Chapter 17 #2
“And what about the risk of corruption? Curses must only be used for protection, or else the Soul Thread—”
“Can be corrupted. Don’t quote the first rule of magic to me.
I am well aware. And, obviously, I am not corrupted.
I worked out a loophole.” When he only stares, I scoff.
“Oh, please, Valen. I know you’re not this unimaginative.
There are loopholes to that rule. Weavers curse each other all the time; they just use objects as a medium to get away with it.
I simply bent the rules as they did. It’s not that difficult when you’re as knowledgeable about the magic as I am. ”
“And yet corruption is a rot within the soul. Slow, steady, and undetectable until it’s too late. How are you so sure that you aren’t on the verge of no return?”
His gentle tone stokes the fire of my temper, but a sharp pain within my chest holds my tongue. A cold sweat blooms over me. “I have Jinx. She protects my soul.”
It’s a weak excuse, even I see that, but I have nothing else to offer as an explanation.
Valen’s impassive expression is unreadable. It takes all my strength to hold his stare, to breathe normally, to blink when I’m supposed to. My head tilts and I speak so casually, I surprise myself. “I’m hungry. Can we go down and eat breakfast?”
Valen’s eyes narrow before the book in his hand snaps closed. His expression is lighter, his mouth softened by a slight smile. “It’s lunch, actually. Do you need help dressing?”
Keeping the relief off my face is exhausting. “Oh, no. I can manage. Thank you, though.”
Once alone, I let out a rush of breath, my eyes closing.
My past, what I did, the toll on my body, are all rapidly getting uncovered the longer I’m with Valen.
I was a fool to think I could hide everything from him.
We know each other too well, even after seven years apart.
He’s going to outmaneuver me if I’m not careful.
Like the Order will if I don’t heed Aunt Vi’s dire warning.
A shiver of dread chills me, my arms wrapping around my stomach. Slowly, my head turns towards the windows. Fifteen miles away, my father’s estate sits in all its glory and within its ancient walls lives my brother.
An image of him when we were both too young to understand resentment comes to me.
He was small, round, his cheeks always tinged pink and blond hair bright.
There was a time when we loved each other.
He braided my hair while I practiced on my dolls.
We’d tell each other stories under blankets.
We’d steal treats from the kitchen to feed the sprites in the gardens.
And yet, I was punished for distracting Alasdair from his magic lessons.
I was berated for forcing Alasdair to stay awake too late and he was crabby in the morning.
I’d have my hands slapped until they welted while Alasdair curled in a corner with glistening eyes, clutching that ratty bear he was obsessed with.
He’d chew on it, especially when our father would roar at me while only using soft tones with him.
Patches of fur were missing from its limbs and both button eyes long ago swallowed.
It was disgustingly crusty and became the first thing I used to punish him when I matured enough to understand how small my retaliation options were.
I eventually became numb to his cries in the night when he’d waken without it, telling myself that it hurt our father and his horrible mother more than it hurt me. And that made it worth it.
When we grew older, Alasdair became more reckless as he embraced his perfect son favoritism.
Stumbling on his passed-out body on the stairs was a daily treat when I was forced to sleep at my father’s home.
He was never punished for this and yet if I were so much as a second late for my father’s summons, I’d be locked in my room with no food.
I never dared to sip anything other than ceremonial wine when at the estate.
If Alasdair wasn’t unconscious on the stairs, then he was banging on my door, yelling to be let in so we could talk, which consisted of him drunkenly slurring about his night while I watched silently in disgust.
At least in that situation, he’d pass out on my lounge, and I’d get the joy of drawing on his face and dumping him in the gardens naked.
Once, I wrote “Neither a grower nor a shower” across his chest and placed that disgusting bear in a compromising position between his legs.
As a finishing touch, I invited the girl he was courting over for tea.
His roar of anger was well worth it, but the punishment from his mother was severe. Viola was gone that day, a foolish miscalculation on my part.
My skin tightens, the memory of the cane on my shoulders while my brother stood back and watched impassively stinging across my body. I flinch, the bed shifting with the movement.
My shoulders shift to ease the phantom pains and I pick at my nails while staring at the trees.
A sly little tendril of yearning slithers within me to wrap around my heart like a young vine around a post. What is Alasdair like now that he’s been tormented by a curse for seven years?
