Chapter 8
Trystan
This was a risk.
And Trystan knew he was the only one worthy of taking it. “We’re nearly there,” he declared.
Trystan and Sage had requested Roland’s aid in parting the thorny grove at the edges of Hickory Forest. The young Fortis had tested a new concoction to feed the thorns, one made with a drop of Trystan’s blood.
It had been a last resort, but it was the only way they could ensure complete security for his staff.
Now he was certain: no one could get in without his knowledge.
And, as it stood, nor could they get out.
It was the only reason Trystan found his current idea even mildly advisable. “How does your magic feel right now?”
“Like bad indigestion,” Sage grumbled beside him, rubbing at her chest, dagger strapped to her waist, the dark mist hidden within the depths of her body.
Lucky bastard.
But his appetite for her must stay quelled. He did not wish to scare her with how intensely he wanted her, nor did he want to push her into falling into his arms before she was ready to do it with all certainty. This was entirely new territory for Trystan—in every respect.
He no longer could rely on his magic to protect her. His supposed role in Rennedawn’s storybook prophecy had been diminished to that of a…prince. His mind rejected the word like it was a wretched curse.
And if all that was not enough, if they did not fulfill the prophecy soon, Rennedawn would likely perish.
Let it, the ill-mannered part of him pleaded. Let it burn to dust. Anything to have her. To keep her.
“I used to think you were bad indigestion,” Trystan blurted, needing to calm himself before his tight pants gave away where his mind had drifted.
“Pardon?” Sage blinked at him, bewildered, stopping before a large oak tree.
“When you smiled, it would, uh—” Gods, he was bloody bad at this. “It would make my chest ache. I could only attribute it to the acidity in my food. When I cut out oranges, I ascertained it was in fact because I was in love with you.”
Her teeth folded over her plump lower lip, biting back a smile as she continued walking, her hands clasped behind her back. “Was?” she asked, trying to sound light and disinterested, trying to keep the barrier between them erect.
As she did other parts of him.
“Already changed your mind, have you?” She was looking ahead in an effort to pay him no mind.
He wouldn’t let her.
Grabbing her hand before he could think better of it, he felt shock waves coming from where his skin touched hers. And when he looked upon her face, he saw all she was hiding from him. Love, respect, lust, warmth, joy, and pain. All of it was because of him.
Encouraging.
Shaking his head, he said, almost furiously, “Never.”
Her eyes widened, and she took a step back, pulling her hand to her chest as if his touch had wounded her. “I’m not used to you being so—so—”
“Honest?” he supplied, walking forward in long steps. “I can continue, if you wish?”
As wounded as Sage was, her curiosity far outweighed her grief, her light eyes gleaming at the possibility. “What else have you got?”
Lifting a branch for her, he held her elbow gently, assisting her over a large root, rejoicing at finding another excuse to touch her. And then immediately admonishing himself for his clear desperation. All his feelings were spilling out.
And so did one of his closest-held secrets.
“The real reason I have so many pillows on my bed.”
Sage spun around so fast, she stumbled over the root. He bent to catch her against his chest, and they both fell, Trystan first, soft curves pressed to his abdomen. She was warm, the scent of roses drifting up to assault him, and his body rose to attention. In every manner imaginable.
When she placed her hands on either side of his head, her loose curls formed a curtain around them. He stared at her blandly, determined not to betray his emotions. She might remove herself from her current position.
And then he might die.
“Sage. I was prepared to give the information willingly; you need not tackle me.” His dry delivery sent that lovely disgruntled blush to her cheeks, and dark mist swirled from her fingers, feeling like a cold rush of air against his skin.
“Yes, yes. I can feel how much you hate it.” She gifted him her malevolent smirk, and he thought a bruised tailbone was a fair price to pay to see it this close. All too soon, she realized how easily her guard had lowered and scrambled off him. He bit back a groan of deprivation.
Hands still around her waist, he lifted himself up, helping them both to stand. His body ached at the absence when she stepped away. But it was good to know she was similarly affected. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes darkening when she scanned his face and body. “Your, um—pillows?”
“My what?” he asked dazedly. Then, shaking his head back to reality: “Oh yes. It’s nothing of great import, but I thought you’d enjoy the knowledge that the volume of pillows increases every time I have a dream about you.”
The well was in sight, and Trystan was surprisingly relieved to have shared such a closely held truth with the one person he trusted with all of himself.
