Chapter Forty-Nine
Right
I do not scoff, nor do I round on him with vengeance in my expression. I do not so much as breathe with the heat of his gaze searing a path over my skin, swirling with something else in my chest—a deep pinkish-red melding with the golden hue of his amber.
Panic dictates my next actions as my eyes dart to Drusilla, feigning her indifference as if she could trick me into believing she isn’t memorizing every detail of this moment. Her body practically vibrates with curiosity, which her own magic could never successfully hide from me.
Cirrin stares back in confusion when I turn to him, then nod toward my attendant, fluttering my eyelids before mimicking sleep. I repeat the motion until his brows rise in surprise.
My stomach churns as the light blue mist billows around his fists, sending his magic up to Drusilla’s temples until she yawns and drops her head to Fray’s shoulder. I press my lips into a line to hide a small smile from forming when her muscles relax and her eyes fall closed.
“Did you just…?” Varic’s tone is incensed as Cirrin merely gestures in my direction.
I shrug, and Varic rakes his hand through his hair, proving he feels just as uncomfortable with this as anyone should. Though the emotion apparently passes quickly, the weight of his stare lowering to the sketchbook over my lap.
Guilt of a different kind takes flight in my stomach as so few pages rest between my fingers, while Varic and I selfishly take from what little Fray has left of this scrap of enjoyment.
Fray clears his throat, drawing my attention to his amused expression, effectively subduing the shame that constricts my chest from the use of his resources.
Varic places the pencil in my outstretched hand while some part of me yearns to stare upon the image Fray created of us.
Impulsivity wins, and I shuffle back through the pages until my heart leaps with the sketch of Varic gazing down upon me while I slept.
A piece Fray must have drawn without Varic’s awareness, as the tender expression of admiration he wears is too candid.
My breathing hitches as I try to memorize the love and care Varic exudes while I lie peacefully over his lap, tugging on a sensation I often forget—except when experienced vicariously. Thrumming with the distinct red tinge of sentimentality, it infiltrates absolutely every aspect of my being.
A shuddering breath rends from my chest while I try to steady my hold on the sketchbook, then carefully find the page Varic used and write, ‘What do you mean?’ before holding it up for him to read.
His eyes scan the words as I pass the items back, leaving my hands too empty, so I fidget with my sleeves. The hardest part of all of this is forcing my eyes to look down at my lap to keep from reading any of the partially finished message until he is ready for me to receive it.
My heart jolts the moment the pencil finishes scraping over the paper, and my pulse pounds in my ears as he holds the book up for me to read. ‘You’re wrong if you think anything I feel for you is obligatory.’
A strange new sensation unfurls when he offers the book and pencil this time, one of utmost responsibility, as I must help him to understand. I need to explain this in a way he will be likely to reconsider.
Cirrin and Fray sit in bated silence, as they each stare out of their respective windows. Only adding to the tension while I try to think of the words Varic needs from me, no matter how much they may wish to provide us with total privacy.
Since this is the best opportunity we will have, I set aside pride and write—
‘There was a more significant power differential between us when we first met than exists between our roles now. So, in considering this, as well as the depth of your grief, it wasn’t fair for you to be forced to endure my presence and power.
My magic contributed to you being even more vulnerable during the worst time of your life.
So, of course, you developed feelings toward me after we forged such a strong connection, as it was required for your rehabilitation.
It is expected to feel a certain way about the one who helped to save your life.
You do not owe me anything in exchange. Not your fealty, and certainly not your love. ’
I hold the page open and pass it back while my heart slams against my ribs, hoping the realization will finally sink in when he lifts the book up to read my message.
His eyes scan each line multiple times until he leans back, and remains in this position for what feels like ten years before springing back to life and furiously flipping the page to a new blank one.
My heart leaps when he reaches over to take the pencil, then my pulse thrums while he scratches the instrument over the paper, only ever pausing to emit a groan of frustration each time we roll over a bump or divot.
I give him space to take in what I’ve said and refuse to detect his emotional state with my magic.
