Chapter 33
T he weeks flew by. The practices were intensive and bordered on grueling since we had such a short amount of time to perfect the routine. As the muse, our exercises were more physically taxing on me, and Soren was cautious to avoid overexertion. He insisted that I get enough rest, and I went to bed early and slept in late. It was strange to push myself so hard every day and yet wake up feeling so refreshed.
Not only that, but Soren wouldn't let me lift a finger around the house, despite the fact that he didn't even have a housekeeper. Gardeners came out a few times a week, tending to the pond and landscaping even as the season turned the greens to brown and gold.
My days started late in the morning, with a quick breakfast in the kitchen with Soren. He usually made biscuits fresh with honey and fruit he'd get early from the market.
Then, stretching and cardio before rolling into practice. The first round usually lasted a few hours, and Soren ended it based on how tired I seemed. He didn't want me burning out.
After that, we'd have lunch. When the weather was still nice – about half the time, albeit a bit chilly – we would eat outside under the willow by the pond. That meal was something quick but full of nutrients, usually hefty salads with flavorful vegetables and legumes, along with some energizing tea.
The afternoon focused more on the magik, and it was the most arduous part of the day for both of us. I exerted so much effort creating the dazzling lights, giving an illusionary form to ethereal creations. In turn, Soren channeled my magik and created music while levitating me in the air.
That continued until we were sweating, short of breath, and about to collapse. I would've pushed myself even harder because Adora had always told me to go until I literally dropped. Near exhaustion wasn't near enough.
I still felt guilty when Soren would say, "That's enough for the day." Because I knew that I could give more, that I wasn't entirely depleted yet.
“I could go a bit longer,” I told him, almost sheepishly. Samonend was approaching, and I didn’t feel good enough.
Soren combed his hair back from his face – it was always wild after practice – and his eyes were filled with a strange heat as he smiled at me.
“You are insatiable, Izzy,” he murmured, then shook his head. “But unfortunately, I am not inexhaustible. So we must break for the night.”
He turned away from me then. “I hope you worked up an appetite because I’m making supper.”
My stomach grumbled because he was an excellent cook. I’d never admit this to Heloise, but he was an even better chef than her.
Evenings quickly became my favorite part of the day. I'd get cleaned up, washing the day's salt and dirt from my skin. I'd slip on a nice, comfortable dress and put my hair up in a loose chignon.
When I returned to the main house, supper was waiting on the table, and Soren's hair was still damp from his recent bath. He wore a robe tied loosely, leaving his chest exposed.
We would eat dinner at the table, discuss the day's practice, and eventually talk and laugh about anything and everything.
Finally, we retired to the library, where the best part of the whole day began. He'd light a fire, we'd each grab a book, and we'd lounge on the sofa, often with my feet across his lap. Sometimes, he'd rest a hand warmly on my bare ankle. It was nice, even if I could hardly focus on the page I was reading.
At night, when my head hit the pillow, I was happy but not content. There was a longing, a desperate desire for something more .
I’d watch out my window at the main house, where Soren almost certainly lay in his own bed, shirtless underneath his blankets. I wondered if his arcane tattoos glowed when he was sleeping, and I wanted to trace my fingers over them.
Sometimes, when I looked at Soren, I wanted him so badly that it felt as if my heart would burst. And then I felt so greedy and guilty. He'd already given and done so much for me, and I still wanted more . He gave as much of himself as he was willing to give, and how dare I ask for anything else.
So I didn’t ask. I didn’t push or touch. But I still wanted all the same, and I relished all that he gave: the touch of his hand on my ankle, the sound of his voice in my ear when he commanded his movements, the heat in his eyes when he looked at me.
The moments we conducted together were the closest I could get to the intimacy I so desperately craved. Even in our practices, when the magik was more restrained so as not to waste it, we still exchanged magik between us. And I couldn't wait until Samonend when we could unleash our magik completely.
Even with all the anticipation, Samonend came up too quickly. I was worried I wasn't ready yet and about what would happen afterward.
Soren had offered me the use of his guest flat until Samonend, but what then? I hadn't spoken to Adora in so long. I think she was waiting for me to apologize, as I had every other time before.
