Chapter 31 The Bath #2
I let that sink in, wondering what aspects of those visions Octavian didn’t feel he had the right to share with me. “So even though you’re back here, you still can’t access essence?”
“These powers have nothing to do with essence,” he said.
Seeing the confusion on my face, he clarified, “You already know that everything in this world has essence, and that everyone has varying amounts of natural talent or ability with it. Some people have so little that they can’t even sense the essence around them, let alone manipulate it in any way.
Most people have just a little—enough to help them coax the water in their washbasin to clean their laundry a little faster, or keep a rose blooming a day longer, or nudge a clump of dust out from under the bed.
Just enough to make their daily lives a little easier.
Radven and I fall into this category, as did Alastor, once—but again, that’s something he should probably explain to you himself.
We can do a little with essence, but not much. ”
I nodded, following along so far.
“Some people in this category,” he went on, “find they have a natural affinity for certain things—they connect more easily with the essence of plants, for instance, which helps their crops or garden flourish. Others take time to hone certain skills. Bakers might use it to bring out the sweetness in their pies. Warriors often attempt to use essence to nudge their blades and arrows to strike true, though in truth that requires more finesse than many want to admit.” He paused, looking to me to make sure I was still with him.
“My brothers and I have used essence here and there, but none of us has ever had a particular talent for it. Our gifts come from a completely different source of power.”
“What about Laitha?” I asked, feeling like I was finally starting to make sense of this whole essence-thing. “And the rest of the Circle—they have a lot of essence?”
“Rarely, someone is born with truly great ability—they can access the essence of nearly everything, and they can manipulate it just as easily. They can even draw pure essence into themselves from the world around them, then discharge it again in a focused blast of pure energy and power.”
My breath caught, and Octavian nodded, apparently following my line of thought.
“When someone is born with this ability, they’re given the title of sorcerer or sorceress and adopted into the Circle,” he told me.
“As I said, it’s very rare—only a handful of people every generation.
When we were banished, there were only ten members of the Circle, though it’s possible that number has changed in the last decade.
” He added, his eyes boring into me. “You are powerful enough to claim the title of sorceress, Marigold.”
I’d been told that before, but his words still made me shiver.
I lifted my hand free of the suds, double-checking that the strand of pearls was still tied to my wrist, even though I logically knew I would have noticed their absence immediately.
The pearls were a comfort—not just because they kept me from unbearable pain, but also because they kept me from accidentally blasting my surroundings to smithereens.
There was a part of me, though—a part I hadn’t consciously acknowledged yet—that was secretly thrilled by the knowledge I had such power inside me.
I’d never been the sort of girl who felt particularly powerful—or even especially confident—in her day-to-day life.
And now here I was, suddenly in possession of a terrifying amount of magic.
Octavian took my hand. I’d forgotten he was there for a moment, but his touch snapped me back to the present—and reminded me of the fact that we were both completely bare beneath these suds.
But he was looking down at my wrist, twisting it this way and that so that the milky surface of the pearls caught the light.
“Safarian pearls,” he rumbled. “Where did you get these?”
I’d forgotten he hadn’t seen them yet. “Laitha. She bound my wrists with them. I don’t think she meant them as a gift, though.”
He looked up, and this time there were shadows in the pools of his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For Laitha. She never should have had the chance to lay a hand on you.”
“She didn’t hurt me,” I assured him.
“But she could have. Easily.” His fingers tightened on mine. “If she knew what you were to us—”
“She doesn’t. She knows that we know each other, nothing more.
” Assuming she hadn’t made too many assumptions about why the three of them had come to rescue me.
Or—oh god—assuming she hadn’t seen Radven and me together through that zhesper’s eyes when it had flown into our room at the inn.
So I quickly said, again, “She didn’t hurt me. I’m fine.”
“You shouldn’t even be in this position,” he said. “You’re only in danger because of us. Because you helped us.” The feeling in his eyes nearly undid me. “If I’d known you’d be dragged through the portal after us—”
“I wasn’t dragged through. I jumped.”
He stiffened. “What? Why?”
“Because it was that or be sliced to death by Tendrils. They didn’t disappear after the three of you went through. And I didn’t feel like dying yet.” I smiled, making a joke of it, but he didn’t seem to find it amusing.
“I should have realized,” he said. “I shouldn’t have assumed you would be safe just because we were gone.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have. I should have considered every possibility for danger.” His other hand came up, cupping the side of my face. “Mistakes like that cost lives, Marigold. We were lucky this time, but next time…” A muscle twitched on the side of his jaw.
“As far as I’m concerned, you have nothing to beat yourself up over,” I told him. “You’ve saved my life more times than I can count. I don’t want to think about what could or should have happened. We’re here now, and we’re both safe. Doesn’t that count for something?”
He looked like he wanted to argue. I could see the war waging behind his eyes, the shame that, during that moment when he’d leaped through the bridge I’d created, he’d put himself before me.
For a man who’d apparently spent most of his life protecting and fighting on behalf of others, that knowledge had to be torture.
I wanted to comfort him, but I didn’t know what to say. I just stared back at him, my lips open with those unspoken words sticking to my tongue. And then I reached up, letting my fingers rest softly on his skin over his heart. As if my touch could convey what words could not.
I felt the shift between us immediately. Even though we were already touching—my other hand in his, and his fingers against my cheek—I’d crossed some invisible line, taken this exchange from personal to intimate in the space of a breath. The air around us was suddenly hot and thick.
“Marigold.” There was a ragged, breathless edge to his voice that stole my breath away. And when I tore my eyes away from his chest and shifted them up to his face, I found him staring down at me with a dark, wild, delirious heat.
It was in those deep blue depths that I saw his control give way, a split second before he yanked me right against him. And I didn’t even have the chance to gasp before his mouth crashed down on mine.