The Promise Effect

Chapter 6

SNEAKING BACK INTOhis own house in the earliest, blanched hours of morning was nothing new for Laurel. At the lowest point in his life, this had been a near daily occurrence for him. Carefully sliding the window he habitually kept unlocked open, he maneuvered his body through it, long legs first.

Part of him wanted to crawl into his bed and sleep off the rest of his life, but he couldn’t do that. Once upon a time, not so far in the past, he’d have given into the urge. He supposed that was one more shred of proof that therapy truly was changing him. The thought bolstered him a bit, helping to slough off some of the shame that lingered in his veins from the restless night.

He took his time in the shower, soaping and rinsing and trying not to think. When the lukewarm spray turned cold, he figured it was time to get out and face the rest of the world. As his therapist, Katharin, was fond of telling him, he couldn’t let his bad nights turn into bad days. Instead of wallowing in guilt that he’d lost his temper, snapped at his father, and stormed out, he could only move forward. And maybe apologize, once the final dregs of his tantrum had dissipated. Maybe.

Still, his stubborn determination to move forward didn’t do much to stave off the absolute exhaustion he felt. Because he thought he knew how bad he probably looked after such a restless night, he avoided glancing in the mirror as he dressed in a simple outfit of tailored pants and a slim, ribbed shirt that covered him from neck to wrist. Reflecting on how long it had been since he’d really dressed up for a night out, he pondered what he would wear to Nero and March’s wedding, and to Ingrid’s concert.

Thumbing through layers of ornate coats and scarves and shoulder capes in his rather expansive closet, with his weary mind susceptible to thoughts he would otherwise be able to avoid, he found himself wondering what sort of clothing Ash would prefer on him. The healer had absolutely no eye for fashion himself. All three occasions Laurel had been in his presence, his clothes had been clean, but faded, and with no sort of ornamentation or adornments.

It wasn’t the sort of clothing that a noble should feel comfortable being seen in, Laurel thought. But then, Ash was incredibly strange. And he did have noble blood in him, his propensity for magic making that an indisputable fact. But perhaps like March’s family, his parents had opted for a quieter, simpler life in a more rural part of the world, away from shallow fashions and judgments. So much for that plan, Laurel thought, smirking a bit as he recalled Nero and March’s courting.

In any case, he supposed Ash’s aversion to fashion meant that he didn’t much care what Laurel wore either. He found the thought comforting. Not that he wasn’t confident in his looks, but there was a slight lessening of pressure if he wasn’t required to look a particular way if they were to be seen in public together.

Glad they’d settled on an earlier time in advance, Laurel decided he would avoid any apologies or confrontations with his family by slipping back out of his bedroom window.

DRUMMING A PLEASANTlittle beat onto the surface of the café table with his fingers, Ash flipped through a locally printed magazine that detailed various tourist destinations within the castle city. He’d visited a handful of them already, despite only having stayed there a week. It was exciting spending time in such a large city for the first time in his life, but there were some he had purposely avoided, opting to wait to visit them until he had a partner to enjoy them with. He wondered how Laurel would feel about botanical gardens. A flower among flowers, he mused, grinning.

In the first place, he knew he shouldn’t have been in much of a rush to consume the thrill of the city, as he’d likely end up living there. After all, he doubted Laurel would be keen on moving out to the rural village he’d been living in with his mother for the past few years. It gave him a light tug of grief, but with the grief came resigned acceptance.

He loved the village, loved the personal connection he had with his neighbors and everyone there. He loved the quiet mornings bursting with sunrise and birdsong and crops to be harvested, and the evenings buzzing with insects and the smell of dinners wafting up through chimneys. But as much as he loved those things, his simple life that he’d built up, he knew he would come to love Laurel more. There was no avoiding it. And his sleepy little town was only a few hours away by train. Even less by airship, not that he’d ever ridden in one. So it wasn’t as if he’d never see it again.

