Chapter 16 Shadow
Shadow
The Four of Swords represents rest, refuge, and retreat. It may appear as a way of telling ourselves it’s time to breathe.
I FALL ASLEEP NEARLY the moment my head hits the pillow.
Most of the night passes in a blur of deep sleep and breaks where I huddle over the toilet.
The third time it happens there’s a bucket sitting by it with a note that reads, Take it to your room so I don’t have to hear you vomiting all night.
Annoyed, but simultaneously grateful, I bring it back to bed with me and am glad when I don’t need it.
When I wake up, sunshine blares through my curtains like streams of heavenly fire, my head pounding.
I drag myself to the shower, and as I reenter my room, drying off, a gentle knock comes from outside my door.
I stumble over to it, finding Draven standing at the threshold, a mug in his hands.
He gives it to me and, grateful for caffeine, I take a huge gulp.
Then heave when I realize it’s not coffee.
I think it had a loose egg yolk somewhere in it.
“Swallow it,” he orders, and I choke it down. At my outrage he gives me a broad shit-eating smile. “Hangover cure.”
“I wanted coffee.” I hand it back, sputtering.
He walks to the kitchen. I hesitantly follow, glancing around as if his friends will still be lurking out here.
But the living room looks like it always does, though it’s odd observing it in what appears to be midmorning. I’m usually gone from dawn to dusk.
“They didn’t stay overnight.” He moves to the sink, filling the mug. He sets it between us on the peninsula countertop. “Hot or cold?”
“Water?”
“It’s about to be coffee.”
He doesn’t even blink and I wonder if he’s ever made any on his own before. The privileged prick just waits for my answer, fingers drumming on the counter.
“This ‘privileged prick’ is about to do a third nice thing for you within twenty-four hours. I like to think I’m being rather generous with you, love.”
“Cold. I think I’ll barf if it’s hot.” I try in vain to lift my mental wards.
He swipes his hand over the rim of the cup, the World card and the Magician floating out of his deck, and the water turns dark. He hands the mug to me. It’s sweet, flavored with caramel. I gulp it down gladly.
“Wow this is …”
“Delicious?” His eyes are trained on my mouth, his mouth coiling into a shit-eating grin.
“Pretty good, coming from you,” I correct.
Don’t need him getting too full of himself, but he only chuckles.
I furrow my brow. “I didn’t realize the Magician could transfigure food, too.
And are you telling me you can make whatever foods you want but still complained that I ate that imported aioli? ”
“That aioli is something I cannot bribe the creator into revealing the ingredients of.”
Draven leans against the counter as he watches me drink.
My gaze travels the length of him. With all the curtains drawn he’s in his human form.
His muscle definition is visible beneath his plain dark shirt, waist tight, arms and chest strong.
There’s something appealing about his rolled sleeves and the clear pleasure he got in making me something.
He scratches his cheek, the bones so lovely and defined.
“Plus, I doubt I could recreate it even with the ingredients. So, for now, I’d rather send her heaps of gold, even if I have to share it with you.”
“Well, good thing you have buckets of money then.” I don’t feel a modicum of guilt over his mighty sacrifice.
“So … last night …” Draven’s eyes flick to me, flashing an orange that only grows deeper.
“I don’t want to talk about that.” I’ll do anything to not talk about it, honestly.
He shifts on his feet, and I can tell he’s stuck between pushing it or relenting but doesn’t look away.
I heave a sigh, my tattoo prickling. Maybe it’ll be better to get this out.
“Morgan wanted to get to you, so he thought he could do it by seducing and controlling me. Didn’t seem to like that I wasn’t interested.
I don’t know the full extent of what’s going on with him.
But he was bragging about being in the Ten Spires Clan. ”
Draven listens raptly, bending a metal spoon in half as I quickly reel off Morgan’s moves and motivations. He deeply exhales, forcing calm, his eyes glancing off. “They’ve had some links with a new mortal rebellion.”
“Guess being fated mates with the heir of Sedah comes with a few new targets on my back.” I take another big gulp, considering that.
Draven’s gaze burns and he runs a tongue along his canines, shoulders bunching. “I should’ve expected opportunists. You’ll have guards from now on.”
“I don’t need them. If I’d have been sober, I wouldn’t have needed anything.”
“Don’t you dare blame yourself.”
I swallow, my mouth incredibly dry. “He was trying to get Kasper in on it, I think. Whatever his plan might be to get to you. I dunno, it’s a blur now.”
