12. Lirien
12
LIRIEN
T he circle around us pulses with a faint green light, but my magic refuses to flow. Every time I try to focus, his lips brush against mine again in my memory, and my concentration shatters. The herbs burning in the copper bowl fill my nose with sage and moonflower, but even their calming properties can't settle my racing thoughts.
"You're distracted." Darak's hands tighten around mine, his ash-gray fingers pressing into my skin with a warrior's strength held carefully in check. "The bond won't take if your mind wanders."
"I'm not wandering." My voice comes out sharper than intended, brittle as winter frost. "You're the one who decided to—" I catch myself, cheeks burning hot enough to rival the herbs smoldering between us. "Never mind. Don't tell me how to perform my own ritual."
"To kiss you? Is that what you were going to say?" His thumb traces circles on my palm, each movement sending shivers up my arm and making the magical circle's light flicker erratically. "Would you prefer I hadn't?"
There's a hint of challenge in his voice, those crimson eyes studying me with an intensity that makes focusing on the ritual nearly impossible.
"I'd prefer you pick a side and stick to it." The words tumble out before I can stop them, sharp and bitter as nightshade on my tongue. "One moment you're flirting with Serra, the next you're—" My voice catches on the memory of her perfect smile, her curves, everything I'm not.
"Jealous of a married woman with a Minotaur child?" His voice holds a note of incredulity that makes my stomach twist.
"That's not—" I pull my hands away, fighting against his grip like a trapped animal, but he holds firm. His calloused fingers are warm against my skin, a reminder of every confusing moment between us.
"I'm sorry," he says sincerely, and the genuine regret in his crimson eyes makes it worse somehow. "I shouldn't have brought that up again."
His thumb brushes against my wrist, a gesture that feels too intimate for whatever this is between us.
I close my eyes, trying to ground myself in the sensation of his calloused hands against my skin. The steady thrum of his pulse beneath my fingers should anchor me, but instead it sends sparks through my veins that have nothing to do with magic.
"Stop thinking about the kiss," he murmurs, his voice low and rough in a way that makes it impossible not to think about exactly that.
"I'm not."
"Your hands are trembling." His observation cuts through my pretense like one of his bladed shadows.
"Because the magic—" I try to deflect, but even I know it's a weak excuse. The magic hasn't left me this unsettled in years.
"Liri." The nickname stops my excuses cold, the way he says it sending an unwanted shiver down my spine. "Look at me."
I do, and immediately regret it. The intensity in his gaze makes my stomach flip, those crimson eyes holding secrets I'm not sure I want to understand. There's something dangerous in the way he's looking at me, something that threatens to unravel all my carefully laid plans.
"Focus," he insists.
I take a deep breath, letting the scent of burning herbs steady me. The ancient stones I placed around us are with dormant magic, waiting to be awakened. My fingers intertwine with Darak's, his skin cool against my feverish palms.
"Close your eyes," I whisper, my voice barely a breath in the charged air between us. "Let the magic flow through you, like water through a stream."
The words of power spill from my lips, ancient and familiar, each syllable igniting the runes carved in the stones with precise intention. Green light spirals up our arms, weaving between us like living vines searching for purchase. The magic pulses with my heartbeat, growing stronger with each passing moment. Darak's breath catches as my magic seeps into him, testing the boundaries of his natural resistance.
"Don't fight it," I murmur, squeezing his fingers gently. "Let it in. Trust me, just this once."
His shadows respond to my call, writhing and stretching along the edges of my light like curious serpents. Where they meet, sparks of silver burst like tiny stars in a midnight sky, beautiful and dangerous all at once. The bond between us stretches, transforms, deepens - more intimate than any physical touch could be. I can feel the echo of his power resonating with mine, wild and untamed, yet somehow perfectly matched to my own.
My heart pounds against my ribs as his essence mingles with mine. Strength floods my limbs – his strength – while my magic surges through his veins. For a moment, I can feel everything: his pulse, his breath, the steady drum of his warrior's heart. Even the ancient scars that mark his soul become known to me, each one a testament to battles fought and survived.
The runes flare brilliant white, casting sharp shadows across his ash-gray features. Power crashes through us like a wave, and I gasp as the strengthened bond snaps into place, burning like liquid silver in my blood. Darak's hands tighten on mine, steadying me as the magic settles, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle against my trembling ones. The air around us crackles with residual energy, making my skin tingle where we touch.