Ash sensed Laurel before he could see him. That unparalleled aura, like rich brocade and thunderstorms in the reflection of a gold-framed mirror slid into his consciousness and clicked there like a key in a lock, bringing a lightness to his soul. However, as the deliciously elegant ambiance moved closer to him, he could sense that it was ragged at the edges from stress and exhaustion. By the time the sorcerer came into view, his creamy skin looking uncharacteristically lackluster, dark shadows surrounding his eyes, Ash was springing from his seat to rush over.

In his blind concern, he forgot the vow he’d made not to touch Laurel until he explicitly asked for it, or at least expressed that it would be acceptable. Taking one of Laurel’s weak hands in his, Ash used his other to press a light touch to the back of his neck, as if supporting him.

“Are you alright?” The question was full of demand, but his voice was gentle. The tenderness in the words, along with the feeling of the healer’s calloused fingers just barely skimming the flesh of his palm and neck, had a silky cloud fogging Laurel’s brain. “Are you hurt?”

“I…” Without a clue of how to answer, and so overtaken by something he couldn’t even begin to process or articulate, Laurel could only stare. When he released a trembling breath from his parted lips, Ash’s troubled gaze flicked down to them, lingering there. “Do I look that bad?” He finally managed, chest pounding.

“No,” Ash quickly denied. “You have the type of innate beauty that could never be dulled. But you’re drained. I can see it and feel it.”

“Everyone is staring,” Laurel realized, flushing when Ash’s fingertips left his nape. Nearly swaying, he swallowed, determined to stay upright.

“Sit down.” Guiding him to their table, he let Laurel’s body drop into the seat across from his. “Let me get your drink. I know what you get,” he spoke, and was gone before Laurel could protest.

Rattled, the sorcerer dropped his forehead into his hands, staring down into his lap. The combination of unsteady pleasure and clutching nerves made him slightly nauseous. He’d never been handled that way. Held like a fragile treasure, as if even the slightest touch in the wrong spot would shatter him. Even the mere concept of the words coming to life in his brain, let alone the persistent warmth that was steadfastly clinging to the spots on his skin where Ash had touched, had him dizzy with excitement. And for Laurel, with excitement came trepidation.

When he heard a cup being placed in front of him, he took great care to compose his expression into one that didn’t reek of the swooning moron he’d become at the Ash’s touch, before raising his face. There was a slice of thick bread on a saucer next to his drink, fragrant with the sugared butter spread on it.

“Eat. You need it,” Ash said, before he could question the addition to his usual order.

Laurel raised an eyebrow at the tone, but complied. “You’re bossy today.”

“If I have to be,” the healer agreed, pleased when he took a bite, chewing it slowly and deliberately. “Otherwise, I’ll be perfectly content to let you make the decisions on the day-to-day things. When we’re married, I mean.”

Choking a bit as his throat constricted, Laurel gulped at his tea, hacking out his shock for a moment while Ash only stared with his trademark expression of gentle amusement. “You have to stop saying things like that.”

“I only meant that I don’t mind letting you be in charge, for the most part. I don’t have much of an ego about that sort of thing. But if you aren’t taking care of yourself, I’ll have to make you.”

“I… Not that part,” Laurel said flatly, despite his racing pulse.

“Oh, about us getting married?”

“Yes,” he hissed, glancing around conspicuously.

“I didn’t know it was a secret,” Ash said. He hadn’t necessarily meant to voice the thought, but he felt cheerful now that it was out in the open.

“It’s not a secret! It’s… I mean, I don’t know where you’re getting these ideas from.”

“From the very tapestry of kismet itself. For whatever reason, I’ve been favored by the gods and bestowed with a gift far beyond anything I could have even imagined to hope for.” When Laurel only stared at him, he waved his hand in a showy gesture. “The gift is you, if you’re not understanding.”

“No, I know what you meant.”

Because he could see very clearly now that there was no amount of denial he could give that would convince Ash that his romantic ramblings were completely nonsensical, Laurel didn’t bother to correct them again. And he was, to his absolute shock, beginning to like the irrational lunatic. And because his fondness was growing, guilt for the misguided idea was beginning to seep through.

