Chapter 16 Starburn #2
“Aren’t you concerned Wymond will find out you know where I am? That you disobeyed a direct order from him?” I said, voicing a worry I hadn’t allowed myself to admit until that moment.
He stretched his neck to the side and then back, fist clenching at his side. “Why is it I always have to repeat myself before you believe me? I do not fear Wymond.” He accentuated each word, repeating the claim he’d made to me in the aftermath of the na’li attack.
Irrational fear settled over me despite his words, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going into the belly of the beast.
As if reading my thoughts, he softened a fraction. “You understand I was born in the Autumn Court, don’t you,” he said, and I could have sworn a feather-light touch caressed my cheek, although he hadn’t moved.
Knowing there was nothing I could say, nothing I could do to stop his inevitable departure, I took a moment to remind myself that he’d been crafted into a weapon for nearly half a millennium.
That he didn’t so much as flinch when Caius, a High Lord, challenged him.
Or that he’d single-handedly disposed of his highly trained mercenaries without a lick of magic.
And despite him being tapped, his powers had somehow rallied—meeting mine as I decimated the hallway—without so much as a blink.
Most importantly, I desperately tried to remind myself that I would anchor to nothing and no one. Not even him.
I lifted my chin. “Well then, you better stay safe, Commander.”
His eyes glittered with mischief as his perfectly carved lips curved into a half-smirk. “Is that an order?”
I pressed my lips together, fighting back the smile. As he stared at me, my magic stirred around a tiny ache in my chest, stealing my smile for real. His own smirk faded as if sensing the shift in me. “Yes,” I said, the word swallowed by the empty room, “It’s an order.”
All traces of humor drained from him as his power called to mine in the strange way it had last night. He stepped closer, the deep scent of him now impossible to ignore. We lingered, stripping each other down to the core of who we were like we’d done on the dance floor.
Eyes locked on mine, he slowly lifted a hand, turning it so the back of his fingertips hovered above my temple.
He waited for permission, and the devastating look in his eyes told me that he wanted to be the one who dragged a feather-light touch down the side of my face—not a wisp of his magic.
My heart traveled to my throat, and my power arched into him like a stirring feline.
Without a second thought, I nodded, then slid my eyes shut.
My heartbeat galloped at his slight hesitation, then softer than I would’ve ever thought possible, the tips of his fingers brushed against my skin with a featherlight touch.
Eyes shooting open, I slapped his hand away, and before I could register what I was doing, the other hand had abandoned the book to gravity’s mercy before striking the side of his face with my palm.
I hadn’t needed the hurt that crossed his features to feel regret.
Hands flying over my mouth in shocked horror, I took a step back. Then another.
“I’m—”
“What will it take?” he said, cutting off my apology.
He ran both hands through his hair like he needed something to hold on to before he paused his focus on my abandoned book, something like recognition flashing in his features before he scooped it up and held it out between us.
“A bargain? Is that what it’ll take for you to know that I’ll never hurt you?
That I’m not him?” The adjuration in his voice, in his eyes, had me working double-time to remember the passage I’d committed to memory from the book he held, as if I’d known it would hold importance.
Fae bargains—I recited silently to myself—are a sacred contract bound by magic that still remains elusive to scholars. Although extremely rare, enough data has been collected over the turns to confirm that regardless of the bargain or those involved, four constants prevail:
All those that enter must do so on their own volition and mental faculties intact.
Each will be marked until the bargain is fulfilled.
Death is the most common toll exacted for dishonor.
Disillusionment is impossible.
I mulled it over before the true implication of what he said hit. “You’d risk death just to prove I can trust you?”
“No, Nyleeria, I’d risk everything.”
My powers stirred as if reaching out for him again, and I couldn’t separate my emotions from it.
Gods, every part of me bucked at the very thought of fully trusting him, while another side bucked from the thought of him putting himself at risk—and damn did it not make me feel as if I were being cleaved in two by how they warred.
Get control of yourself, I silently admonished myself.
I took in deep breaths, forcing my magic to settle; for me to settle.
Endymion took me in with rapt attention, uncertainty, and what I could’ve sworn was hope staring back at me as he waited for my response.
“No,” I said, finally pulling myself together. “If a bargain is needed, I could never truly trust you because I’d always question if you were worthy of my trust or simply just bound to it?”
A weight seemed to settle on his shoulders. “That wasn’t my intention.”
“I know, but you have to understand that this is déjà vu for me.” He seemed to coil but didn’t interject.
“You hate when I say it, but whether you like or not—at the core of it—I am a commodity. And here I am, being promised the world by strangers who have their own agendas—again. It’s that simple.
I don’t know why the spark reacts to you the way it does, why it calls to you, pulls you into my dreams, allowed you to touch me last night.
I’m so grateful that you were there for me with the na’li and then when you took an arrow for me.
I am. And what you did for me last night…
” I paused, remembering the peace in it, the raw magnitude of it, quickly shaking the memory away before I spoke again.
“You need to understand that if it weren’t for those things, I would’ve already stolen supplies and disappeared with Luca.
The problem is that I think that it’s a choice for me to trust or not trust, Endymion, but it’s not.
I’m broken to the point that I nearly killed us both with the arrow because my body nearly got the better of me in refusing to touch you.
