Chapter 28
28
“Tonight we’re going to focus on basics,” Rafe says when we meet to train later in the evening.
“Why? Haven’t I been getting better?” I ask as I kick off my shoes and twist my hair up out of my face.
“You need to learn control,” he replies. “You know how to conduct, but you need to be able to do it without thinking.”
He’s clearly just come from hoverjoust practice, so his clothes are, thankfully, less revealing than usual. But really, could those riding pants be any tighter? My arms ache from my own practice earlier in the day. I should get Rafe to also train me in how to hold a lance.
Not that lance, brain. Stop it.
“You’re getting stronger, but you’re still wildly inconsistent, and we have to get to the root of what’s preventing you from calling on your Ha’i instinctively.”
I grumble.
“Beltane is in just over a fortnight. Once I acquire the necessary supplies during the bonfire, I’m off this island whether you’re ready to come with me or not. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it, Your Highness.”
“Don’t call me that. Make shiin.”
I tentatively hold out my hand in the formation.
“Now conduct.”
“Conduct what?”
“Just start with a glow.”
He holds up his own shiin and effortlessly emits a soft ball of light. Even his hand is beautiful. Fine and muscled, like a sculpture. Like the David ’s hand.
I can usually manage a glow easily. I go through the steps in my mind like I’ve done so many times before, but nothing happens.
“Um. I can do this.”
“This is what I mean about consistency. Try again.”
I do, and again, nothing happens.
Rafe is watching me critically, with a dash of loathing. “Are you even trying?”
“Of course I’m trying!”
“It doesn’t look like it. It’s like you don’t even want to conduct.” He steps closer, crowding me. “You are made to do this; it should be as natural as breathing. Stop holding back!”
“I’m not holding back! What reason could I possibly have for not wanting to conduct?”
“Desire is nuanced. Being a Sire comes with responsibility, and you wouldn’t be the first person in history to be overwhelmed by that. You need to face your fears, figure out what you truly want, and let down the necessary walls to get it.”
Who does he think he is? He has no idea about what I really want. I drop my hand. “What if I’m just not meant for this?” It comes out as a whisper. My eyes burn with frustrated tears. Maybe years of repressing my Ha’i has broken it.
I expect that he’ll back down, but this is Rafe, not someone who would actually be sensitive to my feelings. His voice and tone stay just as demanding. “You can’t give up. Being an unfulfilled Sire is painful. It’s why Sires have a higher rate of melancholy and self-harm. You were born to create, and if you don’t, your mind will suffer for it. A piece of you will die.”
I know what he means because I’ve felt the blackness at the edges of my worst days. That encroaching endless dark pit of mediocrity. Coming to Genesis has begun to mend that hole.
I can’t help but think about the provincial stereotype of the tortured artist, the disproportionate number of creative souls who fall to substance abuse, mental illness, and suicide. How many of them have been untrained and unfulfilled Sires? Would I have veered down that path if I hadn’t come to Genesis?
“Try again,” Rafe commands.
I take a deep breath and confront all the conflicting instructions jumbled up in my head—Master Liu’s well, Hilde’s source—the contrasting guidance yelling over each other, completely paralyzing my flow of Ha’i.
“You’re the master of your Ha’i. Demand that it do your will,” Rafe says.
Great, another contradictory method. But I’ll try it.
In my mind I adjust my thoughts to match Rafe’s demanding tone, and I try to bully the Ha’i up from my core through to my fingers. It’s completely ineffective. I feel nothing.
So much nothing that it gives me an idea.
What is the opposite of a demand? A request? That’s more my style.
And so I ask.
I close my eyes and envision a glowing source of Ha’i at the base of my belly, and instead of pulling from it by force, I ask politely, Will you help me?
And it does.
My hand warms. I ask again, this time for a glow. A controlled ball of lights shines from my fingers. In my mind, I silently thank… myself. Then I cast my attention to the wall sconce, make another internal request, and I am elated to see the light flicker.
I try again to make glowing light flicker to life on and off in my hands. It happens seamlessly and instantly.
“You’ve had a breakthrough,” Rafe states.
“I think I have.”
Spending years holding back my Ha’i didn’t ruin it; it made it shy. I’ve been hitting a rock that needed talking to.
Giddiness rushes through me. I want to jump up. I want to hug Rafe. But I stay where I am and content myself with only a wide grin.
