21. Academic interest #2
“Why don’t you try, and we’ll find out?”
Isolde blinked, taken aback. “What?”
Felix shrugged, far too casually for the implication of what he’d just offered, but she did not miss the spark of excitement in his eyes. “You want to see if people who are not mages have magic inside of them, right? And if you can… manipulate that magic. Test it on me.”
“Absolutely not, Felix. What if I hurt you?”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that!”
“I saw you in that fight. You were terrifying, but you were in control. I trust you. ”
She opened her mouth to reply but found herself speechless. He was still looking at her, the joking grin now gone from his face. He was serious.
Isolde lowered her gaze. “You shouldn’t trust me. I don’t trust myself.”
“All the more reason to do it. Go on, try. Nothing flashy, just… reach out?” He extended his hand and touched hers. A jolt shot through her as he did, and she looked up.
“Alright. But if I hurt you, it’ll be your own fault.”
Felix grinned. “Never been so excited to get hurt in my life.”
She couldn’t help but return the smile. “So, um, now?”
He laughed. “Yes, but not on the horses. Learned my lesson last time.” He called out to Luella, riding ahead of them. “Lu! We need a quick break!”
When they told the others what they were planning, Luella was indifferent, and Leif seemed excited. Garren protested at the idea, but when he discovered she’d be practising on Felix, he merely shrugged and left them to it. Luella led the horses away, Leif and Garren went off to do some sparring.
The sky above them was stark blue; the hills around them quiet and ancient. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound; there was only the soft susurrus of the wind. A fitting place, Isolde thought, for magic.
“All right,” she said, a little breathless. “You’re sure?”
Felix removed his axe and dagger, then turned to face her and shrugged with that infuriating, amused expression. “Not in the slightest. Do it anyway.”
She stood several feet apart from him, thinking she’d try from a distance, and if that didn’t work she could always get closer. He was watching her with a quiet patience that unnerved her more than any of his usual joking ever could.
She reached out. Not with her hand, but with her mind, like she had with Leif.
At first, there was nothing. There was no injury to focus on, and Felix wasn’t a mage.
His magic, if there was any, would be buried deep, dormant and quiet.
But then, much sooner than she thought she would, she found it.
Or perhaps it found her. Threads, or tendrils, or something else that had no name latched itself onto her, drew her in.
Coaxing her closer, until it surrounded her, and she wanted to curl up in its embrace.
Not threads, but a blanket. Warm and soft and safe .
She didn’t expect the flashes of images, of feelings and thoughts.
Running footsteps in a dark alley. Two scrawny little boys laughing.
A rusty dagger found in a pile of rubbish.
Fear so intense it made her blood run cold, slowly drowned out by anger.
Hot sun on sand and the deafening roar of a crowd.
Blood, blood everywhere. Pain, stumbling.
A pretty, naked girl in a dimly lit room.
The still face of a dead boy, and a great surge of sadness.
Soldiers on horseback. A cosy taproom. Deep, suffocating loneliness.
More pretty girls. Weapons flashing. A rooftop under starlight.
Men arguing. Her father standing by the lake.
And violence, so much violence, a dizzying dance of death that seemed to go on forever.
Then a girl surrounded by blue light. A girl who was her, looking terrified. Laughing. Scribbling in a notebook. Making a face at something. Looking up at the stars. Looking at him.
She was invading his mind. He had not agreed to this. It wasn’t right. She frantically attempted to disengage, to throw off the blanket, and after a heartbeat the world snapped back into place with a violent lurch.
They were standing so close she could see each individual eyelash.
Her hands were on his chest. His arms were wrapped around her, one hand between her shoulder blades and the other on her lower back.
She didn’t remember moving, yet here they were.
Her fingertips ghosted over the side of his face.
His eyes met hers, but there was confusion there she had never seen before, like he was trying to wake up from a dream.
Had she done that to him? Manipulated him somehow? She suddenly felt dirty and pulled away, stumbling several steps backwards.
“I’m so sorry, Felix,” she stammered. “I didn’t… I had no idea that would happen.”
He blinked, then finally looked at her properly. “What were we doing…?”
She blushed and stared down at her toes.
The signature grin returned to his face. “Well? Any conclusions based on this little experiment?”
“Um… Yes. I think… I was right.”
“It sure seems so.” He cocked his head sideways, eyes narrowed, as if he was considering something.
Isolde swallowed and pressed her lips together.
Would he have noticed her sifting through his thoughts, his memories, like some vulture?
If he hadn’t, maybe it was better not to say anything.
She didn’t want to cause him any embarrassment.
The connection between them was gone now; her magic retreated to the quiet current in the back of her mind, but an echo of it remained.
It was still there when they returned to the others, as they mounted their horses again and continued their journey.
An invisible thread that hung between them. She wondered if he felt it, too.
They rode side by side quietly until Felix broke the silence.
“Who was the blond boy in the garden?”
Isolde gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth and staring wide-eyed at him. “You… you saw into my mind?” she managed finally, her voice almost a squeak.
He nodded slowly.