“Is Kasper that blond prick in your group?” Draven narrows his eyes.
I nearly laugh. “That’s an apt description. How do you know him?”
“He’s challenged me in sparring about seven times, the only first-year to do so.
He’s yet to land a hit. It’s like he’s a glutton for punishment or something.
” Draven’s shrug is incredibly indifferent.
“It’s always the same. He talks a lot of shit and then goes down fast. I don’t gather he’s been in that many fights before. ”
“And you have?” I smirk, and he matches my look. My heart hammers, chest flushing.
I make a mental note to watch out for Kasper.
Is he trying to learn from the best? Or just get a punch in?
I remember him saying he agreed with Morgan’s sentiment, his silence about his past during the drinking game.
Maybe he’s just looking to start a fight.
I wonder how often Draven gets that. Kasper’s a High Priestess Arcana, so I doubt I can try reading his mind.
My gaze falls on the clock above the sink, which reads ten fifteen. My heart drops into my stomach.
“My gods, is it that late?”
Relief hits me as his eyes slowly shift back to indigo.
“Yes.” A devilish smile plays over his face. “My instructors will be furious with you.”
“Your what?” I continue gulping my coffee. Between it and whatever magic was in the hangover cure, I’m already feeling better.
“Let’s go. I want you to see what all the fuss is about.” Draven fills up his own mug, changing it to something dark and foamy. He walks toward the door, and I follow him, slipping my boots on. He takes a step out into the overly bright autumn day, and I squint against all that light.
I wait for the signature sound of a portal, the rushing sound of dragon wings.
But there’s nothing. Draven merely stands there with his coffee.
“What, no dark rides through the void?” What a surprising letdown.
“Technically that ‘void’ is the knife’s edge between the worlds of the living and dead.
But I think it’s better if you walk. That way you’ll know the way if I’m not around.
” He takes off to our left. I stumble after him, slurping down my coffee.
He tracks down a path between the World and Sun Hearths, headed toward the sleeping volcano.
He holds out a hand and I pass my empty cup over.
The tattoo flashes across the back of his hand and both mugs disappear as if they were never there—but I swear I hear the echo of a clatter, like they just landed in the sink back at our Hearth’s kitchen.
“So, you have private classes?” The mystery seems relatively obvious now.
“Yes. Can’t have the crown prince failing in front of the entire Forge.
” Draven’s eyes narrow to the horizon, as if he can see the king watching him from here.
“Half the week I train with my class, but ever since secondary school I spend the rest of the time with private instructors. Even days I’m with the other second-years, I start with my trainers here. ”
This path is so peaceful next to the bustle of the rest of the Forge, the only sounds birds, a few buzzing insects, and the crunch of our feet on the gravel.
His tongue traces a canine and a little thrill races through my veins.
I wish he wouldn’t do that. Yet my gaze betrays me, drinking in his lush lower lip, his skin so annoyingly flawless.
My eyes travel those defined shoulders, that tight waist, the plump curve of his backside. I nearly trip when he speaks.
“What?” His gaze alights, an excitement obvious there, his shirt tightening with his muscles as his chest swells, a coy smirk lifting his mouth.
“Nothing … just,” I hesitate before adding, “your father seems threatened by you, but he still pushes for your extra training?” Draven looks me over in that unbreaking stare, with only pure interest, nothing dismissive in it. Like he truly values my viewpoint.
“Well, he’s equally concerned I might embarrass his legacy unless I represented the best of Sedah. He can’t be seen expecting anything less than excellent. Even if he doesn’t seem to trust me.”
“Given your plans, I guess he shouldn’t.”
He grins at me and I squint through the brightness, but his height and wings block the sun, one feathered limb arching over my head like an umbrella.
“Are these just for show?” I have a sudden urge to run my finger down one, see what it does to him. Are they sensitive?
“Are you asking if I can fly?”
“Well, can you? Or do we really have to hike the rest of the way?”
“Would you like to find out?” His brow arcs up and his answering grin is a taunt.
“I’ve never backed down from an honest challenge, so if you’re trying to intimidate meeeeeeeeeeee—”
My words cut off as I’m swept off my feet, Draven holding me tightly between his arms, as if I weigh nothing. He bounds forward, I grasp my hands around his neck, tucking my face in as his wings flap wide, and suddenly, we’re airborne.