Chapter 2 #2
Anger flares behind Valen’s eyes and I know I’ve struck gold. Betrothing Valen’s sister, Emilia, to my fuck-up half-brother was by far Vincentius’ worst idea to date. The two were the worst match imaginable.
I arch a brow. “What did he do?”
Valen’s nail scratches at the wood, his gaze dropping to watch. The gold Bauer signet ring on his left middle finger catches the light. “Nothing too horrific, I assure you. He simply can’t marry.” A wry smile replaces the seductive one. “After all, your daddy never did.”
“Ha!” The barked laugh echoes, and a few books slither closer to eavesdrop. “There’s no way Ali can successfully refuse a political marriage. I doubt he has the same control over the Order as Father does.”
Valen scoffs. “No. He does not.”
A languid ease curves my body. “How does the Archweaver feel about that? Did Ali get a spanking from Daddy?” I ask instead of voicing what I desperately want to know. Does he know that Alasdair is cursed? And if he does, does he know it’s because of me?
Valen grumbles with a sneer. “You know him. Stubborn and prideful to the end.”
My heart hammers, eyes bright as I say the words I’ve been dreaming of for seven years.
“I won’t insult you by pretending to care.
So please, do me the favor of telling both our fathers this: I am not coming back to fix the mess they made by choosing fucking Alasdair Androclaria as Heir to the Archweaver over me.
I’ve spent too many years of my life fixing his fuck-ups while he reaped the glory and I’m not going back to do it again.
So, no. I’m not interested in being a pawn in their games.
Goodbye, Valen. You can see yourself out. ”
But Valen doesn’t move. He stares at me, his face unreadable, until his eyes slide down to my lips. “What if I told you that I’m here for more than that?”
I should lean back to regain space and perspective, but I can’t. My heart is beating too fast, my insides trembling. “Oh? What else has brought you here, Valen?”
His eyes flick back to mine, and the look in them steals my breath away. He whispers, low and soft for only me to hear, “I miss you, Tori.”
Pain. Want. Grief. My knees weaken; the counter is the only thing keeping me up. He’s close, his breath against my lips, his cologne a heady spice that weighs down my soul with memories. My heart nearly tugs me forward when he breathes, “Come back to me.”
Yes, says a voice, one from when I was eighteen and in love. So painfully, all-consumingly in love. The kind of romance that etches itself on one’s heart like a carving on a tree.
His nose brushes mine and a small, needy sound escapes me. So close. All I need to do is tilt my head and our lips will touch.
I swallow, my voice cracking with the pain of denial. “No.”
His breath shivers, gaze flicking from my lips to my eyes. “Tori.”
I permit all the heartbreak and betrayal to consume me in a mighty wave, making my throat tight and eyes burn. “It’s Astoria to you now. You lost the permission to call me anything else when you abandoned me for power.”
I lean back, straightening up to my full height.
Pain shutters his gaze, and he straightens as well to keep me from towering over him. “I did nothing. In fact, we never were against you, Tori—”
“Astoria!”
“Fine!” His eyes burn. “Astoria. We were always there for you. My father wanted us together. Mom even had the wedding plans ready to go. It was you who left.”
“Yes.” Hatred is so easy to feel after the heat of lust. It’s one flame swapped for another.
“Because instead of having his son on the arm of power—real power, my power—Vincentius permitted a malleable pawn to be Heir, all so your sister could be Lady Archweaver and you the Bauer Heir.” My voice drops low, soft, and fills with loathing.
“And where would that leave me, the lowly abomination? Married to the next Preservation Councilor, but not of the preservation line to rule the domain beside him. Stowed away within the Bauer estate for safekeeping so my father can forget I exist.”
Valen’s jaw tightens, but doesn’t deny it.
Pain throbs and my smile turns cruel. “Hope he’s enjoying the results. I sure am.”
Valen looks down and traces the whorls of the wood. “It was a mistake not to support you as Heir. My father admits this.” His cold gaze flicks back up to mine. “He’d like the chance to tell you himself, if you’ll come with me.”
The temptation hits me hard and I suck in breath. There’s nothing more I want in life than to see Vincentius Bauer the Third get on his hands and knees and beg me for forgiveness. Even more than seeing my own father do so.
My father showed what a weak, crazed man he was when he chose Alasdair as his Heir over me. He can suffer the consequences of his poor choices. But seeing Vincentius grovel will ease some of the rotting pain lingering in my soul.
But I can’t. I broke the first rule of magic when I cursed Alasdair. To return to the Order would mean death. A corrupted abomination to finally be purged. A mistake for my father to fix.
Fear lances me, the tight ache in my chest burning. My shoulders set. “I’m not going back.”
The disappointment in Valen’s eyes is too much to bear, so I cast my gaze away, lest I lose myself and confess.
Valen’s voice is pleading again. “Astoria—”
“No.” I step away from the counter, arms folding. “You made your choice.”
His jaw flickers again. “I did not—”
“You could’ve found me earlier, but you didn’t, so why now?”
He looks away, but I sense he’s not done. It’s the way he holds his shoulders, the drum of his fingers. He’s weighing something. A confession, perhaps? I should kick him out. It would be the smart thing, but my curiosity roots me to the spot and keeps my mouth closed.
His other hand joins the first on the counter, the movement so slow and soundless that I almost miss it. “You didn’t ask me to run with you.” His blue eyes flick back up.
My lips part, but nothing comes forth. He’d been waiting for me. All this time. And a part of me was stupidly waiting for him, too.
Valen leans his weight on his palms. “Did you want me to come with you?”
The word comes out too fast, too sudden. “No.” Damn it.
Victory flares across his face and a devilish smirk unfurls. He leans forward, the heat in his eyes burning me again as he repeats, “Did you want me to come with you?”
