Chapter 45
Maeve
CLIMBING THE STAIRCASE TO THE Skyreach Spire used to feel meditative; tonight, tension coils in my muscles and crouches just beneath my skin.
I haven’t seen Severin alone since that afternoon in his office, when he told me he wouldn’t feed from me again.
And my magic feels the distance he’s created.
It’s been sharper, more reactive than I’m used to. And under the surface, I can still feel it reaching for Severin, seeking out that thread that continues to bind us despite him not having fed from me again.
Maybe I can convince him, I think as my boots thump out a rhythm on each stone stair. But should I?
I’ve replayed our conversation a hundred times already, but no matter which angle I look at it from, I keep coming back to the same conclusion: I want to be connected to Severin.
I’ve spent my life honing my magic and my control, sharpening my storm into something I can wield rather than be wielded by.
But I’ve never felt the strength and stability that I’ve experienced since Severin entered my life.
My magic reacts to him in a way that makes me feel safe.
But right now, I don’t know what to feel.
I reach the top of the staircase, and as I open the door onto the spire, the cold wind brushes my hair and cloak back, momentarily stealing my breath with its chill.
And there, moving like a specter across the tower, is Severin.
Tonight, he’s fully dressed, and I feel a flicker of disappointment that he doesn’t have his shirt off. But winter has arrived, and as I step onto the tower and allow the door to close behind me, my breath puffs out around my mouth in little gray clouds.
Severin finishes his combination, then slowly lowers his sword, the edge of the steel glinting in the golden light of dusk. And when his gaze meets mine, my heart tugs painfully, that thread between us pulling taut. I know he feels it too, because there’s a flicker of discomfort in his eyes.
Which are not nearly as red as they were last time I saw him.
My blood is slowly leaving his system, causing his eyes to darken again. And seeing it, seeing our distance made tangible, makes my shoulders heavy and my stomach tight.
“Miss Vandermere,” he says by way of greeting.
Even that stings.
“Back to formalities?” I ask as I cross the tower to the bench where my practice sword is waiting for me. Severin says nothing, and I try not to let him see the hurt it causes me.
Keeping my face neutral, I unclasp my cloak from around my neck, then shiver lightly in my long-sleeved tunic. I’m cold now, but once I start to move, my body will heat up.
I unsheathe the sword and admire the way it gleams in the light of the setting sun. Then I draw a breath and turn to face Severin.
His expression gives me pause.
Usually, he’s stoic, cold and hard as polished marble. But right now, with the golden light cutting across his face, he looks . . . tired. Worn. Like he’s becoming depleted before my eyes.
And I know I could feed him. I want so badly to give him the sustenance he needs.
But if I push the topic now, he’ll push back even harder. It’s not yet the time. So instead, I flex my fingers around the hilt of my practice sword and move to join Severin in the center of the tower.
I take my fighting stance, the one we started with all those training sessions ago.
The crisp wind tugs my hair back from my face, and somewhere far below the tower, laughter drifts upward through the air, coming from students still lingering on the academy grounds before nightfall.
Up here, though, with Severin’s gaze on me, I feel like time is suspended, like it could go on forever and I wouldn’t even notice it passing by.
Is that how he feels, having lived such a long life? Does time feel meaningless to him?
“Your stance is too stiff,” Severin says, gaze dipping to my feet where they’re braced against the stone.
He’s right. I take a moment to shake out my arms and legs, trying to release the tension. Then I try again, taking my stance once more. We’ve drilled these so many times now, I’m familiar with them.
What I’m not familiar with is the distance Severin keeps from me as I begin to move through my combinations. He circles me, keeping a watchful eye without stepping too near me. And that distance hurts.
“The power should come from your core,” Severin explains after I demonstrate a sloppy thrust. “Not from your arm. Try again.”
Typically, he’d be beside me, brushing his fingertips over the muscle groups he wants me to activate, adjusting my hips while his breath brushes my ear. But not tonight. Tonight, it’s almost like we’re strangers again.
I hate this.
I thrust again, gritting my teeth as I channel my power into the movement. And without meaning to, I send a spiderweb of blue-and-white sparks dancing along the length of the sword. The air snaps with the electrical current, a sharp crack that echoes off the stone wall encircling the spire.
Severin stills, his eyes narrowing as he watches me. And for a moment, he doesn’t speak, just waits as the sparks webbing along the sword flicker out, leaving us once more in the fading light of dusk.
“Again,” he says, his voice low, emotionless.
My frustration mounts as I reset my stance, static building in the space around me.
Why is he being like this? He said he couldn’t feed from me again, not that he couldn’t be with me, touch me, hold me.
I swallow down my emotions and ready my sword again.
This time as I move through my combinations, my sword arcing through the cold air, I shift subtly in Severin’s direction, trying to bring myself closer to him.
But with each step I take forward, he takes one back or to the side, carefully maintaining the distance between us.
And finally, I’ve had it.
“Stop,” I growl, breaking my combination and lunging toward Severin.
As I expected, he lifts his sword and parries me easily, as if I’m nothing but a kitten batting at his finger.
“Stop what?”
