Chapter 33
The fire crackles, just a few flames clutching dying embers. The snaps and bursts interrupt Hearthstrom’s silence. Red and orange and yellow with a bright streak of almost-white, the fire is alive, but it will soon meet its end.
I lift my head and sigh as I scan the abandoned village. The horses sleep with muzzles brushing the ground, bulbous bellies breathing peacefully.
Scattered around the village are little ledges of stone and wood that used to constitute the walls and doors of village houses.
Ramiel sleeps beneath one, his legs tucked to his chest like an infant.
The soft glow of the fire offers subtle highlights to his bronzy, warped skin.
From this distance, he almost appears metallic, inhuman.
After Ronan left, Ramiel and I trained more.
This time trying to control the flow of magic from his eluviam to his fingertips.
We were both surprised when he was quickly able to control his internal temperature, sending cold to his fingers.
Then, after a try or two, he produced heat.
Finally, I pushed him to try to control the elements.
He grasped cold and hot, but his inherited ability—whatever it might be—hasn’t surfaced.
We know he’s the son of an elf and the current king, but it’s hard to tell what kind of magic his mother excelled at.
When we’d finished, he stretched his arms to the sky and wished me a good night before retiring near a sturdy chunk of rock. He’d appeared exhausted, not only from training, but also from worrying about his friend. I could feel the weight of his emotions tethered to our bond.
My focus returns to the fire. Its pops and cracks remind me of home, of the festivals and games, and my heart hardens.
The truth of the war and of the creatures who murdered the Sanvira swim in my brain like vicious sharks, poised to shred any argument I have against them.
I’m still not sure how to absorb all the information Qor has given us, and with Ronan’s reaction, I’m not sure he’ll be pleasant to be around either.
My hands rub the smooth surface of the blade at my thigh.
I haven’t used it for a while, so the energy I’d given it is nearly drained.
I’ll need to fill it again soon. Like most things I’ve tried to teach Ramiel, this is also something I wouldn’t have thought to show him, but it will serve him well.
Maybe in the morning we can search for an adequate eluviam for my dagger.
At this point, I know Ramiel’s attention is diverted. He’s worried about Ronan. He lacks focus because of the barriers to our training.
If the expression on the fairy’s face had been any indicator, he was hurt , not furious. He’ll be back.
But when? We don’t have time to dawdle.
I glare at the fire as it greedily devours the air around it. With a wave of my hand, I call a small tide of wind to strangle the last of it, and I’m left in total darkness.
An hour passes, or at least, what feels like an hour.
The sky slowly rotates, blessing me with a beautiful show of stars.
The spattering of them may seem chaotic to many, but I’ve begun to appreciate their reliability.
Every night they appear, and every day they sleep.
I can always depend on their return—their silence and beauty are eternal and expected.
My attention is stolen by a rustle to my left, a shift across the dirt.
Accompanying it is the full force of a robust, flaring eluviam that can only belong to someone who’s thrown every last caution about hiding his identity to the wind.
Before he’s even near me, I know he’s furious. There’s a dangerous magic crackling in the air where he walks. Along with it comes his haunting appearance: his shofar-shaped nose, sharp-tipped ears, and glowing amber eyes greet me in the dark. He looks…different.
He says nothing, instead turning to find Ramiel.
It takes him a while, squinting against the black.
“Hey,” I whisper.
The fairy goes rigid, his shadowy, bone-thin wings twitching slightly when I break the silence.
He avoids my stare as he speaks sharply. “What?”
Who knew so much could be conveyed in a single word? So much inner turmoil, such agony, such frustration.
I didn’t, not before now.
The raw emotion rolling off him is seconds from becoming rampant. The anger, the rage, the pit of darkness swallowing him whole…
Who am I to comfort him?
Who am I not to?
My body moves on its own, lurching like a monster beyond my control. As I advance toward him through the darkness, my thoughts scream at me.
What in Arioch’s name are you doing?
Don’t touch him!
He’s a fairy!
He’s your enemy!
He’s —
The air is thick with silence as I slide my arms under Ronan’s and pull his winged back to my chest. The soft pattering of his heart is like a bird’s—hyperactive and quick.
He doesn’t move. Perhaps my boldness has struck him dumb.