My heart pounds, my breathing sharp. It’s far too hot in my shop and the counter closer to the back wall than I remember. The impulse to run thrums through my veins as something I haven’t acknowledged in a long time roots me in place.
Then, the front door swings open. I jump, panic flaring. My magic erupts around me in a halo of crackling energy, eyes glowing bright green like two beacons in the night. I whip to the door, ready to slaughter all the weavers who have arrived to capture me.
But only one other person could enter my shop while the password is activated. My magic douses like a candle in a storm. The mix of pure horror and heart-thundering excitement nearly has me gagging when a boisterous boom fills the small shop.
“TORI! You’re going to suck my co—oh! Shit.”
Standing there a whole week earlier than I expected is none other than my business partner, Lucas Flint.
Dirty button-up shirt, poorly mended khakis, beat-up leather jacket swung over his broad shoulder, Lucas’ large, muscular frame glows in the wide-open door.
His overgrown hair is in desperate need of a cut and is barely held back by his favorite flat cap, which is also filthy.
He beams at me with his usual radiant smile. It’s the smile that has the people lingering in my shop on more weekends than not. Even the books shift closer to him, some of them starting to vibrate.
His bright brown eyes scan Valen, taking in the crisp suit that bleeds money. “Sorry, didn’t know you were with a customer. I’ll go in the back.”
Lucas’ grin shifts playfully at his own innuendo, and I could keel over and die from embarrassment. It would be far more merciful than whatever Valen is going to do now that he’s met Lucas.
Lucas slams the front door too loudly, his canvas bag clapping against his hip. Valen takes all this in with a certain kind of stillness that blooms a cold sweat down my spine.
Slowly, Valen looks back at me, his blue eyes sparkling and smirk evil. “A magician? Really, Tori?”
That snaps me out of my shock. “It’s Astoria, you ass!” My cheeks burn at my sharp, high pitch, but I manage a vicious glare, nonetheless.
The interaction has Lucas slowing his bound up the three steps to the shop’s main floor. He sizes up Valen, warm eyes narrowing. It’s a fighter’s scan and his strong jaw clenches. My heart hammers.
Lucas’ boots thud loudly in the shop. “Didn’t realize Order bluebloods were coming in today.”
I want to smack my face, but I dare not move as Valen draws to his full height, turning his formidable glare on high before speaking.
“Careful, human. I’d hate it if you lost your… what is it? A wand? Pendant?”
He scans Lucas, lingering on his rolled-up shirt where his revealed full-sleeve, black flame tattoo twists up the muscles and tendons on his right arm.
“Whatever you’re hiding can’t be that big.”
Lucas steps too close to Valen, smirking darkly when he looks down at the weaver. His voice dips into a low, menacing, drawl. “Bet you’d love to see my big wand.”
Valen sneers, teeth bared, but Lucas swiftly steps back and around the counter. He whips off his cap and slaps the slightly damp thing on my head. His black rings, one for each finger, glint in the candlelight. “Call me if you need help.”
I scowl but wipe it from my face when it mirrors Valen’s. “I’ve got it handled.”
“Bet you do.”
In a rare show of decorum, probably because he thinks Valen is a wealthy collector, Lucas refrains from any further comment. He steps away and disappears behind the silk curtains to the back room.
An awkward moment passes and the inexplicable urge to explain myself surges.
Valen stares at the silk long after it stops moving.
I smooth my hands over the countertop. “If you’re done, please go.”
The faster he leaves, the faster I can go back to trying to forget him. The operative word being try. I can never truly forget him. He’s like a ghost lingering in my house.
Valen says softly, “We’re not the only ones who want you back. Viola misses you.”
This time, the surge of emotion has me stumbling back, my hand clutching my chest to alleviate the painful throb. My eyes burn, and grief that I try to ignore overwhelms me. I swallow painfully, my voice rasping. “Aunt Vi?”
He nods and I close my eyes briefly. I can see my aunt as clear as day. We have the same high cheekbones, impish nose, and Androclaria green eyes. The rest of me reflects my parents, from my father’s deep-set eyes to my mother’s coppery hair.
Viola is a powerful Creation weaver and a third of the age of her Archweaver brother, but still holds all the beauty of a woman in her prime, even at a hundred and twenty-six.
Where my father is a withered, ancient husk refusing to die, Viola holds her power firmly with both hands.
The same hands that shoved money and a list of contacts at me before disappearing into the darkness, the day I fled.
Both proved to be the lifeline I desperately needed to start my business.
Many of those contacts are still my most valued customers, who pay well for the grimoires I supply.
Crinkling snaps me out of my thoughts. A crisp, white envelope with Astoria Rose Androclaria inked in beautiful script sits on my counter. I blink, recognizing the writing instantly.
Valen taps the paper before withdrawing his hand. “For you.”
A letter from Aunt Vi.
It’s been over six months since that last letter.
It’s the longest gap we’ve ever had, and the tight internal bindings that keep me held together are beginning to fray because of it.
I tried writing to Vi multiple times, but the enchanted paper we used to communicate wasn’t working.
No matter what I did, the ink that I scrolled across it would not shimmer away to appear on her matching set.
Never in all my life would I guess our new method of communication would be through Valen, regardless of how close his mother and Vi are. Not after they abandoned me to serve Vincentius’ gambit for power.
The possibilities of what is hidden within that letter are boundless. My curiosity and desperate need to reconnect burn, nearly stealing all logical thought.
A crisp little card taps down next to it. “And if you change your mind.”
I stare numbly at it. Valentin Bauer VI is elegantly scrolled upon it with an etched rune. A magical calling card.
Valen’s voice is a soft whisper. “It was good seeing you, my love.”
I blink, looking up, but he’s gone. The only hint that this wasn’t all an elaborate illusion is the tinkling from the front door, still echoing.