42. Chapter 42
Chapter forty-two
Cyrus paced his chamber. Norah still hadn’t used the blood again.
She wouldn’t call him back the same day, he told himself, or at this point—in the middle of the night.
The sun had long since set. The earliest would be tomorrow.
Despite this practicality, each passing hour brought more and more concern, more and more doubt.
He swore under his breath. He shouldn’t have been so direct with his intentions. His connection with Norah was fragile, and he was managing it poorly.
And that wasn’t the only thing he was managing poorly.
His gaze landed on his empty bed. It had been over a month since Essandra had confessed her love for him, and they hadn’t spent a night apart since. But apparently she had no intention of staying in his chamber this evening.
Essandra. Norah. Kord. Was there anyone not unhappy with him?
He wouldn’t be able to sleep until he remedied one specifically. He needed Essandra by his side; he couldn’t face everything alone. And so, he found himself at her chamber door.
Cyrus rapped softly on the wood. He should have come sooner. She hadn’t said a word to him since their conversation. Simply giving her some time to calm down did not seem to be working.
She didn’t answer, and he knocked again. Heavy. Too heavy.
He’d just made a simple comment, and she already knew he didn’t want a child. But the more he thought about it, the more uneasy he became. Maybe she was starting to change her mind.
Essandra needed a blood relation to Cyrus to complete her spell for the Amoran Cup. That was supposed to have been Alexander. Now Alexander was gone. There was Adrian, but Adrian didn’t have power.
However, a child would fill that need. A child born of a witch and a seer. A child born of Cyrus.
Was she considering that now? She hadn’t before, but failure changed things. And Essandra had suffered a lot of failure.
He had to find out. Just as he turned to start toward her workroom, she opened the door, and he spun back around. She stood with her hand on her hip. Her nightgown hung long to the floor, and an open silk robe covered her shoulders.
He forgot what he’d planned to say. “I-I almost thought you weren’t here.” The words sounded stupid as he said them.
“I was deciding whether I wanted to talk to you,” she said.
So, she was still angry.
“I came to apologize.” Although he wasn’t sure exactly what for.
She crossed her arms but didn’t say anything. This wasn’t going well.
“Are you upset that I don’t want a child with you?” he asked.
Her green eyes flashed with something he couldn’t read.
“We’ve talked about this before,” he said. “You know what’s coming. You know the path ahead of me.”
She just stood, shaking her head in disbelief, although none of this should be surprising to her.
He hadn’t even given her the protection of marriage. Wouldn’t she want that first?
“We’re not even wed,” he said.
She gave a small snort, and before he could say anything else, she closed the door in his face.
He stood, staring at it.
She ripped the door back open. “Nice apology,” she said. Then she slammed it closed again.
By the end of the second day, Norah still hadn’t called him through the blood. Cyrus told himself it was for the best. He hadn’t slept since Miriel had arrived, and he needed to be at his best when he talked to Norah again.
Yet he still didn’t sleep.
Instead, he found himself at Miriel’s door.
She seemed to be the least angry with him, although she probably had the most reason to be.
When he’d told her he couldn’t move against Etreus, she’d taken the news quietly, but with tears in her eyes.
She’d told him she understood, which—somehow—had made him feel even worse.
She opened the door to his knock, and he could see she’d been crying.
His chest tightened. He’d done what he needed to do, but he hated himself for it.
“I came to check on you,” he said.
“I’m fine.” But she didn’t look fine.
“I know this is hard, but I—”
“I told you I understand why you can’t do anything.” She wiped her cheek as another tear spilled down it.
It gutted him. “Understand this too, though,” he said. “I will get Pryam back for you. I just need time. It’s not that I can’t do anything at all, it’s just that I can’t do anything right now .”
She nodded, but he wasn’t sure she believed him.
He’d hoped to feel better after talking to Miriel again.
He didn’t.
Now he found himself in the doorway of Essandra’s workroom, prepared to feel even less better.
Essandra stood against the shelf on the far wall, leafing through a large leather-bound book. She stopped when he entered, but she didn’t look up at him.
“I’m back for a second attempt,” he said.
She pursed her lips as she finally turned her eyes on him. “A second attempt at what?”
