Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Nova
“Chaos,” he greeted me, his voice low.
“Asshole,” I replied.
He arched a brow.
“…It occurs to me, now, that I never really came up with a fitting nickname for you,” I said.
“Most just call me Aleks for short.”
“I can do better than that, I think. Just give me time.”
“Right.” He turned his attention back to Thalia and Kaelen. “Happy creating, then.”
I smiled a bit at his dry tone before settling into the shadows beside him. Closer than I wanted to be, but it was a necessary evil to stay out of sight of the pair we were spying on.
I did my best to ignore him. To not breathe in his crisp, earthy scent too deeply. To avoid getting too caught up in the changing rhythms of his heartbeat.
And yet, my magic shifted with the awareness of him and his power, shadows moving over my skin despite my best efforts to control them; I soon gave up trying to stop those shadows and simply allowed a few tendrils to break the surface and swirl around us, further cloaking us in darkness.
We could hear occasional bits of the conversation in the garden below, but it didn’t matter—they weren’t speaking any language either of us knew. I watched carefully, all the same, trying to interpret what I could from their expressions and body language.
They both proved difficult to read in this way, too. I got the impression this was not the first time the two of them had sparred with one another, and that each one was trying to outdo the other when it came to not giving any outward sign of distress—or any emotion at all, for that matter.
Finally, their argument seemed to reach a climax; Thalia whipped a knife from somewhere, its blade gleaming in the light of the blue-flame lanterns dotted throughout the garden. Her movements were still perfectly precise, cold and controlled. She pointed the blade at the throat of Kaelen—who didn’t move—and said something in a low hiss of a voice before turning on her heel and storming away.
I leaned closer to the balcony railing, watching the Erebosian leader for any emotion he might betray now that Thalia wasn’t there to see it.
He started to glance upward at the exact moment Aleksander wrapped an arm around my waist and smoothly, silently pulled me out of sight.
I again did my best to ignore his closeness, calmly pushing away from his touch—but keeping well within the shelter of shadows—before glancing toward the garden and asking, “What do you think that was about?”
“No idea.” He frowned. “But the sooner we get out of this city, the better, I believe.”
“We agree on something, for once.”
“It’s a day of miracles, clearly,” he said, heading back inside.
I fell into step beside him, slowly gathering my courage enough to say: “Speaking of miracles…”
“…The incident at the lake?”
I nodded.
He sighed. “We should discuss that, I suppose.”
We made our way over to a corner of the room, into a space that felt less open and exposed, and that was far out of view of the nearest doors and windows. Aleksander reclined against the wall while I perched on the armrest of a chair, but didn’t truly sit in it; I was far too anxious to relax into its weathered cushions.
Neither of us seemed to know where to start.
He held his hand in front of him, tracing his magic as it faintly lit up the lines of his palm, before he finally said, “That girl, and the area that came to life around her…I’ve never seen magic like that before.”
“Me neither.”
“Granted, I don’t know much about your type of magic, aside from what I was taught by my tutors.”
“Teachings that were almost certainly biased.”
He didn’t comment on this—but he didn’t disagree, either. “But regarding my own magic,” he went on, “I’ve brought things to life before, but those things typically only live so long as I continue to feed them with my power; they never take root the way they did near that lake. I cut off my magic entirely back there, yet everything continued to flourish.”
“…And something tells me if we went back to it now, it would still be flourishing,” I said. “It seems impossible. I’ve managed to loosen death’s hold on things in the past, but that effect never lasts, either. Phantom is the closest I’ve come to reviving something, and it certainly wasn’t as permanent a spell as what we seem to have done with that girl. He was the only instance where I’ve managed such a thing, too, and I still don’t know how I pulled it off, aside from desperation.”
“So what is it about us— together —that makes this realm and its beings come back to life?”
Come back to life .
The words struck me as impossible, even as I closed my eyes and pictured—with perfect clarity—all the impossible things we’d done together. My balance teetered. I gripped the armrest I sat on so tightly I was likely leaving permanent indentions in its worn upholstery.
This was not why I had come to the Underworld.
I was here because I wanted to return my mother and my kingdom to life—not revive whatever ghosts decided to follow me around down here. I didn’t have time to solve the mystery of this city and its flames, either, or the mystery of the man standing before me.
And yet, what we’d done…it all felt too incredible, too consequential, to ignore.