Yet he surprises me by sending his mood freely, like rushing water through a stream.
Red ribbons of frustration tangle with orange tendrils of irritation, while the deep blue of determination intersects.
A contrast to my own inner turmoil, as I am made up of concern for how my message might have been what’s disturbed him.
Fray’s eyes stray to me, and I pin him with my own to prove I know he’s watching.
He quickly flicks his gaze away and clears his throat, offering me a momentary distraction from the sound of Varic’s fingers forming a response to what I’ve just shared with him, information I should have taken more care to deliver.
Magic tickles beneath my skin, urging me to learn more. But I won’t give in to the temptation. I will take what he gives me, despite shaking with the need to know what impact my words have had on him.
I startle when Varic presses the corner of the sketchbook to the side of my thigh, and my hands shake while I pull it onto my lap.
‘I must admit, it is endearing to learn you have been under the impression I could be so na?ve as to confuse the root of my feelings for you. Especially assuming I could be unaware of something so prosaic as fealty. I must apologize for the confusion, as I was under the impression I had made both my wishes and intentions clear many years ago.’
My heart pounds in frustration with my failure to explain my meaning well enough, until my lungs sting with the intensity of Varic’s emotions filling my chest. Fear, anxiety, and concern mix with consideration, compassion, sincerity, and that deep-pinkish red.
No. He doesn’t understand. But I need to finish reading what he wrote so I may explain this better—so he can finally move forward without this care for me being such a burden.
‘I am well aware of the limitations and constraints we exist within, and I think you know I mean it when I say that I would obliterate every last one if I could. What I cannot tolerate is the thought of you misconstruing what you mean to me.’
My own frustration filters in, and I slam my eyes shut while dropping my head back to the cushion. Heart pounding, I try and fail to steady my breath.
He needs to absorb what I tell him, yet he feels so confident. I am going to have to find a different way to get through to him.
I sit up and siphon his anxiety as I continue reading. ‘Please, Tasch, I need you to believe me when I say my care for you—my feelings for you—have nothing to do with your role or your power, except that which you exact on me simply by existing.’
An opaque white haze invades my vision as I drop the book down to my lap. Time passes, and I blink away the fog of uncertainty when a different sketch stares back.
Tears well when I study the lines Fray placed so thoughtfully as he documented me sleeping against Varic’s chest. He holds me so tenderly, and my expression is striking—appearing safer and more comfortable than I ever thought possible. It’s almost saccharine.
I stare everywhere but at Varic’s face in the drawing, avoiding whatever impression his expression is sure to have on me.
So I pull in a breath and force my gaze to travel the page, then furrow my brow because the way Fray’s delicate shading claims he is looking at me cannot be accurate, though believing this would be an affront to Fray’s talent.
He’s so capable of depicting emotion, even the most minute and difficult to discern tend to come across in his art.
My heart pounds as grief and guilt mix with excitement.
This interpretation of Varic’s emotions only serves to support what he has written.
With the way he stares at me and how his arms wrap around my body—these speak to the longing one feels for the being who understands you better than anyone.
The one who knows you—mind, body, and soul.
Whom you feel destined to be with, regardless of your love being forbidden.
The one whom you need more than anything, who is right there beside you, while still out of reach.
The yearning and pining in his eyes is nearly unbearable, screaming with this incessant need to be closer to me, when he’s already touching half of my body.
The indelible urge to become one, and yet if we could, it would never be enough for him.
That feeling, whatever it is—that is what Varic’s expression conveys in this portrait.
“It’s beautiful.” My voice breaks over the words as I stare across the aisle at the artist who saw this moment and determined it was worthy of keeping for us.
Fray’s eyes fill with tears. “I’m just so happy to see you be you.
” My heart twinges from the hoarseness in his voice.
“The way you settle into him when you’re at your most vulnerable.
How you seek him and relax when you can sense it is Varic who holds you.
It’s beautiful.” He gestures to the sketch.
“I just drew what I felt honored to witness between the two of you in that moment.”