“I did, too,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention; I didn’t mean to –”
“Isa,” he interrupted her, “it’s fine.” Then he grinned again, as if all this was a very funny joke. “It was… kind of nice, actually. But don’t change the subject. Who was he?”
Isolde blushed and looked down. It had been kind of nice. “Tristin,” she answered his question. “He was our scribe’s apprentice. We were both sixteen. He was my first… everything.” She smiled at the memory. “He was sweet. Gentle, not pushy or rough like I had been told all men would be.”
A flicker of something unfamiliar shot across Felix’s face, but was gone as quickly as it appeared. “What happened to him?”
“My father had him and his master fired and ‘encouraged’ them to ply their trade in another city when he found out,” she answered.
Felix chuckled. “You must have been devastated.”
Isolde attempted a glare, but failed miserably in the face of his mischief.
“Oh, I was. It was a great tragedy.” An unladylike snort escaped her.
“I read nothing but miserable love poetry for weeks and weeks.” She considered him again.
He’d opened the topic… “What about the pretty girl with the dark hair? ”
Felix smirked his most roguish smirk at her. “The one with the blue eyes and the scary magic?”
Her heart lurched in her chest. “I… No. The girl in the room with all the curtains.”
He hesitated a moment, staring off into the distance. “Have you heard of the pits?”
“Where people fight for gold? At the south wall?” She frowned. What could that have to do with a woman?
“Yes. I used to be a regular there. When you win enough, eventually there will be women who are, uh… interested. I was the same age as you were, sixteen, seventeen. She was trying to make some other fighter jealous, I think.”
Isolde wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound very romantic.”
He laughed. “It wasn’t, but I didn’t really care at the time.”
She grew quiet again. Somehow that comment, along with all she had seen, made her sad for him. She wondered how on earth he had still turned out so… well, nice. But she also had more questions.
“And the others?” She tried her best to keep her tone as casual as she could.
“What others?” He raised his eyebrows innocently. “Is this academic interest again, or are you scoping out the competition?”
She bit her lip and smiled. “Both.”
He considered her through narrowed eyes, then ran his tongue across his teeth.
It did strange things to her insides. She stared at him, and he stared back, until she thought she would combust in her saddle right there.
It was Felix who looked away in the end.
“Not much to tell,” he replied, his voice sounding deceivingly casual.
Isolde willed her heartbeat to slow down. She was stupidly grateful she had more of a handle on her magic these days. “You must have stories,” she pressed, refusing to give up so easily.
“You want to hear about faceless, nameless encounters in taverns and back alleys? Are you secretly writing indecent things in that little notebook of yours?”
“I – what? No! You know that’s not what I meant,” she sputtered.
“Do I? Who is the posh-looking guy you hated kissing?” His eyes glittered, but something in them was not joking. It was dark and dangerous.
This memory did not make her smile. Felix didn’t know about Bastiel.
About her hastily cancelled engagement, about any of it.
She had given it all surprisingly little thought since they had left Azuill, like it was already long behind her.
Or maybe she had just not been brave enough to truly examine her feelings, nor brave enough to tell Felix about it.
Because she feared what his reaction might be.
But now, what was the point of trying to hide it any longer?
She took a deep breath. “He is – was – my fiancé.”
Felix turned so fast he almost fell off his horse. “What?!”
She stared off at the horizon, remembering Bastiel’s face, his genteel manners, all the things that made him the polar opposite of Felix. His hands were soft; his clothes were always impeccable. He liked fine wine and art, and he had probably never uttered a curse word in his life.
“We met last year. His name is Bastiel. He was charming, and our families approved. He is a Laghain, the younger son. I am an only child, so he would inherit my father’s title.
We were supposed to get married in the spring.
At the time, I thought I should be happy about it.
Of course, when the midsummer ball happened, his family informed my father that the whole thing was off.
That same night; they were very efficient. ” She grimaced.
“Why would you agree to marry someone you hate?”
Isolde huffed. “I didn’t hate him.”
“Yeah, you did. He disgusts you. Can’t say I blame you. Kind of slimy. Frog-like.”
“He isn’t slimy! He is a… a good man. Kind. Respectful.”
Felix barked a laugh. “Respectful! I’m positively swooning over here. If he is such a good man, why did he drop you like a hot brick without so much as an apology?” That look was back, the look that made her wonder what dark thoughts were going through his head. She shrugged.
“If he didn’t even try to fight for you, he didn’t deserve you,” Felix said, his voice almost a growl.
“He is not much of a fighter, I think. ”
“Wouldn’t have expected anything else from a slimy frog.”
Isolde could not respond to that beyond a fit of hysterical giggles. Before she could recover enough to form coherent words, though, Luella called out from the front. They hurried to catch up with her.
“There is a small homestead a short way up ahead,” Luella informed the group. “The closer we get to Marsan, the more people there will be. I think we should find a place to camp nearby. Then, Felix and Leif can go on. It’s another half day or so from here to the city.”
Isolde had almost forgotten that Felix and Leif would leave them. Dread settled in her stomach. What if something happened? What if they got in trouble? No, she would not think about that. She glanced over at him, and the look he returned seemed to mirror what she felt.