“An apology.” He drew closer to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, but clearly I did.”
Her eyes grew more shadowed. She slipped the book she was holding back into its space on the shelf. “You can see that the problem isn’t the fact that you don’t want a child, right?” she asked. “Because I also don’t want a child.”
Perfect. He’d upset her with something they agreed on. That confused him even more.
“But it felt like you were implying that I would do something like this without your consent,” she said. “And if that’s really what you think of me—”
“It’s not,” he said quickly.
“I would never—”
“I know.” He desperately needed her to believe him. “It was a poor choice of words. But it was something I wanted to talk to you about, because it’s something that we’ve been of like mind on, but I also understand how things can change. If you keep failing at alternatives for your spell—”
“If I choose to have a child, it will be because I want it, not because of what it can do for me. And I already have an alternative.”
He stopped. “You do?”
“Let me show you something.” She led him to the other side of the room, to a corner where a tall, lidded basket sat. Pulling off the lid, she reached inside. As she straightened again, he took a sudden step back.
She held a large black serpent wrapped around her arm, its dark scales slick and gleaming.
“What is that?” he asked, his voice sharp as it coiled toward her neck.
“Exactly what it looks like,” she said. “Don’t worry, it won’t harm me—I created it. Nor will it harm you—it’s borne of your blood, which means I should be able to use it for the Amoran Cup spell.”
He stared, trying to process. “You think this… creature… can replace a person?”
“The script says it needs to be a bloodline bond with power. Nowhere does it say that an anchor needs to be a person.”
“That should be a given. Usually something with a bloodline bond to a person… is also another person.”
She looked at him sharply. “It was borne of your blood, and it holds enough of your essence to create the bloodline tether.”
“It has no soul.”
“The cup doesn’t need a soul. It needs a vessel that can anchor the magic. This will work.”
He still stared at the serpent, his mind reeling. “How did you even make it?”
She drew her lip between her teeth, not answering.
And he realized… “Dark magic. It’s why you have the new marks on your skin.” He shook his head.
“After this, I don’t need to use it anymore.”
“What about for the Amoran Cup spell?”
“That’s not dark magic.”
“Essandra,” he said, drawing closer. “I don’t like this. We can find another way.”
She put the serpent back into the basket and returned the lid. “It’s already done. And I don’t need dark magic for anything else.”
He wasn’t sure he believed that.
“And hopefully this puts your mind at ease about my needs and intentions with a child,” she added.
It certainly didn’t put him at ease, but he did believe her about the child. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
Finally, she nodded. “I accept your apology.”
His voice came softer. “Are we better?” He needed them to be better. He couldn’t go another day without her.
She slowly lifted her eyes to meet his. “There is something more.”
He stepped closer to her.
“I don’t want to feel like a distraction to you.” She drew a breath in. “I mean, I do want to be able to distract you from your obsessions, but… I want to feel like I’m an obsession too.” She dropped her gaze to the floor. “That probably sounds ridiculous.”
He reached out and tipped up her chin, forcing her to look at him again. “If you don’t think you’re an obsession, then I’ve done a very poor job of showing you how I feel.”
He leaned into her, dropping his head to the curve of her neck and bringing his lips to her ear. “I’m obsessed with having you by my side,” he whispered. He nipped softly at her skin, and she shuddered. “Near me, with me, all the time. I can’t eat without you, I can’t sleep without you.”
Slowly, he sank to his knees in front of her, holding her hands and bringing her fingers to his lips. He trailed kisses around and across her palms.
“Do you really think you’re not an obsession?” he asked, staring up at her.
Her heady eyes stared back at him.
“I’m obsessed with your touch,” he told her. Lifting her skirts, he curved his hand behind her knee, bringing it up so he could dip his head and brush his lips across her milky skin. “The way you feel.”
He hooked her leg over his shoulder, looking up at her. She clutched him tightly to keep her balance.
He smiled as he kissed the inside of her knee again.
“I’m obsessed with the way you smell,” he whispered, working his way higher. “The way you taste.”
A soft sigh escaped her as her head fell back.
“But most of all, I’m obsessed with the way you scream my name,” he said.
And he pushed his head between her thighs.