“Acting like this!” I swing at him again, and our swords meet with a violent clang, sending vibrations through the steel and into my hands where they’re gripping the hilt.
Severin pushes back, sending me stumbling.
“How would you have me act?” he asks, lifting his sword now, taunting me into a strike.
I shift my boots across the stone, activate my core, and swing. My steel meets Severin’s with a satisfying ring. I lean in close, so the steam from my breath mingles with his. “I’d have you act like you love me, like you said. Or have you changed your mind about that as well?”
Hurt flickers through his eyes. “Is that really what you think?”
He pushes me away, then takes a slow swipe at my legs, clearly giving me time to dance away from his blade. I twirl out of reach of his sword, then lift mine again, flexing my fingers around the hilt.
Meeting his eyes, I take a breath of the cold air.
Do I really think that he’s stopped loving me?
No.
But it hurts just the same, like he’s creating distance between us even as I fight and claw to keep him close to me.
“What do you think?” I ask instead of answering his question.
“I think,” he says, shifting his stance and advancing on me, forcing me to sidestep to avoid a slow swing from his sword, “this is the best thing for both of us right now.”
“And you think you can make that decision for me?” I swing at him, and he shifts easily out of the way, avoiding the strike with what appears to be no effort.
My blade cuts through empty air, and the momentum pulls me off-balance, causing me to stumble.
“Your emotions are getting the better of you,” Severin says.
“At least I don’t bury mine where no one can find them,” I growl, swinging my sword again. Severin lifts his blade to meet mine, and when they connect, sparks shower the stone at our feet.
“It’s safer for both of us this way. I’m trying to protect you, Maeve.”
Gritting my teeth, I push my sword against his, the edges grinding into each other. “I. Don’t. Need. Your. Protection!”
As my emotions surge, so does my lightning.
It licks from my palms and into the hilt of my sword, then races down the length of my blade before jumping to Severin’s.
The energy bites his hand where it’s wrapped around the hilt of his sword, and he immediately releases it.
The sword falls to our feet and strikes the stone with an ear-grating sound.
Severin takes a step back from me and stares down at his palm. Even from this distance, I can see his skin is burned and already forming blisters.
My stomach drops. I hurt him. I’ve never hurt anyone with my magic before—not like this.
“I-I’m sorry,” I say, lowering my sword, wishing I could undo what I did. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know.” Severin curls his fingers delicately, as if trying to protect the blistered skin. His eyes meet mine in the fading light. His shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt you either.”
The thread connecting me to him pulls painfully.
I let it tug me forward, taking a step toward him. More than anything, I want to wrap him in my arms and bury my face in his chest. I want him to tell me he loves me. I want him to promise that everything is going to be okay.
But that’s not what happens.
He shifts back a step, like I’m something dangerous, and that distance cuts straight through to my heart.
“This lesson is over,” he says.
My practice sword feels heavy in my hand as I drop my arms to my sides, the tip of the steel meeting the stone.
“But we’re not . . . Right?” I ask, my voice having lost its strength.
I feel small. Too small.
And it makes me sad and enraged in equal measure.
Severin meets my eyes and offers me a fleeting smile. Somehow, right now, he’s reminding me of a ghost. Like someone I’m trying to hold on to, even knowing they’re going to slip from my fingers.
Slowly, Severin crosses the space between us.
I hold very still as he presses a delicate kiss to my forehead, right between my eyes.
But it’s there and gone in a fraction of a moment, like a butterfly alighting on my skin only to flutter away a heartbeat later.
He reaches down to take the practice sword from me, and then he’s retreating, picking his sword up from where he dropped it.
I stand there, fingers curled into fists at my sides, as he sheathes the swords, puts on his long jacket, and then turns to face me.
“Good night, Maeve,” he says.
I don’t want to say it back. I’m afraid it would feel like goodbye.
Severin frowns. Then he leaves, and as the door into the stairwell whispers closed behind him, I’m overcome with fear and grief and rage.
And for the first time in a long time, I can’t contain the power inside me.
I tip my head back and scream.
My voice cuts through the cold air, sending a murder of crows crying into the sky, their inky wings blending in with the darkening night. The wind picks up, tossing my hair wildly around my face.
And overhead, thunder rumbles, my emotions calling a storm from the fabric of the sky.
If Severin heard me, he doesn’t seem to care, because the door to the stairwell doesn’t open again.
So I’m standing alone as my storm clouds gather and as the first few raindrops start to fall, freezing my skin where they strike my face and slip beneath the collar of my long-sleeved tunic.
I’ve never let myself fall for anyone, and I sure as hell haven’t ever allowed myself to fall in love with anyone. I knew the risks. I knew the dangers. But I let it happen anyway. And I continue to let it happen.
I grit my teeth. Lightning cracks across the sky above me, reaching for the power coursing through my veins, calling for me to join it in a dance of fire and light. Angry tears race down my cheeks, mingling with the rainwater as it freezes my skin.
My heart thrums, the thread beneath my sternum tugging at me, trying to pull me toward Severin, even as he moves away from me, deeper into the belly of the castle.
I refuse the pull, holding my ground and forcing myself to stand there, even though it feels wrong on a cellular level.
And I let my storm rage until I have nothing left to give.