“Ash,” Laurel started carefully, feeling foolish for even entertaining the strange fantasy. “I know you’re caught up in this little notion about us, and I’m flattered and everything, but you understand that nothing could really happen between us, don’t you?”

“Laurel,” Ash imitated his very patient tone. “I know you’re under the impression that my infatuation with you is a delusion, but you understand that you’re meant to be my one and only, and there’s nothing you can say that would stop me from making sure you become so?”

The healer’s tone was too even, too logical, for the absurd words. It made Laurel uneasy, and far too inflamed. “You don’t even know me.” He fell back on a phrase he’d used before, unsure what else he could say.

“Yet.”

“You’ll change your mind when you get to know me. Believe me, I’m not the kind of person that anyone dreams about marrying.”

Ash’s face sobered, the soft green of his eyes sharpening into a hot emerald shade. “I won’t ask you to trust me, or trust it, because you don’t see what I see, or feel what I feel. But I’ll ask you to speak more kindly about my future husband.”

“Now I can’t even talk about myself?”

“Of course you can. Kindly.” Leaning forward a bit in his chair, Ash nudged the small plate of food closer to the other man, as if to remind him to continue eating. “And since you seem so hung up on the fact that we don’t know each other very well yet, we can start our question and answer segment of the program right now.”

Though he averted his eyes away from Ash’s gently seeking ones, Laurel took another bite before answering. “Who has to answer a question first?”

“Whichever you prefer, sunshine.” The pet name, an incredibly ironic misnomer in Laurel’s opinion, had him flushing nevertheless.

“March said you told him you were from Ironchill, but you live in Ikronia now. Why did you move here?”

Laurel’s father was from the kingdom of Ironchill, a bitterly cold place with large expanses of nothing but craggy, snow-topped mountains. He knew Minael had grown up in a more affluent tourist town, with skiing and overpriced hot chocolate and beautiful coats. He’d visited with his parents more times in his life than he could count.

“We lived in Ironchill until I was 16, so I’ve been in Ikronia for about 10 years now. I didn’t mind it, but my mother was sick all the time. And it’s hard to get fresh food and medicine and that kind of thing out there. I saved up some money so we could move somewhere warmer, closer to real society.”

“And you ended up here?”

“We live in a really small town a couple hours away called Sweethaven. The population’s only about 1500.”

“1500?” Laurel echoed, eyes wide. “There were nearly that many students at my primary academy alone.”

Ash shrugged a shoulder, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. “Like I said, it’s a really small town.”

“You said you saved up the money so your family could move?” Laurel realized, frowning. “But you were just a kid then, right?”

“Well, my mother couldn’t really keep any kind of job, because of how ill and weak she was all the time. I started working pretty young. And I would hunt, and fish, that kind of thing.”

“Hunt and fish.” The words sounded as foreign to Laurel as the concept of working a job as a young teenager. When had he found time for school?

“It’s easier now,” Ash assured the shocked sorcerer. “I’ve made a fair bit of money off commissions for my healing therapy. And we grow a lot of our food anyway. That’s just how it is out there.”

“Can I ask something else?”

“We’re supposed to be taking turns. I already gave you two.”

“Fine,” Laurel admitted, in the spirit of fairness.

“Tell me about your childhood now. What are your parents like?”

Laurel had hoped the questions would start out a bit easier, like what his favorite color was or what kind of sweets he liked, but since they hadn’t agreed on any limitations, he supposed he would endure it.

“My vatra is a marketing consultant for a few big companies here in the city, so my father stayed home to raise us. But he’s a painter.” When Ash continued to stare at him, he supposed it meant he hadn’t given enough of an answer. “What else do you want to know?”

“Do you get along with them?”

“We were close when I was growing up. We aren’t very close now.”

“Why not?”

“My vatra is… He just has really high expectations for us. I didn’t live up to those expectations, so I’m somewhat of an embarrassment to him.”

“He told you that?” Ash asked sharply, affronted.