We stand like this for a few moments. My hands rest at his stomach, but my arms hang loosely around him like untethered rope.
Qor revealed a lot to us today. Much of it confusing, and all of it eye-opening. I’m not sure what Ronan has taken from it, but I hope he understands my effort to comfort him comes from a place of understanding, not pity.
The night remains warm as I gaze at the winking stars, wondering why it feels so natural to be this close to a fairy. Why it ever felt normal to gnash our teeth at each other whenever the chance presented itself.
After a moment, he grabs my wrists and unravels himself. He isn’t harsh, but he isn’t gentle either. He doesn’t meet my eyes, doesn’t mumble a word as he moves away to join the prince.
It’s not like such practiced hatred goes away overnight. He probably still hates me, as I probably still hate him, at least a little, for what his people have done to mine.
I sit near the ashes and cross my bare legs, tangling my fingers through the gaps between my toes to warm them.
Ramiel stirs when Ronan plops next to him. The fairy carefully adjusts himself so he doesn’t wake the prince.
To my surprise, my mark doesn’t react. It doesn’t feel threatened that a fairy is near my mate. Then again, had it ever?
I blink once more at the sparkling galaxies filled with infinite stars, then I curl against the hard ground and close my eyes.
Within a week, Ramiel has started showing progress.
We worked on transferring energy into weapons, and he was able to do that a few times with great concentration.
He’s growing stronger, more confident with his sparring, though I can tell Ronan has been going easy on him.
But I’m most impressed by how quickly he’s managed to learn the elements.
Ramiel can now recall fire and ice, and though his green eyes can’t see the magic he produces, they spark with excitement each time the heat flares over his fingertips or when the ice stiffens his knuckles.
Though it is impressive he’s learned so much in such a short time, he’s still a novice.
It will naturally take him less time to master the basics now that he’s done it a few times, but as we move into more involved swells of magic summoning, he’ll discover the true difficulty in controlling the power in his eluviam.
Lucky for him, he has a great teacher.
Telling him how I got my practice in wouldn’t do me any good, though, would it? Killing fairies will never evolve into a regret, not after all they’d done to my people. But I can’t use a raid to train the prince. Not after everything we’ve learned.
My heart twists thinking about Ronan’s reaction to Qor’s story.
Instead, we stay within Hearthstrom, and no new visitors join us.
Ramiel has yet to master control over air. That one took me the longest to learn too. The amount of concentration required is much higher than that of cold and hot elements. I think it’s too light and unpredictable, almost having a mind of its own.
While I stare at him—his eyes closed all silly so he can focus—guilt curdles in my gut. He’s doing so well, but…I’m not supposed to let that happen.
And now there’s the issue with the fairy.
Ronan hasn’t spoken all week.
He’s sitting near where Ramiel sleeps each night, twisting his finger around in the dust-covered ground, not once acknowledging us nor bothering to conceal his glittery stone-colored skin.
I suppose now that Ramiel knows his identity, there is no need to hide, but I’m still not used to his obscure appearance.
I’ve seen fairies. They aren’t usually this…
dazzling . They’re much uglier. When he’d appeared to me in this form before, maybe the bathing chambers blurred his form.
Not that this appearance is that much better.
Even at night, the two do not speak. I think I may have heard Ramiel start a conversation once or twice, but Ronan has been mute, as far as I can tell.
For several nights, Ronan routinely flies away from camp. I haven’t bothered to follow him, because it’s none of my concern where he goes. But I do worry a little for him, especially after his late return at the beginning of the week. He hasn’t spoken to me since then either.
He may just need time to clear his head.
Ramiel hasn’t mentioned it, so I say nothing.
Tonight, after Ronan leaves, Ramiel drags himself across the darkness and gently touches my elbow.
“Hm?” I ask groggily, peering down at him. I usually don’t tire easily in Aldorin, but with the draining magic, I’m starting to appreciate sleep.
The moon appears in his eyes, its familiar crescent carving stark white slivers in his deep green irises.
My heart hitches in my throat when his fingers slide tenderly over my knuckles.
I’ve grown so used to guiding him, to touching him to keep our wild bond calm, but his touch is somehow different.
It’s all his own movement, all intentional.