Episode 41
Her Fire Wielder
“I’m so sorry,” Arisanna says as she backs away. Fear fills her face, and it’s enough to make Cerian feel like a monster.
Whatever heat was exploding inside him at the press of her lips to his cheek dissipates at the look on her face.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
With a curt nod, he turns away and breathes out slowly to control the turbulent emotions swirling through his head and his heart.
This night in their heartlanding has mortified him and made him angry, mostly at himself.
It’s also been full of hopeful moments, connecting with Arisanna and making him long for more.
But then she looks at him like that, and his walls crash down again.
“What’s wrong?” She lightly touches his shoulder over his leathers, and he flinches.
When he doesn’t answer, she sighs. “When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.”
Whistling wind. He doesn’t deserve her.
“In the meantime,” she says, a note of teasing in her voice that captures his attention, “I believe you promised to help me build a snowman.”
His mouth ticks up as he gazes at her over his shoulder. Turning toward her, he tilts his head. “We established this is a snow lump. And I don’t recall making such a promise.”
Ignoring him, she bends down to form a ball of snow with her mittened hands. “We start with a snowball like this. Then we roll it in the snow until it’s big enough.”
“And we need three of these lumps of snow?”
She nods, and with a sigh, he forms his own snowball. Or tries to. The snow melts against his hands with every touch. No matter how much of the white powder he adds, it never grows larger.
Laughter floats toward him, and he looks up to see Arisanna watching from beside her own ball of snow that nearly reaches her knees.
“You seem to be struggling, my elven fire wielder.”
He drops the pathetic lump and straightens, his heart beating fast at the warmth in her eyes. “Your fire wielder?”
She gazes at him thoughtfully. Flakes of white coat her reddish-brown hair and her shoulders, and her nose and cheeks are as rosy as her lips. “Yes, I think so. Mine. If he wants to be.”
There’s a question in her eyes, and every inch of him longs to wrap his arms around her and never let go.
But his hands are tingling again. He’ll have to answer with words.
“I think...” he begins.
As always, she waits for him to find his words. No pressure. No censure.
Just a soft smile with a hint of hope.
“I think he’s already yours,” he whispers.
Her smile grows, and the overwhelming urge to bury his hands in her hair fills him. To lean close and—
Fire shoots from his palm, and she gasps as she jumps away from the lump of snow he just destroyed.
He almost hit her. Nausea fills him at the thought.
“Well. If you didn’t want to build a snowman, you could have just said so.”
His eyes snap to Arisanna’s as he flexes his hands, trying to maintain his control.
She’s...smiling?
“Forget the snowman,” she says. “I have a better idea.”
His heart pounds as his adrenaline pumps. He almost hit her with his fire magic. The thought blasts over and over in his head as the world shifts out of focus.
Then a snowball smacks his chest, leaving behind a quickly melting mound of white on his leathers.
He stares at it in confusion, trying to bring his racing thoughts back to the present.
Then another one hits his arm.
“Come on, Cerian. Are you just going to stand there?”
His brows knit as he lifts his eyes toward her. She’s bent over, quickly adding to a pile of snowballs between them.
She wants to have a snowball fight? How is he supposed to do that?
He looks at his hands and the snow. “I don’t think I can—”
Another ball of white powder disintegrates on his thigh.
“This is hardly fair,” he says.
“I know. I don’t have magic. Imagine the advantage fire magic would give a person in a snowball fight.
” She lobs another snowball his way, and he reflexively dodges it.
“What did your mother say? Why was that your first instinct?” Arisanna holds up another snowball and smiles at him. “You can do better than that.”
Whistling wind. Could this human princess be any more perfect?
She tosses the icy orb, and he carefully meets it mid-air with a ball of flames, sending it to a watery end.
“That’s my elven fire wielder.”
He can’t even begin to stop the grin that sneaks across his face at her words.
She hurls snowball after snowball at him, and he easily blocks each one while she struggles to make more as fast as he destroys them.
Soon, she’s circling him, flinging loose powder at him as she laughs, making his heart race right along with hers. He tosses flames out in a ring around them both. His palms stopped tingling a few minutes ago with all the magic he’s been using, and his hands are warm but not searing.
Does he dare touch her?
She looks at the barrier of fire in surprise and then groans with laughter. “I think you win.”
When she finds his eyes, her breath catches as her laughter fades.
And her heart rate accelerates.
“Cerian,” she breathes.
“Just...tell me if—”
She nods, understanding even without him having to explain.
Carefully, he slides a hand around her waist to her lower back, and she gazes up at him with wide eyes.
He swallows, waiting for the tingling to come, but it doesn’t.
The ring of fire around them burns bright and warm, but his hands aren’t flaming the way they were.
He pulls her closer. Closer. Closer. Until the barest sliver of air separates them. Should he try touching her face?
“Tell me if—”
She nods again, and he trails a knuckle along the smooth skin of her jaw. When she doesn’t flinch or pull away, he slides his fingers into the hair behind her ear, letting his thumb graze its rounded edge. Human ears must not be sensitive the way elves’ are. He’d catch fire if she did that to him.
And her hair is soft. As soft as he’s imagined it.
She looks expectantly up at him, hints of vulnerability and longing in her eyes. The wall of fire around them flares, but his hands still don’t tingle.
Does he dare kiss her?
“Don’t pull away,” she whispers. “But your hand is getting warmer.”
The urge to put some distance between them fills him, but he forces himself not to move.
“When elves touch foreheads, what does it signify?” she asks softly.
“It’s...a sign of deep affection. Reserved for those closest to you.”
As he stands frozen, she slips her own hand behind his neck, avoiding his ear—thank the fates—and tilts his head to meet hers, pressing their foreheads together as her breath mingles with his.
“Is this all right?” she asks.
He can barely call up words. A kiss would have been romantic. And he longs to kiss her—for real this time. Not that nonexistent peck he gave her during their human wedding. A real kiss.
But this...this gesture of acceptance. Of companionship. Of...devotion.
It almost shatters him.
“I need to let you go now,” she says softly as his palms tingle, “my fire wielder.”
She gently removes her hand, and when she steps away, he lets her go.
As his ring of fire extinguishes itself, his eyes lock with hers. There aren’t words to describe the feelings consuming him, at least none that come to mind as he gazes at her.
And as they stand staring at each other, the snowy tundra fades at the edges of his vision, and the sky grows dark before taking the heartlanding and Arisanna with it.
Once again, he’s alone in his bed in his chamber at Windhaven.