“Good,” Rafe says. “Let’s harmonize so I can feel it.” He steps closer, makes shiin with his left hand, and lines it up next to mine. A harmony is the practice of two Sires connecting their shiin at the pointer and thumb into a triangle to combine the power of their Ha’i. The energy between mine and Rafe’s hands is charged with… something.
“I can feel you conducting. Now see if you can control the direction of the energy.” His hand—so much larger than my own—emits sparks. They curl around my wrist and form a bracelet—or a shackle. The sparks fizzle out as they hit my skin.
“Now you try.”
Sparks. I forget to frame it as a request.
There are no sparks. Instead, the air between my hand and Rafe’s buzzes like a magnetic force, pulling our palms together. His hand presses into mine. It burns—a pleasurable burn that rocks through my whole body. I look up at Rafe and see that his eyes are transfixed on the union of our hands, his brows pulled together in confusion. He looks up, and our gazes meet.
I can’t breathe.
We both look back at our hands, and Rafe twines his fingers into the empty spaces between mine. One by one. Causing all sorts of fluttering feelings in my fluttery parts. Our clasped hands are humming with an intense and tangible energy, and neither of us seems to be willing to break the connection.
Every particle of my body is now feeling the magnetic pull toward Rafe. Like I want every inch of us to be in contact and like that would not be close enough, like I want us to merge into one being.
I take a breath and force my hand out of his. But when I look up into his eyes again, I see raw want. I dread the knowledge that the same look is probably mirrored back to him in my own eyes.
“You’re not really my type,” he says in a breathy voice, “but apparently our Ha’i is highly compatible. I’ve heard of that happening but never experienced it before.”
His expression makes the fluttering in my belly turn into a full-on swarm. And not of delicate butterflies. More like moths and bats and other night things with wicked intentions.
He takes a step forward, his eyes hungrily exploring my body. I’m aghast at his arrogance that he actually thinks it would be appropriate to make a move right now, as that’s clearly what he has in mind. I open my mouth to tell him off, but my dismissal dies on my lips as he closes the distance between us, and my body only wants him closer.
“Stop.” I gasp, backing away from him. I bump into the wall behind me without anywhere else to go. “You’re doing some kind of trick with your Ha’i.”
He laughs. “Me? Little Weed, you can’t blame this all on me.” He trails his pointer finger along my arm, and we both watch in amazement as sparks light up where our skin meets. A physical, electric hum seems to buzz under my skin, and every part of me feels warm and tingly. He leans over and murmurs huskily in my ear, “Your Ha’i has definitely come out to play too.”
I may not understand it, but I know he’s right.
A moment passes when all that can be heard is our ragged breathing, and then we give in at the same time. I reach for him as he presses forward, grasping my hand and restraining it above my head against the wall, then leaning in to kiss up my neck. His fingers curve around my throat, and I gasp as he tightens his grip, the metal of his rings pressing into the soft flesh. His mouth trails up to nip at my ear, and everywhere we touch is on fire. Not the licking flames of a candle, but the destructive blaze of a forest in flames. I feel parts of my body reacting, parts of me that I never even knew existed until this moment, now all deliciously aflame. My free hand makes its way up the back of his shirt, my nails digging into his solid, muscled back. I can feel his heart hammering through his chest pressed up against my breasts, and I involuntarily buck my hips against his with a delirious whimper.
He speaks, almost in a whisper. “I’ve been with other Sires before; it’s not usually like this. My Ha’i really likes your Ha’i.” And then his hand is on my thigh, hitching my leg up so he can press even closer, making me moan. His open mouth is skimming my cheeks, warming my skin with his gasping breaths as his lips move closer to mine, and I swear I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than this kiss that I know is coming, but I turn my face away at the last second, and his mouth catches the side of my neck instead. He moans in frustration and bites down. I feel each tooth pressing into my skin, as if he’s about to tear into my neck and drink out my soul. It is not a gentle bite. It hurts. Fireworks burst behind my eyelids, which have fluttered closed. I’m dizzy and light, as if all my blood has been replaced with helium. Then his tongue is gently swirling around where he bit me, soothing, causing me to moan again.
“Rafe, stop, we can’t,” I gasp.
He emits an agonized groan but stops and replies breathlessly, “You’re going to kill me.”
“No.” I gently push him away, and surprisingly, he doesn’t resist. I work to catch my breath, then say, “I’m going to walk out of this room… and then I’m going to avoid you.” I woozily wobble to the door, unsure how I’m managing to stay upright. I turn back and add, “And no more touching during training.”
He looks almost drunk as he replies in a breathy voice, “I was wrong.” He grins. “You are totally my type.”