How is his mind after all this time? How is our father, who would be affected by proximity to dark magic?
Perhaps… I could sneak in and peek at my gruesome handiwork.
A coolness washes over my eyes as they shift from vibrant green to the matte black of an endless pit. With tremendous effort, I tear my gaze away and blink until the sensation recedes. Slowly, I slide out of bed and begin to get dressed.
Valen is waiting for me outside the door when I finally emerge freshly washed and dressed.
He leans against the opposite wall, his head tipped back against it.
His lips tilt in a small smile when he beholds my short hair, shirtsleeves, vest, and trousers.
“I like this new way of presenting yourself. It suits you.”
I smooth my hands down my sides. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” He pushes off the wall, his smile taking on an appreciative edge. “Not many can effortlessly shift between the feminine and masculine. It’s impressive.”
A pleased blush warms my cheeks and I duck my head. “Thank you.” My bedroom door clicks shut behind me and I follow him down the hall. My heart leaps when his knuckles rap on Lucas’ door. A slight panic leaks into my voice. “What are you doing?”
“Collecting your magician.” Valen surveys me curiously. He arches a brow. “Should I not?”
Before I can speak, the door opens. My heart rate spikes, my head spinning.
Suddenly, Lucas’ mouth on mine is all I can think about, all I can feel.
The way he groaned like he was in pain, the way he struggled to control himself to stop me from taking the kiss too far.
And worse, the way he sounded when he said, If only that was true.
My stupid heart pangs, my skin tightening.
I’m too hot and cold and sweaty. Lucas steps out and into the hall, his eyes darting to me.
Before I can remember how to act normally, he smirks.
“Look who’s finally up. I’m surprised you weren’t pounding on my door the moment your eyes opened, demanding to hold the amulet. Did V wear you out?”
Valen rolls his eyes. “We’re getting lunch.”
“Fantastic. I’m starved.” The bedroom door slams shut behind him. “I can get used to eating so finely for every meal. You need to step up your game at the shop, Tor, or I might get poached by these Order bluebloods.”
Valen’s lips twitch. “I’ll have to tell the kitchens to downgrade your servings to a mere crust of bread.”
Lucas clutches his heart dramatically. “Cruel.”
All I can hear is white noise as my jaw drops to the floor. Are they… friends? But worse than that, more unbelievable than that, is that it’s like nothing has happened. Not a hint of discomfort or longing. Everything, with the exception of Lucas and Valen getting along, is the same.
I should feel relief. I should be chasing after them and joining in. But all I can feel is burning rage. After all these years of flirting and pining and weird gray-area moments, I finally kiss Lucas, and he doesn’t care? Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.
Valen’s brow pinches. “How’re your hands?”
Lucas wiggles his fingers. “Stiff, but better. Whatever you gave me worked great.”
“You should remove the rings and treat them.”
“Can’t.” Lucas flexes his hands. “They’re welded to me.”
“All of them?”
“Yep. They’re a set.”
Valen’s gaze drops to the ten black bands. “Interesting. I haven’t heard of a token that is more than one piece before.”
Lucas shrugs. “I’m sure there’re others out there.”
My hand slams against the wall to keep from keeling over. Maybe this is the dream and I’ll wake up at any moment. I bite my tongue and sharp pain forces me to release it. Nope, it’s real. I glower. “How the fuck did you two become friends?”
Lucas beams. “Shared trauma.”
Valen rolls his eyes so hard his head tilts. “Arachnid gods, spare me. We are not friends. Come, or neither of you are getting food.”
Lunch is mind-numbingly delicious. I help myself to another serving of the lamb pie just to experience the flavors for a second time and practically moan from the rich gravy.
I’m so busy shoveling giant scoops of it into my mouth that I nearly miss Lucas staring at me.
There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes.
It leaves me cold, my cheeks puffed with a mouthful of meat.
I choke it down and reach for my wineglass.
He swirls his own, the red glinting in the light. “I’ve got a question for you, Tor. One that’s been plaguing me.”
I pause, glass hovering midair. My eyes narrow suspiciously and dart to Valen, who could care less about what Lucas is saying. Curiosity gnaws at me and a spark of hope that it’s about our kiss forces my hand. “What is it?”