Episode 116 Meet Me with Your Magic
Meet Me with Your Magic
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Tharios says to Cerian and Arisanna before letting himself into the hotel room he shares with Viala, and she looks up from the chair near the window.
“Tharios.”
“You sound surprised. Were you expecting someone else?”
A smile twitches at her lips, and she shakes her head. “Of course not. I just didn’t expect you so soon. How is Elowyn today?”
“Ornery. Which I always take as a good sign in my patients. I’m more concerned about you right now. Do you wish to tell me what’s causing this?” He illuminates the cord binding them together. There’s significantly less slack than there usually is when they both feel unthreatened.
“I believe it was you, elf prince. Binding yourself to me before you’d even properly introduced yourself. I’m still not over it.”
The temptation to respond in kind is strong, but he resists as he kneels in front of her and takes her hands. “The truth, Viala. What troubles you this morning?”
She leans her forehead against his, but she still doesn’t speak.
“Is it your magic?” he asks softly, switching to Lothlesian to make it easier for her.
“I forgot to have you extinguish it today before you left.”
He lifts her chin to look into her eyes. Those brilliant blue eyes that shine like pools of water as she gazes at him now. Often, they blaze like her blue magic when her passion flows from her, and when she gets truly angry, they flash.
They flashed a lot right after he met her.
But now they’re like glistening water on a still lake, vulnerable and full of emotion. Inviting him to dive into their murky depths and get lost there.
Inviting him to experience the deepest parts of herself.
“Did something happen?” He didn’t feel the ripping of his heart from his body the way he usually does when she’s in danger.
“No. But I’m afraid it will.”
“Is that why you stayed here this morning instead of joining me?”
“It’s safer this way.”
He sighs before lifting his hand. “Meet me with your magic?”
She stares at him for a moment and then shakes her head. Fear trembles in her eyes.
They haven’t done this much, this Lothlesi practice of sharing magic. He should offer more. He needs to offer more. To help her see and feel the beauty of the power coursing through her.
“Please,” he whispers. “I want to experience your magic.”
The cord between them slinks in on itself until Tharios couldn’t leave her side if he tried. What terror she must feel today. This moment.
“I’ll guard your flame,” he promises.
They gaze into each other’s eyes for several breaths, and then she tentatively lifts her hand to his.
When their palms touch, a current flows between them, prickling his flesh and tickling his senses.
She’s so powerful. To most elves, the strength of her magic would be overwhelming, too much to take in.
But not for Tharios Westaria, son of Lorial and Nestraya.
He meets her magic with his own powerful life magic, entangling with it and pouring himself into her as her magic mixes with his until it’s impossible to tell where his magic ends and hers begins.
Everyone’s magic has a distinct quality to it. A unique sensory experience. With elven magic, it’s often a taste, the exact notes varying between individual elves.
But with Viala, it’s everything. It fills his senses, overwhelming and intoxicating and yet pure perfection.
“You’re holding back,” he whispers. The cord connecting them has no slack at all now, binding their linked arms together at the flesh with its ancient magic.
“I can’t—”
“Yes, my love. You can. With me, you needn’t fear your power.”
“What if I’m stronger than you now?”
“I’ve felt your flame. Your magic grows powerful, but I can still contain it. Trust me and meet me here. Let go of your fear, and feel the wonder of who you are. There’s no shame between us.”
Tears well in her eyes, but she lets the magic flow from her hand, mixing with his life magic. Tangling with it. Satisfying an ache he barely realized existed until the first time they did this.
A moan slips past his lips before he can stop it. “If you knew. If you knew how breathtaking your magic is. What it does to me...”
But she’s lost in her own wonder at this connection between them. “Tharios,” she murmurs.
And the cord slowly lengthens.
“Don’t fear your magic, my love. There will be missteps as you learn to harness it. But it’s far too beautiful to squander. It’s who you are. And I am so in love with every facet of you.”
As he looks into her eyes, they let their magic fade until it’s a simmering sizzle between them.
Her fear isn’t gone, but it’s tempered, and the cord between them coils on the floor, its ethereal glow illuminating the room along with the sun shining through the window.
He caresses her flame with his magic, and her breath hitches.
“Do you need rest from this burden?” he asks softly.
When another tear slips down her cheek, he twists his magic around her flame, and the sizzling between their palms vanishes.
Then he draws her close, and she buries her face in his hair. She doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t have to. He knows.
“We’re in this together,” he whispers.
Her hold on him tightens, and he gives her time to collect herself.
To return to the passionate woman with the ready smile and fearless heart she was when they met, though it took time for her to direct those smiles toward him in those first rocky days of their relationship. How he treasures each smile now.
“Thank you,” she eventually whispers. “For letting me be yours. I’m certain you are the best among elves, and I live in constant wonder at the fact that I get to love you, Tharios Westaria.”
When she finds his lips, he doesn’t resist.
“Please tell me no one is awaiting your return,” she whispers against him.
Thoughts of Cerian and Arisanna standing in the hallway fill him, and he sighs.
He’d rather stay here than deal with whatever disaster awaits him upstairs. But Cerian needs his help.
“It’s all right,” Viala says, and there’s no resentment in her voice or her eyes when he gazes into their brilliant blue depths. “You mean so much to everyone. That you’re mine at the end of the day is enough.”
“I love you. I don’t think you grasp how much. And I need your help with something.”
“My help?”
“Cerian seems to have let his plant magic get out of control in their suite. I promised to help him deal with it. Will you come with me?”
“I suppose someone needs to keep you in line.” Her eyes twinkle, and he smiles. There’s his faerie princess.
Offering his hand, he stands and helps her to her feet, letting the light of the cord connecting them fade.
“Perhaps fate knew I needed a faerie to accomplish that monumental feat,” he teases.
“Practice with me now, elf prince. Loth-lee-see.”
“Faer-ie,” he whispers near her ear.
With a shake of her head, she lets him go and wanders to the water closet, glancing over her shoulder at him as she disappears into the small room. When she emerges a few minutes later with her face washed and her golden hair corralled in a braid, he just takes her in.
She’s got to be the most beautiful woman he’s ever encountered.
“Keep looking at me like that, elf prince,” she says, and he grins.
“I have no intention of stopping.”
He holds out his hand, the memory of her magic tangling with his warming him deep within.
As they step into the corridor together, Cerian looks up, and Arisanna follows his gaze.
“Is everything all right?” she asks.
“Everything is perfect,” Viala says. “Forgive me for monopolizing Tharios’s time.”
“You’re his binding partner,” Cerian says. “It’s the rest of us who should apologize.”
“Hey, no apologizing,” Tharios says. “Either of you. I’m here for you all. Now let’s go see what we can do upstairs, little brother. Lead the way to this honeymoon suite I’m already jealous of.”
“What is a honeymoon suite?” Viala rolls the Nunian words around on her tongue.
“It’s a room designed for—”
“I will singe your eyebrows,” Cerian says, and Tharios laughs.
“I imagine it will become clear once we arrive,” Tharios whispers to Viala before turning back to Cerian. “Lead the way, and keep your fire magic to yourself.”