Shaking his head, Laurel rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t need to tell me. It’s… He wanted me to do this thing, and I couldn’t do it because it… It just hurt too much. I let him down by failing at that thing, and he let me down by not understanding why I couldn’t. And that’s all it is.”

Intrigued, and somewhat soothed that Laurel’s conflicted relationship with his vatra seemed to stem from a failure of communication rather than flat-out negligence or hatred, Ash cocked his head. “What was the thing?”

“I can’t talk about that yet.” His blood had begun speeding through his veins, pulsing in his head. “You said you wouldn’t force me.”

“That’s okay,” Ash assured him. He reached across the table, stroking a light touch over the sorcerer’s hand. Laurel stared down at the point of contact, back up to Ash, then back down to their hands. His fingers twitched a little, but he didn’t pull away. “And I asked you about four in a row anyway, although technically they were all part of the same overarching question. So you can go now.”

The roaring of blood in his head had only spread to his body at Ash’s rough fingers on his. Heat, embarrassingly vibrant for such a simple touch, sizzled along Laurel’s skin as he marveled at the feeling of the calloused fingers, so different from the pedicured, perfumed hands he was used to feeling.

“If your mother was so sick, couldn’t you just heal her? Or, I mean, was there a reason why you couldn’t?”

“It wasn’t that kind of illness,” Ash admitted, desperately focusing on the words from Laurel’s lips. He could feel the reluctant but intense excitement swirling around them. It surrounded him, threatening to choke him. The images forced into his mind by the feverish blast were wholly inappropriate for him to have about a patient, even one he knew fully well he was going to marry and have children with. But even so, his options were to pull away and risk offending Laurel, or keep where he was and suffer the uncomfortably hot aura. Resigned, he kept as still as he possibly could.

“She had a difficult life before me,” he continued to explain. “She was sort of heartbroken, and it took her awhile to really fully recover from everything. I couldn’t really help her, no matter what I tried.” The failure of that still haunted him, despite the happy, comfortable life he’d shed blood, sweat, and tears to give her. “I could help other people, but not her.”

“But you did help her,” Laurel insisted. “You brought her somewhere else and helped her get better, didn’t you?”

“I was eventually able to do that, yes. She’s much happier now, and healthier. She loves it where we live. So do I.”

“But why did that have to fall on you? What about your other parent? Are they… I mean, did they pass away?”

“No.” When Laurel opened his mouth to demand more, Ash shook his head. “My turn now. How do you feel about Nero?”

“Nero?” Laurel repeated, mouth twisting into a confused frown. “What about him?”

“How do you feel about him? Specifically, how do you feel about him getting married?”

“You’re not jealous of Nero, are you?”

“Not particularly. More curious than anything, given that the two of you seem so well-adjusted with each other, despite that you’ve been lovers.”

“I feel fine about him. We both made mistakes, and we hurt each other. But we worked it out and moved past it. I’m glad we’re still friends. We’ve been friends since we were kids.”

“And March?”

Laurel shrugged a shoulder. “I haven’t gotten to know him as well as I should have, maybe. But I’ve been busy, and he hasn’t been around that long.” When Ash continued to stare in that patient, expectant way, he frowned. “I mean, he’s perfect, isn’t he?”

“You’re asking me?”

“You don’t find him attractive?”

“Objectively, sure.” Ash answered casually. It was impossible to deny March Cesari’s particular brand of beauty. “He’s perfect for a crown prince, certainly. But not everyone wants a spouse like that.”

“I hated him,” Laurel admitted. He wasn’t sure what caused the words to spill out of his mouth, other than he was feeling more comfortable with Ash than he could remember feeling with anyone in recent memory. “When I first met him, I couldn’t stand him. I convinced myself he was faking his fragile little personality. Because men love that shy, innocent crap. But it wasn’t an act. He just… He’s just a perfect little lamb with a perfect face and a perfect body and a perfect personality. But it isn’t his fault, so I had to get over it. And don’t try and make me feel better about it, because I’m not jealous of him or anything. I don’t need your sympathy.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Ash denied. “I can understand how you’d feel. But you’re the last person that should ever feel threatened by a pretty face, Laurel.”