The sound of her boots against the twigs on the ground ceased, and when he turned his head, her mouth was opening and closing, both hands coming up to hold her cheeks. “You’re saying…”
“I outgrew the need from childhood long ago. As an adult, I was only in possession of two, until two became three and three became four and so on.”
Sage looked a bit aghast, like this whole interaction was sending her into a fit of disbelief.
It was wildly entertaining.
“What…” She took a breath, swiping the air like she could rid herself of the knowledge. “What in the world did you think buying so many pillows would do?”
Trystan shrugged. “Stop the dreams. And if that didn’t work, accidental suffocation seemed a welcome alternative.”
“Oh my gods!” She scoffed, stalking past him in the wrong direction, her dark magic—still so out of control, so new—coming out to greet her.
“Insinuating you’d rather suffocate accidentally than dream of me is hardly complimentary, you know.
” She finished on a strangled laugh that gave him a hint as to her discomfort.
He looked up in contemplation, nodding, his mouth in a flat line. “Put in those terms, I suppose it isn’t. But you asked for honesty.” As her magic now started to swirl around him, he smiled inwardly. He understood why Sage found it so entertaining to poke at him.
He wanted to unravel her.
Her chest moved with frustration, that intoxicating darkness behind her pupils fading away when she realized she’d willed her magic toward him. A gasp left her red lips. “Honesty. Not telling me something that will send me into hysteria.”
His lip curled up as he looked at her with tender amusement. “You’re extraordinary. How’s that?”
She stared at him, lashes fluttering, mouth open, but no words came. He’d stumped her.
All it took was a well-earned compliment.
This was fun.
“The well,” she blurted nervously, spinning toward it. “Shall we?”
Rocking back on his heels, Trystan traded his confusion for more amusement. What fun, sending her over the proverbial edge. “Tell me, Sage. Have you utilized a wishing well before?”
She blinked, wide-eyed, her demeanor taking on a lost look that made him want to shove her beneath his cloak and protect her from the world. “Of course I have. But surely that’s not why you brought me here.”
“I brought you here because you need a place to practice using your magic.” He parted the long branches of the weeping willow he himself had found years ago, moving them aside for her to pass through first. “A place where you need not be afraid of hurting anyone or anything.”
“And what? I wish into the well for that to be true?” she asked, staring at the coin he’d given her, disgruntled.
“Oh no. I thought you might use that coin to wish your magic away, actually,” he suggested with dry humor, trying—very poorly—to lighten the mood. Her lovely face twisted at the suggestion, though in a moment, hopefully she’d see reason and—
The coin smacked him in the head. Hard.
“You made me walk for two hours to use reverse logic on me?” she chastised him and folded her arms. “You couldn’t have done this at the manor?”
He bent to pick up the coin in one fluid motion, his fingertips brushing her palm when he dropped the cool coin against her skin. “No. I couldn’t have.” He said softly, “This well is special. Throw it in. I promise you’ll be happy you did.”
Sage was curious by nature. So it didn’t surprise him when she leaned over the edge and lifted a brow. “I won’t make a wish.”
He smirked. “It’s just a well. It doesn’t grant wishes.”
She did anyway, he could tell by the scrunch of her nose when she flicked the coin off her finger, until a tiny plop splashed below—and the willow tree began to sing.
A lovely chiming resounded around them, cocooned in the leaves and branches that were now sprouting every manner of flower. The floral smells filled the air, giving them nothing but pleasantness and colors.
He’d loved this place in his early days with the dark magic.
Edwin had recommended it, knowing how out of control Trystan felt with it, how other he was.
Sage’s eyes widened, a small gasp leaving her lips as she turned in every direction to take in the shield of loveliness that surrounded them. “How?”
“The well, when given an offering, emits pure magic. Only within its confines, but when I felt out of control those first few weeks, I came here often. Listen.”
She was still distracted by the roses sprouting around the moss covering the well. “To what?”
He came up behind her carefully, placing a gentle hand on her hip, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “For your magic. It’s quieter here but still present.”
She shivered, and he swallowed, attempting to push forward. “You’re safe to use it here. I promise you. Try.”
She turned slowly, eyes still closed, and he moved back to give her space.
The magic, however, had other plans.
The mist shot from her fingers, wrapping around him and lifting him up, gripping him and dragging him forward until they were inches apart. Her mouth was open, her eyes alarmed and surprised.
Guilt prickled at him. He shouldn’t have pushed her.
“Evie…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”
The magic surrounded them, shoving him from behind, and he stumbled forward but caught himself—and Sage.
When she leaped into his arms.
Kissing him.