Someone coughed in the distance, snapping our attention toward the sound. Several long shadows shifted over the floor, stretching out from one of the doors on the opposite side of the room.
No one ever stepped over the threshold, but it was several minutes before we heard footsteps moving away from us—as if they’d lingered by the door, hoping to overhear our conversation.
“…Let’s see if we can find somewhere more private,” Aleksander suggested, stepping toward me as I rose from the chair.
Pressing a hand to the small of my back, he guided me toward a staircase in the corner of the room. We climbed the spiraling, creaking stairs into a small, lofted area hidden from the space below by banners hanging from the ceiling.
A grime-covered skylight stretched across the middle of the sloped ceiling, offering a glimpse of the tumultuous, hellfire sky and casting the space in a warm, ambient glow. Our footsteps stirred up dust that shimmered like flecks of gold, lending a magical sort of feel to the otherwise dark and eerie space. Most of the beams of light were concentrated toward a raised platform in the loft’s center, where an ornate bench with clawed feet and gold-embroidered cushions stood.
It all reminded me of a fancy viewing box in the theatre my mother and I used to attend in Luscerna—and I was again struck with the thought that it was a strange thing to exist in a city of the dead; who was meant to sit in this place?
And what sort of show might they watch whenever the banners across the ceiling parted?
Aleksander didn’t take his hand away from my back even as we stepped deeper into the loft, well out of sight of anyone below. I didn’t try to move away from him; I was too intrigued by the way I could feel warm magic pulsing through his fingertips. It seemed less wild and intimidating, confined within this more intimate space and fixed to a single point against me.
He finally drew his hand away, drifting back toward the stairs and peering over the curved railing, making certain we weren’t being followed.
“There are eavesdroppers everywhere in this manor, including ones I’m sure we can’t see,” he muttered, casting his gaze about the loft, as though expecting more potential offenders to be hiding even among the dust and cobwebs. “Be careful of what you say.”
I nodded.
I didn’t feel the need to speak just then, anyway; all of my questions had quieted, lost in the curious pulse of his magic. I could still feel it against my skin in spite of the space he’d put between us.
He stepped closer again, as though drawn back by that same pulsing—as if he had left a piece of himself in me and he couldn’t stop himself from returning to claim it.
My breath hitched at the thought.
His head tilted curiously in response to the sound. The movement brought half of his face into the light, painting it in rich strokes of red that made his golden eyes seem to burn from within. He didn’t speak. He merely reached an arm around my waist, dragging his fingers across my back, letting them linger on the spot where his magic was starting to leave what felt like a permanent mark.
“It isn’t just me, is it?” My voice was so low that he had to lean closer to hear me, which only made my words come out softer as I said, “You feel what your touch does…” I lifted a hand and pressed it against his chest, watching the shadows moving around my wrist, noticing the way they darkened as soon as my fingers met his body. “…And you see what our closeness seems to trigger, don’t you?”
He looked reluctant to admit it, but he eventually nodded. “I keep expecting the reaction to ease.”
I swallowed hard, trying to manage rational thoughts and explanations despite the disorienting flush spreading over my skin. “Seven years’ worth of magic has been building up in your body, released only during your occasional, erratic wakings,” I pointed out. “A lot of pent-up energy needs to be unleashed before it can have any chance to truly settle, maybe.”
He nodded, though his eyes stayed distant and troubled, unsatisfied with the explanation.
I wasn’t entirely satisfied with it, either. Because it felt deeper—like more than a mere itch that needed scratching, or a dam needing a routine release.
“At least it seems to be a good thing when we combine, for whatever reason,” I said.
“The question is, can that combined power be controlled in some way?” he asked. “Summoned at will?” His fingers tapped thoughtfully against my back. Each tap sent another vibration of warm power skating along my spine, and soon, I was losing the battle to keep my thoughts steady and rational. Every breath I took sent his warmth deeper, flooding all the way to the tips of my toes, curling them inside my boots.
I lifted my eyes away from the hand I had against his chest. He watched me closely, staring with the same quietly confident gaze he’d fixed on me at the edge of Lake Nyras, as he said, “And would the craving subside if we indulged it, I wonder?”
Craving .
The word settled like an invitation between us.
I kept waiting for him to take it back.
He didn’t.
I licked away the dryness on my lips, and then I heard myself say: “Let’s try it and see.”
Something hungry yet hesitant flashed in his eyes. His heart raced beneath my touch, and mine skipped several beats, trying to catch up.