Dragging his bottom lip between his teeth, Laurel lowered his eyes to the table, hoping his skin wouldn’t show the flush of color he felt rising. “Believe me, you’ve made it clear how you feel about my face.”

“Does it bother you when I tell you how beautiful I find you? I can stop, if you don’t like it.”

The smoldering embers of Laurel’s energy that had begun to cool as the conversation steered to March roared back to life at the question. Boiling power erupted from him, but he didn’t notice it, and didn’t notice that he’d flipped his hand over, squeezing Ash’s palm with an iron grip.

“I don’t want you to stop.” The confession had sounded every bit as pathetic coming from his mouth as it had sounded in his head, but Laurel couldn’t prevent it from pouring out of him. The sheer embarrassment of voicing it aloud felt like it could kill him.

“Laurel.” Ash was wincing, mouth contorted into an uncharacteristic grimace. “Your fingers.”

The thinly veiled pain in Ash’s voice snapped Laurel back to attention. He jolted at the realization that he was burning the healer’s hand and wrist, snatching his hand back to his chest.

“I’m so sorry!” Guilt swamped him as his eyes darted over the crimson burns. “I’m sorry,” he apologized again, though he knew his words were insanely inadequate. “I-I should go. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t go,” Ash begged, rising as well to put his hands on Laurel’s shoulders as he attempted to escape. “Just wait. It’s okay. Look.” Gently nudging him back into his seat, Ash sat back down as well, laying his arm facing up on the table.

As they both watched, the angry stripes seemed to lift, slowly fading in color until nothing remained but Ash’s sun-kissed skin. The pain had been intense, though he would have swallowed razor blades before admitting that to Laurel, whose amber eyes were still churning with shame and disgrace. But it was gone now, only a cool sensation remaining in the places where he’d commanded his healing magic to concentrate.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” he promised, wanting badly to soothe with a touch as well as his words, but not knowing if it was the right time for that. “Don’t leave yet. Not because of this.”

Visibly shaken, and trembling with it, Laurel could only give a miserable nod. “Whatever you want.”

“Just take a minute to calm down. I can help you calm down if you want, with my magic.”

“No,” Laurel denied, afraid to feel that maddening pleasure so soon again, and in an even more crowded place. “Just give me a minute. Please.”

They sat in silence for awhile, the sorcerer’s erratic breaths eventually ebbing into calm. When he was sure he could speak without his voice cracking, Laurel sighed. “I really am sorry. I know you can heal it, but… I hate that I hurt you.”

“That’s why I’m here, Laurel. I can help you with that. I want to help you.”

“I know you do, but…”

“You still don’t believe. I know. Just give me time.”

“Okay,” Laurel agreed softly. At this point he wasn’t sure he could do anything else. Just the thought of losing Ash’s poetic compliments had startled him so badly he’d nearly sent him to the hospital’s burn ward. And he was so selfish, so deplorably greedy, that even knowing he would likely hurt the man again, he couldn’t stomach the thought of losing his presence. How could someone as selfless and giving and empathetic as Ash care for someone like him, let alone being so convinced that they were meant to be together?

“I think that might conclude our little talk for today,” Ash finally voiced, but set an elbow up on the table, giving Laurel an intense stare. “I’ll be missing you for the next few days, though.”

“Where will you be?”

“I’m going to visit my mother for the weekend. And you have the wedding to go to.”

Laurel nodded slowly, grateful for the more casual conversation to end their session on. “You’re close with her.”

“Yeah. But it’s only a few hours by train to see her.” Reading Laurel’s expression as clear as day, Ash struggled not to sound touched. “You won’t even think of me, with all the wedding excitement.”

Scoffing, Laurel crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m aware of that. I didn’t think I’d miss you or anything.”

Ash’s mouth twitched into a grin. “Well, as long as we can be honest with each other.”