Chapter Forty-One #2
He turns, the fire behind his eyes burning bright. “Do you truly believe I would have allowed anyone else to touch you after what he did?”
Fear squeezes my chest, unsure how he could have possibly convinced the Emperor to allow him to attend to my needs rather than the witch he assigned for that purpose.
“I’m sorry,” he says, dropping his head to his hands. “I should have let Drusilla dress you. I was just—” He shakes his head, shame seeping from his skin and drifting to me where I contain it, drawing as much as I can away from him. “I couldn’t.”
“No,” I say, more sternly than intended, reaching over to take his hand in my own and running the pad of my thumb over the tiny raised skin of his scars. “I’m glad it was you.” His eyes widen as he stares at me, perplexed by my answer. “But how did you do it?”
His lips form a line, and I know. “You manipulated him,” I whisper with a mix of awe and horror as he nods, confirming. “Varic, you’re using too much unsanctioned magic. That was reckless. You could have been discovered.”
Sorrow wells behind his irises until it becomes too much.
Too much pain. Too much worry. I cannot even begin to imagine what sort of repercussions might stem from this.
Dread settles in my stomach, heavier than any other revelation, knowing the amount of power it takes for me to manipulate the Emperor when he fights back is immense, meaning—
“How did it feel when you imbued him?” I ask, needing to know. Needing to gauge just how powerful my Lead Guard is in the magical form he supposedly only just began practicing.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” he starts, voice sounding distant.
“I just felt this need for him to leave—an absolute need to protect you from him—and it was like I willed it when I looked him in the eyes, commanding him to go without realizing I was sending any magic toward him at all. I wished he would recognize this as a menial task and he got what he wanted, so there was no reason to remain.”
“Thank you,” is all I can grit out, feeling the wealth of gratitude swell within my ribs.
“No,” he says, straightening while still turned to face me.
“I have done nothing to deserve your thanks. I should never have brought you back here. I should not have refused to allow anyone else near you, much less touch you after witnessing—” His voice breaks, and I test out the length of chain connected to the shackle around my neck to turn my whole body to seek him, leaning in until the ends of his hair curving over the shell of his ear tickle my lips, earning a small shiver from him.
“You saved me, Varic,” I whisper with a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips when he shakes his head, because it wouldn’t be Varic if he weren’t as stubborn as a Dragon.
“Yes. You distracted him. You shielded me in a way that still astounds me. You are the reason I live, Varic.” I lift my chained wrists for emphasis.
“Though, perhaps I shouldn’t be thankful, as none of us would have to endure any more of this had you let him—”
“Don’t,” he says.
“What? Say I don’t want to—”
He pulls back enough to meet my eyes, and my heart lurches from the pleading look contained within. “I mean it. Don’t you ever say that you no longer want to exist.”
A deep laugh breaks from my chest, and he winces.
“You’ve seen what my life is, and you expect me to want this?
” He stares back, with his only movement being the rise and fall of his chest. “I can’t—” I say, eyes widening as he shifts to pull both of my hands into his, grasping them tighter than he seems to realize.
“I cannot live with the thought of you not wanting to be here.”
“It should be concerning for someone to want to live under these conditions.”
“Why do you always deflect anytime I express my care for you?” His tone is serious, hurt even.
I pull in a deep breath, pressing against the constriction in my chest. “When I die, the Emperor will no longer have access to my magic. Other witches—”
My words stall as he releases my hands to cradle my face, finding it nearly impossible to think, much less breathe, as he implores me with those impossibly bright brown eyes of his.
“No one will ever replace you,” he promises with such resolve I almost believe him, because the intensity behind his gaze is one which is capable of razing cities, wiping my mind clean of every response I was considering.
His eyes search mine before they drift shut, and he turns to lower his forehead to my own. We sit this way, breathing together as he cradles my face so reverently that tears begin to obscure my vision.
“I have more to say,” he whispers, looking at me through his lashes. “Just not here.”
