, neither confirming nor denying his statement. Reading my expression, Noé chuckled. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Come here.”
He kissed me lightly, his thumb beneath my bottom lip, his other arm still wedged against the wall above my head. Metal brushed against my cheekbone, the hard facet of a gem; I stiffened as, for the first time, I registered the fat silver ring sitting above his engagement band.
His seal. A shudder went through me as I placed it. Sensing my discomfort, Noé slipped the ring off, pressing it into my palm. “Take it.”
The seal was as heavy as a rock in my hand. I closed my fist around it, eager to avoid the sight of the glowing gem—though I could still feel it gnawing hungrily against my skin. “Even if I wear it, the magesilk within the gem will still bind my Wit to you.”
But Noé was shaking his head again. “No, it won’t,” he replied.
“It isn’t your magesilk. After my mother died, I took a strand made with her hair from my father’s reserves.
For years, I kept it, hidden, as a token of sorts—a reminder of her, to preserve her memory after she’d gone.
” He flushed, as though embarrassed by the confession.
“I swapped it with yours before the ceremony. The binding vow only works if a silkwitch swears on magesilk formed with her own hair—the connection isn’t strong enough otherwise. ”
His eyes met mine again, tenderness in them.
“You were never bound to me, Lovett.”
His tone was gentle. For a minute, I simply blinked at him, unable to reconcile his words with the reality of the seal still clenched in my fist. Since the day my Wit had first manifested, my future had been divided into two roads.
There were the cloisters, and there was marriage.
Whichever path I took, my magic would not be mine to keep.
Somehow, Noé had carved a third path. He had given me both freedom and power—control over my destiny, and control over my Wit—and I did not know how to accept the revelation.
You were never bound to me. It was false and true. I was, and forever would be, connected to him—just not in the way I’d anticipated.
My tongue was heavy; I could not speak. Blinking, I moved to give Noé’s seal back to him, but he laid a hand over my fist, preventing me.
“Keep it,” he said. “Let it serve as a reminder that your fate is your own to administer. No one else can claim it—not my father, not me.” His fingers flexed atop mine, his voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “You are your own creature, Lovett.”
It was the same thing he’d said to me in the carriage, so many days ago now. My heart squeezed; wordlessly, I took his seal from my palm and slipped it over my thumb, shivering at the slick feel of the metal against my skin.
Mine. Could it really be true?
Noé moved closer. Taking my hand, he stroked—not the finger where my seal now sat, but the one bearing my engagement ring, to the left of it. “You’re still wearing your ring.”
I smiled. “You’re wearing yours.”
“Well yes, but I’m the romantic.” Noé returned my grin, running his finger along the curve of my engagement band. “My father had this made for the competition,” he said. “I wanted to give you a different one—the ring which belonged to my mother.”
I looked down at the jewel. The agate seemed insubstantial when compared to the gem which crowned my seal, though I knew I’d thought it opulent before. “Do you still have it?” I asked abruptly.
Noé’s brow furrowed. After a moment, his chin dipped in a nod.
Holding his stare, I took the engagement ring off, then passed it to him. “Go and fetch it.”
He did. I perched on the edge of the sitting-room sofa as he disappeared into his bedroom, then returned a moment later.
In his palm sat a new ring—the band a brassy rose gold rather than silver, its metal slightly tarnished with age.
At its top was a single black pearl, as glossy as ink, fixed within a gold filigree setting.
I looked up at him when he paused in front of me. “Now ask.”
Noé’s jaw twitched. Swallowing, he dropped down onto one knee, lifting the pearl ring higher. “Lovett Tamerlane,” he whispered. “Will you marry me?”
My pulse skipped. I met his gaze. “Yes,” I replied without hesitation. “I will.”
He let out a breath. Fingers shaking, I reached forward, helping him slide the ring onto my hand. It was slightly loose, catching on my knuckle—no matter. I was already certain I would never take it off.
Again, his lips met mine. Want drowned me, any remnants of logic swept away; pitching forward, I allowed him to draw me down, off the sofa and into his lap.
A sound escaped him. His fingers raked through my hair, his other arm circling the small of my back, yanking me closer, but even so—it was not enough.
My movements were ungainly, awkward in comparison to the smooth confidence of his touch.
I blushed as my breath hitched, embarrassed by the inelegance of my yearning, aware that he could sense it—read it in the heat of my skin, the fevered beat of my heart.
“It’s all right.” Noé took my chin in his palm, guiding my head higher. His eyes met mine; the gray in them had darkened in the night gloom. “Let me.”
Holding my stare, he dipped his mouth to mine again. Fire seared me; I parted my lips as he deepened the kiss, allowing him nearer. This time, his movements were less graceful—his thumbs pressed down on my hip bones, his grip urgent, his tongue skimming over my teeth.
My pulse sped as he drew me still closer. The darkness melted, everything fading beneath his touch.
And for a single night, I was purely happy.