Chapter 6
The door flies wide, and Sirona nearly skips into the hall.
“Lowan!”
The young man turns at once, and his whole expression lights. He opens his arms as Sirona hurls herself forward. Her feet leave the floor in his embrace, her giggle muffled against his shoulder.
“I thought you’d be out in the garden with your herbs,” he teases, lowering her back onto her toes.
“No… my patient finally woke up,” she says proudly, swinging her arm toward the chamber behind her.
I freeze. My legs slide down from where they are curled beneath me on the chair, my broth still clutched tight, forgotten. Lowan follows his sister’s gesture. And in that instant, the warmth vanishes from his face. Affection drains to steel.
I see him fully now—tall, shoulders corded with lean muscle beneath a fitted gray tunic, sleeves rolled to the forearms. A strap cuts diagonally across his chest, anchoring the sword hilt that gleams at his back.
A sword—I barely register it. His hair is black, cut short, yet loose enough to curl into dark waves.
A shadow of beard traces his jaw. But it is his eyes—piercing silver-gray, bright and cold as a winter dawn—that make my breath catch.
Something pulls taut inside my chest, as though an invisible Thread has cinched my spine upright. I can’t stop it; I am drawn. He steps forward, subtly placing himself between his mother, his sister, and me.
“Indeed, she is.”
The sound of his voice jolts me—recognition flares.
“It’s you,” I blurt.
His head tilts, sharp, predatory. A question in the motion, but also a challenge.
“You’re the one who found me.”
“I did.”
The space between us seems to shrink, heavy with silence.
I manage a choked, “Thank you.” A heartbeat.
Two. Neither of us moves. Every nerve in my body seems to hum beneath his gaze.
Then, with a curt nod, he breaks away. Turning back to his mother, he says, “I’ll see you downstairs. ” And he is gone.
The next few days blur together—quiet hours of broth and bread giving way to fuller meals, slow walks across the chamber, as the ache in my limbs eases.
My strength returns incrementally, though my frustration grows with it.
From my window, I catch only glimpses of the estate’s grounds: a sweep of endless forest, evergreens heavy with snow, drifts so deep they swallow the trunks halfway.
It is a baffling sight—my city has known winters, but never this. Where am I?
Alva offers no answers. Not about the snow. Not about the magic. Always the same steady insistence: healing first.
“Your body must be stable before your magic can be,” she says, voice firm as mortar. “And until then, questions won’t help you.”
I want to scream that I don’t have magic, that this has to be a dream or some coma-haze.
But the words stick like ice in my throat.
On the fourth evening, Alva finally says, “Tomorrow, you should be strong enough to venture downstairs. Perhaps even walk the grounds.” Her eyes linger, thoughtful.
“But the bigger matter is your magic. I can feel it there—volatile, blocked. We must coax it out before it breaks loose on its own.”
“I’ll take her!” Sirona chirps at once, hands clasped like a child begging for a treat.
Alva frowns. “Sirona… coaxing dangerous magic is not your forte. You’re a healer, not a—”
“I can do it,” Sirona presses. “You can trust me.”
“I’m not sure even I am ready to risk an outburst yet,” Alva counters gently.
Sirona’s shoulders droop, her eagerness collapsing. And then, from the doorway:
“I’ll take her.”
All three of us turn. Lowan stands there, shadows catching the edges of his face, arms crossed. His presence fills the room like a sudden winter draft.
“You… you will?” Alva asks, startled.
“Of course.” His tone is carved from iron. “If anyone risks being harmed by rogue magic, it won’t be you—or Sirona.”
“Lowan,” Alva says carefully, “I don’t believe she’s dangerous. She needs—”
“End of discussion, Mother.” His voice slices clean through hers. He shifts his gaze to me, silver-gray eyes hard as stone, and my heart beats frantically. “Be ready after breakfast.”
And then he is gone, the air still cold where he stood—my stomach knots. The Thread in my chest pulls taut again, and I have to fight the sudden urge to bolt after him—or from him.
The next morning, fresh from breakfast, Lowan is indeed waiting for me as promised.
He wastes no time, demanding I follow him before turning on his heel and hurrying out the door.
I hurry after him, nearly jogging to match the long, purposeful strides of his boots.
Snow crunches beneath our feet as we descend the estate steps.
“I really appreciate you volunteering to train me,” I huff, voice light, almost hopeful despite the pace. “But there’s definitely been a mistake. I don’t have magic. I’ve never had magic.”