"It's done," I say, opening my eyes to find him watching me with an expression I can't quite read. Something flickers in those crimson depths – uncertainty, perhaps, or a reluctant fascination that mirrors my own swirling emotions.
And possibility, I realize with a sinking heart, is exactly what I should fear.
"How do you feel?" I ask, keeping my voice carefully neutral despite the way my heart hammers against my ribs. The residual magic still tingles across my skin, but his expression remains frustratingly unreadable.
Darak rolls his shoulders and scratches his head. "Not much different, actually." His brow furrows. "Should I?"
The copper bowl tips as I reach for it, spilling ash across the ground. "Maybe that's for the best, then."
My fingers shake as I pack away the herbs and ceremonial items. The moonflower stems crumble in my grip, their petals scattering across my lap. Each one represents hours of careful preparation, now wasted. Or perhaps not wasted – perhaps this is exactly what I should have expected.
The bond feels hollow. Empty. Like a door that should have opened but remained firmly shut.
"Did it work?" Darak asks, still sitting cross-legged in the circle.
I stuff the bowl into my satchel without cleaning it. "The runes activated. The magic took hold." But did it really? The possibility I'd felt moments ago seems to mock me now, slipping through my fingers like smoke.
"You're upset."
"I'm thinking." I gather the rest of my supplies, not meeting his eyes. The ritual changed nothing for him. No new awareness, no deeper connection. Just the same old binding that keeps him tethered to me against his will.
My chest aches as I close my satchel. What was I expecting? That strengthening the bond would somehow make him?—
No. Better not to finish that thought.
I watch Darak gather leaves and moss, arranging them into a makeshift bed. His movements are precise, methodical – just like everything else he does.
"You don't have to do that," I say, wrapping my arms around myself against the evening chill.
"The ground's too hard here." He pats down another layer of moss. "You'll wake up sore."
"Since when do you care if I'm sore?"
He glances up, crimson eyes reflecting the dying firelight. "Since you stopped being just my captor."
Heat creeps up my neck. I busy myself with my satchel, pulling out my blanket just to have something to do with my hands.
When the fuck did that happen?
The stars peek through the canopy above us as we settle in for the night. Darak lies just a foot away, close enough that I can hear his steady breathing. The fire crackles softly, casting dancing shadows across his sharp features.
My mind drifts to the kiss, to his hand on my waist, steadying me. The press of his lips against mine, gentle at first, then hungry. The way his fingers felt against my face?—
"What are you thinking about?" His voice cuts through my thoughts.
I swallow hard, grateful for the darkness hiding my flushed cheeks. "The port. We should reach it tomorrow night if we keep this pace."
"Hmm." He shifts, and I can feel his gaze on me. "Is that all?"
"What else would I be thinking about?"
He doesn't answer, but I swear I can hear him smiling.
The night wraps around us like a thick blanket, stars peeking through gaps in the canopy above. My muscles ache from the ritual, but sleep refuses to come.
"What were you doing that night?" Darak's voice breaks through the darkness. "In the forest, when you summoned me?"
I tense, waiting for the anger that usually accompanies any mention of his summoning. "Are we really doing this now?"
"I'm just curious." The leaves rustle as he shifts beside me. "No accusations this time. Promise."
My fingers trace the edge of my blanket. "You'll think it's foolish."
"Try me."
I take a deep breath, inhaling the crisp night air. "Have you ever heard of Valentia?"
"Can't say that I have."
"She was a Purna, centuries ago." The words come easier than expected, memories of the stories I grew up with flooding back. "They say she loved so deeply, so completely, that she gave her life to save not one, but several men she cherished. Her magic couldn't choose between them, so she chose all of them – even though it meant her death."
"That sounds..." Darak pauses. "Impractical."
A laugh bubbles up unexpectedly. "Of course you'd say that." I roll onto my side, facing him in the darkness. "But every year, I go to where she made her sacrifice. It's tradition, at least for me. The Day of Valentia can be celebrated anywhere, but I prefer to honor her here, where it happened."
"And that's when you snatched me, so to say?"
"That's when I performed the ritual, yes." I leave out the rest. Some truths are better left in darkness.
"You really believe in all that? Love powerful enough to die for?"
"I believe in her." My voice comes out softer than intended. "Sometimes that's enough."