That proximity to you cost me more than you’ll ever know, and my desperation to seek safety, to protect myself, is something I had to actively rail against so that arrow didn’t snap.
So please, for the love of the gods, stop asking me for something I cannot give you. ”
Something like sorrow that I didn’t understand filled his eyes before he said, “Is there nothing I can offer you?”
I held out my hand for the book. Without the slightest hesitation, he placed it on my palm, holding onto the binding for a moment longer than necessary before releasing it to my grip.
Clutching the tome to my chest like it could somehow shield me from the raw emotions he stared down at me with.
“Time. You can give me time.” I sighed. “But honestly, Endymion, I’m not entirely sure it heals all. ”
Mischief kicked up the side of his lips. “Well, then it’s a good thing we’re both immortal, isn’t it.”
I rolled my eyes, secretly grateful for the levity.
“Would you like to join me for breakfast with Caius?”
I raised a brow. “Only Caius?”
He smirked before turning to open, holding it for me. “One day, you’ll love Artton and Sidrick.”
I chuffed as I walked past. “Doubtful. Not to mention, that implies I love any of you now.”
He raised a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Little Star.”
Ignoring my heart kicking at the nickname, I rolled my eyes at him again as he stepped beside me and led the way through the maze they called a palace.
“There are hallways for hallways here, and rooms for rooms,” I groused, noting just how lost I’d been before running into him.
His smile broadened. “Shall we make you a map?”
“You jest, but it wouldn’t be a half-bad idea.”
He winked, then leaned into me conspiratorially. “But then how would we run into each other? I wouldn’t want to be deprived of the opportunity to escort you, lest you get lost and never find your way to the sustenance you so badly need.”
His over-the-top humor took me by surprise, and I laughed, actually laughed, the sound bouncing through the halls and turning more than a few heads in our direction. “Funny, you’re a funny fae,” I said, wagging a finger at him.
“Don’t tell anyone.” He leaned in a little further and lowered his voice. “It might make them less inclined to fear me.”
“I think we can keep that between you and I,” I crooned, echoing the words I’d spoken during our first dance together.
Nostalgic recognition glinted in his cerulean eyes letting me know he remembered it too.
It only took a few minutes before we entered the dining room.
A smiling Caius met Endymion hand to elbow in the traditional fae greeting before turning his focus on me.
“Isn’t this a pleasant surprise. Here, let’s take breakfast outside.
” He indicated for me to go first, and I was relieved to find the table empty—no Artton or Sidrick as promised.
Finally settled at the table, Caius’ bright smile faltered a fraction as he assessed me like he hadn’t quite seen me before. “You look… different,” he finally said. “Calmer perhaps.”
I looked to Endymion with questioning eyes, unsure if he’d told the High Lord about last night. “No, it’s not that,” Caius said as if reading my thoughts. “It’s something deeper than the release of excess power.”
Suddenly, deep insecurity wrapped me in its clutches. “I… I looked at myself in the mirror today.”
A deep-set line split Endymion’s brows. “You hadn’t looked at yourself since becoming fae?” he asked, words soft.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I shook my head.
“And what did you see?” Caius asked, his question careful.
“The truth,” I whispered. They were simple words, but I knew I wasn’t the only one to feel the weight of them.
A few heartbeats passed before the High Lord reached for a decanter and poured me the delicious fruit nectar that’d been juiced in the kitchens this morning.
“Right,” he said as he filled his and the commander’s cups as well.
“From what Endymion shared with me about last night, you’ll need to learn how to dispel your magic so you’re not gripped by the excess in the future. ”
Needing a moment to process how I wanted this conversation to go, I took a sip of the light pink liquid he’d poured me and let its seamless transition from sour to sweet linger on my tongue before I spoke.
“I’m a little confused,” I finally said.
“I’d had the same thought, but when I’d asked Fenyte for books on it, he looked at me like I’d grown a third eye. ”
Caius chuckled. “That’s not surprising. Very few experience Starburn.
In fact, I’ve only met a few in my lifetime.
Usually, it’s contained to High Lords, which manifest at an early age, indicating who the heir apparent is.
As a High Lord, I’m tethered to my court, so there’s always a constant, cyclical flow of magic, which helps, but even still, I can get restless too.
” He winked, knowing as well as I did that restless was a kind—if not inert—word for it.
Plating some food, I looked to Endymion. “And you have this issue too?”
He nodded. “Actually, it was Caius’ father who taught me how to control it,” he said before taking a bite of food.
“Does anyone else know that I have this… Starburn?”
“We told Kai, Sidrick, and Artton this morning,” Caius admitted. “Best to have a few of us looking out for the signs, especially since your use of magic is unpredictable at present.”
I snorted. “That’s putting it mildly, and I think it’s pretty obvious when my power chafes like that.”
Endymion chuckled. “True, but there are more subtle signs to look for in the future so you don’t accidentally murder someone for bringing you food.” He cocked a brow as if daring me to challenge him.
I didn’t.
Food abandoned, I sat back in my chair and looked out across the pristine landscape as my thoughts traveled in every which direction—one above all pushing itself to the tip of my tongue until I finally voiced it.
“What are we going to do about Thaddeus and Wymond?”