Lowan doesn’t so much as glance at me. “Oh, I agree there’s been a mistake.”
“Exactly.” Relief flickers in me. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”
“No.” His tone is like an iron door slamming shut. “You have magic. The mistake was mine—allowing you to endanger my family.”
I stumble in my stride, irritation flashing hot. So much for winning him over.
“Excuse me?” I bristle.
“No matter,” he says, still marching ahead. “I intend to set it right.”
We burst through the outer doors, cold air stinging my lungs. Snow stretches in deep, glittering drifts across the grounds. I trot to keep up, breath quickening.
“How have I endangered your family?”
Abruptly, he stops. I almost collide with him, catching myself at the last second. He turns, silver-gray eyes locking onto mine with cutting precision.
“Do you have any idea what could happen if someone outside this estate discovered we are harboring a Donovan?”
My stomach dips at the name, but I force my shoulders back, chin high.
“Harboring a Donovan? I didn’t ask you to hide me.
I just woke up here. And you should know—you’re the one who found me in the woods.
” Desperate to one-up him, I add, “Although I’m sure that was far more entertaining for you than for me. ”
His jaw tightens, bristling. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, please.” I fold my arms, defiant. “Your sister already told me. When you found me, I was basically naked. You don’t need to act all superior, pretending it didn’t happen. I already know.”
For the first time, his expression shifts—not cold, not angry, but edged with something sharper. His mouth curves just barely into a smirk.
“Don’t worry,” he says smoothly. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Heat rushes to my face, but before I can summon a retort, he turns on his heel and strides on through the snow.
I have no choice but to follow. I follow him in silence, my jaw clenched so tight it aches.
His little jab still smolders in my chest, and I’m too indignant to waste more breath on him.
My boots crunch through the snow as I hurry to keep up, my cloak snapping around my legs.
He doesn’t even glance back to see if I’m still there, merely charges forward as if I’m a burden he has to drag behind him.
The cold should have bitten by now, but it doesn’t. Between the cloak, the boots, and the thick trousers they’ve given me, I’m warm enough. Too warm, maybe. Anger burns hotter than any hearth.
The estate disappears behind us. Trees close in, tall and heavy, their boughs bowed with snow.
The deeper we go, the more the unease creeps in.
I’m following a man I don’t know, a man who doesn’t hide how much he dislikes me, and we’re moving farther and farther into the woods. My stomach twists. What am I doing?
I glance over my shoulder. The estate is gone, swallowed whole by the forest. If I ran now, how far would I have to go to get back?
When I look forward again, he’s stopped.
We’ve stepped into a clearing, a wide circle in the trees.
Even the snow seems to avoid it. The ground is bare, packed earth, not a flake in sight.
No footprints, no drifts. Just a circle of untouched space, as if winter itself has been told to stay out. Lowan turns to face me.
“This is a safe place to practice,” he says, calm and cold as stone. “I’ve warded the circle. If you lose control, it won’t ricochet through the trees. It won’t harm anyone.”
I swallow hard. The circle hums faintly under my skin, like it’s waiting. Hesitantly, I step inside. The air changes immediately—thick, contained. Oddly… safe. I cross my arms, forcing my voice to stay steady.
“Okay. Now, how do I release this so-called magic?”
Lowan stops in the center of the circle, his silver-gray eyes cool, unreadable. “I know you can feel it,” he says, and his voice sends a shiver down my spine, sinful in its promise.
I swallow, closing my eyes. “What does it feel like for you?” I whisper, craving the sound of his voice against my skin.
“It feels like something humming under your skin,” he murmurs, and my breath stutters as I imagine his hands tracing the current he describes.
“You just have to connect with it. Reach down, guide it. Tell it what you want it to do.”
“I know what I want it to do,” I say, my voice dipping before I catch myself.
“You’re in control,” he whispers.
My eyes snap open. For one wild second, I want nothing more than to throw myself at him, consequences be damned. His silver eyes blaze, locked on me—my mind blanks. Heat drains into mortification. I look away, pulse thrumming too loud in my ears.
I pull my cloak around my shoulders, suddenly angry with myself for being so easily snared by him. “What does that even mean?”
“Anything,” he replies with a smirk, and then he crouches, picks up a small stone, and flicks his fingers. The rock rises into the air, hovering lazily before drifting back down to the earth. My mouth parts despite myself. He makes it look easy.