I nod, and he drops his hands down to curve around mine with a somber sort of energy as some shift seems to have occurred between us.
We settle into a companionable silence, and the flush his attention brings no longer feels uncomfortable, nor unwelcome as he settles in, readjusting until his side presses fully into mine.
“Is this so different from our time in the tent?” I ask.
“I would say so, yes,” he says with a laugh. “Aside from us lying back on what we could refer to as a sorry excuse for a bed.” He gestures down at the thin cotton mattress we sit upon while I shake my head and swallow the urge to correct him, since we are not lying down like we did then.
“Only you would bring up something so salacious to the witch chained to a wall while you remain unshackled.”
“Am I? Unshackled, I mean.”
“Literally, yes. Metaphorically, no.”
“I’d wear them for you if I could.” His words come out barely above a whisper.
I raise my wrist where his magic shields my skin. “I know. And in a way, you are.”
He tips his head back until the dim light in the room highlights his profile, tugging on the ache in my chest with the desire to grab his hand and run. Frivolous, selfish, childish—impossible—yet still grasping at wisps of hope. Yearning for something. To be free with him.
We sit cradled next to each other for what seems like hours before I admit, “You don’t need to drain your magic to protect my skin.”
“Do you truly believe me to be so weak? It would take weeks or months for me to even notice a strain. I have yet to find a limit to my magic.”
“Is that true, or do you not recognize when it is draining you from being so accustomed to the practice it would be impossible to tell otherwise?” Silence follows, so I fill it.
“For example, the very recent incident where you nearly fainted shortly after using your magic to suppress a bomb, which I would not consider weakness, but rather a consequence of using too much of your power all at once.” I turn and look at him pointedly, though he doesn’t meet my gaze.
“You’re not invincible, Varic. You’re not meant to be. ”
“Remind me why we aren’t incapacitating the Guards and running away?” he deflects, turning to me with a painfully wistful expression, as if there is any hope of me agreeing that we should risk everyone’s lives by making a run for it.
“You know why, but this must mean you went too long without being a distraction.”
“What do you mean?”
“You tell me.” I nudge him, relishing in the smirk rising up his cheek. “It’s like you have a quota to fill or something. ‘Well, it’s been a few minutes. Time to distract Tasch again’.”
He shakes his head, then grins at me, dropping the side of his head to rest by my own as we fall into a companionable silence, holding each other’s hands like we did all those years ago.
The door hinges creak, and Varic jumps to his feet as a Guard tosses a sealed leather flask in through the opening, then slams the door closed and locks it before Varic can cross the short distance.
“Hey!” Varic bangs his fist on the door. “We need a blanket! She’s freezing.”
“Emperor Aldritch has strictly forbidden us from providing her any comforts.”
“The blanket is for safety, and I am the one who will determine what that means. She is cold, and without her healer to repair any damage from such temperatures.”
Silence is all the answer his words receive as I pull my legs in tighter to my chest, unable to tell if I even have toes now that true numbness has set in.
“I will break this door down and get you a blanket if I have to.”
I quirk a brow, rattling the chains as I pat the space beside me. “Come, sit with me. I’ll be fine.”
He sighs and returns to my side, where he passes me the flask and watches while I drink, dropping his head to rest on my temple when I finish taking a few swigs.
A trill runs through my chest and spins around my heart as I hand the flask back. He promptly begins to screw the lid on, and I place my hand over his to stall his progress.
“Drink, Varic.”
“I’m f—”
“Drink.”
He sighs, then tilts the flask to his lips, warming my chest with the sentimental, life-sustaining flame lit within it.
“How are you?”
He scoffs and sets the flask down beside him. “The freezing, hungry, dehydrated witch who happens to be chained to a wall asks how I’m doing.”
I let out a little laugh. “Yes.”
“I’ll be okay when you are, Tasch.”
My heart jolts against my ribs.
Because I don’t know that I ever will be.
And that’s not good enough for him.
He deserves better than this.