Part of me still wanted to, honestly. I had this horrible guilt in the pit of my stomach whenever I thought of her. I'd picture her crying on the sofa, listing all her sacrifices for me and how little she asked in return.
But then I remembered the way she had screamed at Soren. And me, too of course, but it bothered me more the way she spoke to him. He didn’t deserve any of her wrath.
I just couldn’t bring myself to apologize to her when I knew that she was the one in the wrong. So I didn’t reach out to Adora, and I focused on what needed to be done until Samonend.
The dress rehearsal was held on the night before the actual Samonend festival. Every one of the performers had an allotted time in the ancillary ballrooms to ensure that everything would run smoothly tomorrow.
Zinnia Russo met Soren and me at the palace in the morning, and I had my final fitting with the designer. The gown she'd crafted was unlike any I had worn before, but it was utterly perfect.
The hem was short, landing at my mid-thigh, and the skirt was made of light gossamer fabric layered on top of each other, reminiscent of the black feathers of a raven. The elaborate lace of the bodice was perfectly contoured to my body, accentuating my waist and lifting my breasts. Small sleeves capped the top of my shoulders.
My hair and makeup were left to me, but I had mastered them a long time ago. A great way for us to save some coin was if I did my own styling, and naturally, Adora ensured that I was an expert on it.
The Calida palace was already largely decorated for Samonend—lots of black in the ribbons, lacy tapestries, feathered wreaths, and raven statues. But there were pops of orange and blood, mainly in the chrysantha flowers but also in lanterns and garlands made of leaves and branches.
The halls were already crowded with other performers, but everyone was so focused on themselves that it was easy to be invisible.
After I finished getting ready in the dressing room, I came out to find Soren waiting for me. He was leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, and absently chewing on his thumbnail.
When he looked at me, his face changed subtlety. His lips parted, and his eyes widened. His gaze went low, trailing up my bare legs and then lingering on my chest.
It all happened rather quickly – his eyes were only on me for a second or two – but it was a moment I knew I would be relishing long into the cold of the night.
When his eyes met mine, he blinked. “You look… good,” he said finally, and my heart fluttered at the raspy desire of his voice. “Does the dress feel good? Comfortable enough for you to move in?”
“Yes. It feels like I’m not wearing anything,” I admitted, and it wasn’t until the words were out of my mouth that I realized how they sounded.
His eyes smoldered the way they had after the first time we had kissed, during the downpour we had summoned at the Ashoralida. His gaze went to my lips, and I could practically feel the yearning radiating off him.
Relief and happiness blossomed in my chest because I wasn't imagining whatever had transpired between us. We couldn't be together; I understood that all too well. It was still a relief to know he felt the same way, even if we could never act on it.
Soren cleared his throat and looked away. “I think we have the ballroom down the hall reserved for us to practice in.”
We started walking that way, and he put his hand on the small of my back, his palm splayed warmly across the fabric.
As we walked, passing through the crowds, I spied Briar with other muses in gowns of red and orange. They were going to be performing tomorrow in the aerial show that I had refused. Briar didn’t mind Herve Chaunter, but she had her name and title to protect her. I didn’t mind that she worked with him, because I believed that she would be safe.
Briar spotted me down the wide halls, and she gave me an excited wave. I waved back to her when I saw a tall blond man standing behind her, watching with the brilliant blue eyes of a wolf. Eyes that I knew all too well.
It was Baxley Cole, my ex-paramour and fellow muse. Briar had warned me that he would perform with her, so I'd known I'd likely have to see him. But it had been so long, and the shock of seeing his intense eyes made my blood run cold. I was so relieved for Soren's hand, ushering me along.
“Since it’s only the two of us, they gave us the smallest room,” Soren grumbled.
It was dark when we entered our practice ballroom, but with a wave of his fingers, the candles were suddenly alight. It couldn’t have been much larger than his living room, but that was all the space we needed.
I started stretching and closed my eyes, attempting to get into the right frame of mind. But when I did, Baxley's eyes were all I could see.
They were what I remembered the most from our last night together, even though it had been two years ago.