“This could end poorly,” he warned. “Or dangerously.”
“I’m sure I’ve survived worse than whatever dangerous things we might awaken.”
“As have I. But still.” He drew his hand away from my back. For a moment, he appeared to be at war with himself—an instant away from turning and rushing back down the stairs.
Then he reached toward my face, letting his knuckles graze my jawline. His thumb traced my lips, and his own lips parted as if in anticipation. “But still…we should go slowly. Carefully. So we can better pinpoint our exact…”
His hand slipped lower, trailing across the hollow of my throat, and I forgot to breathe for a moment.
“…Reactions to things,” he finished in a low, tense voice.
I took a step back so I could collect myself enough to calmly agree with this plan. I regretted the space the instant I put it between us; it only seemed to make the heat in my blood worse. The air all around us was suddenly charged with energy, the pressure of our rising power growing more intense—more undeniable—with every passing second.
He was the one to close the distance between us again, circling me as he came, studying the cold shadows I could feel moving across my skin. He twisted a hand through my hair, moving a section of it over my shoulder so he could watch the darkness creeping its way along the back of my neck.
“This is as dark as I’ve seen these markings,” he commented.
“Maybe it’s the terrible lighting in here.”
“Maybe.”
A flutter went through me as he traced the shifting markings with a thoughtful touch. I kept my eyes straight ahead, focused on the ornate bench, studying the faded shimmer of its teal and gold cushions.
“But every brush of contact seems to stir them up even more.” He seemed to lose himself in the act of mapping out my skin and stirring things up; testing the way the shadows reacted to his touch; memorizing the patterns they followed; gently pushing the collar of my shirt aside so he could better study the branches of black reaching toward the space between my shoulder blades…
Eventually, he pulled his hand away and replaced his physical touch with one of magic, summoning tiny spears of light that pressed against my skin like branding irons. Everywhere the light burned in, my power followed, cooling it. Calming it. Making it feel… balanced . When he stopped summoning and let his light tumble freely through the space, the opposite proved true as well; his magic naturally gravitated toward mine.
For several minutes, we watched it all dance among the dust, Shadow and Light circling and occasionally twisting together with fleeting, iridescent glints of something more powerful.
The space began to glow with hints of that greater power. Nothing grew among the wood and plaster, of course, yet it all still felt more alive . The floorboards shivered. The light siphoning in from above seemed purer. The quiet was no longer eerie, but warm and expectant—like the excited hush before a theatre performance, bristling with promise and possibility. I would have sworn I heard the whispers and quiet laughter of a jubilant, just barely contained crowd.
And every time the shades of our magic collided, I felt it twisting along my body as if Aleksander was physically touching me again—as if his fingers were raking across bundles of exposed nerve endings. The sensation was so intense I found myself drifting closer and closer to him, wanting to see what might happen if he actually touched me.
Could this high I was experiencing possibly spiral even higher?
The line between my magic and desire steadily blurred. A ribbon of his light wove around my legs, its warmth caressing the apex of my thighs, and a soft sigh of pleasure fell from my lips before I could catch it. My eyes had fluttered shut, but I could sense Aleksander’s gaze settling more intentionally on me at the sound.
His warning from before whispered through my thoughts.
This did feel dangerous.
But maybe not in the way he’d meant.
And maybe not in the way I’d been prepared for.
I forced myself to turn and take a step away, trying once again to stay focused on experimenting with magic and nothing else.
But Aleksander followed as if it was part of the dance we’d recklessly, foolishly started, hooking an arm around my waist from behind, just barely letting its weight rest against me. His fingers caged lightly against my hip. Just enough pressure to hold me in place.
I fought the desire to shift more completely into his arms, but I couldn’t keep my hands from reaching for the light that was peeling off him in gossamer strands. It settled briefly between my fingers, its weight palpable, but as soft and delicate as spider-webs.
His face pressed against my hair, warm breath drifting through the dark strands and tingling over my scalp as he whispered, “I want to touch you.”
I swallowed hard. “You are touching me.”
“Not the way I want to.” The words slipped out, low and rough with reluctance. Almost like a confession.
“The way your magic wants to, you mean.”
“Yes,” he ground out. “That.”
I leaned a little more fully into his embrace. Such a small movement, but it felt like tipping my weight forward instead of backward—like hurtling forward onto a precarious, crumbling ledge that was seconds away from giving out beneath me.