Chapter 22
Lucan shifts on the bench to face me and reaches out, palm up. “Give me your hand.”
I lean back slightly, instinctively putting more distance between us the moment he asks me to get closer. “Why?”
“You’ll see.”
Yeah, that’s not convincing me at all. “Tell me what you want first.”
He holds my gaze, hand still extended toward me, and I’m suddenly very aware of how close we are right now. I’ve never noticed the subtle, darker greenish tint around his pupils or how inky his eyelashes are. I stiffen. Why am I noticing his eyelashes?
“What do you really think I’m going to do to you?” He keeps his voice low, so it doesn’t echo in the cavernous space, but it also emphasizes the teasing note to it.
The truth is, I’ve no idea what I think he’ll do—or why I’m hesitating.
Perhaps it’s because he asked. All the other times we’ve touched, there’s been an unavoidable circumstance—training at the Grand Chapel, or the other night when I was injured.
But doing it here, now, feels different.
Dangerous, even. And I can’t place why. His presence puts me on edge, every nerve vibrating with energy, despite my exhaustion.
“Well?”
“This isn’t some trick you’re going to turn against me?” The question sounds far more vulnerable than I’d like.
“No, I swear it.”
I stare at his open palm for a moment longer, then I place my hand in his.
Lucan’s fingers slowly curl around mine, warm and firm, as if he’s savoring the movement.
With his other hand, he presses his fingers to his chest. At first, I think he’s mocking the motion I make when I rub my scar, and I nearly rip my hand away.
But then, a flood of Etherlight rises from around his hand.
The air between us hums.
He glows.
Not from the light of the chandelier above but from raw energy that collects around him. I gasp as the faint haze unspools like a ribbon. It surrounds him, sparks shimmering. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve beheld nothing more beautiful, and for a heartbeat, I forget to breathe.
I’ve been able to sense Etherlight, to see what it creates when drawn, but the only truly visible Etherlight known to humanity is the Font itself—it’s so much power condensed that it illuminates the Undercrust. But it’s never visible beyond how it manifests when drawn through an artificer sigil, like fire, lightning, ice, or noxious gas.
This is something else entirely. It’s as if I am catching a glimpse of the currents of life and magic swirling around him.
Like I’m witnessing strands of the Font itself.
The orange-gold Etherlight flows like the hot spring water that’s piped up from deep in the Undercrust. It seeps into my skin, easing tension from my muscles, healing bruises that I didn’t even realize were there.
I can’t see my back, but I can feel the wounds smooth over.
Then the aches vanish entirely as I’m healed.
The entire time, I can’t tear my eyes from his.
He’s…stunning. The Etherlight highlights the strong edge of his jaw and casts shifting shadows over his cheeks.
Lucan is intensely focused on me, but the expression is more tender than I’ve ever seen from him.
The gold in his hazel eyes seems to glow.
As the magic relaxes, his focus shifts from my face to our joined hands.
For a breath, neither of us speaks. The Etherlight dissipates into the air like stardust, fading entirely from view like embers on a breeze. I can even faintly smell sulfur.
Did you see the Etherlight, too? The question burns my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to ask.
Drawing attention to it would expose that something about me is different, which could be explained away as me being Valor Reborn.
But, in here, it could also be something that’s used against me as an indication of the curse.
It’s not a risk I can take, especially not with him. Lucan continues staring at me. I hold his gaze, breathless, determined not to be the first to speak. The gold flecks are still there in his eyes, and they’ve never looked more beautiful.
“You can let go of me now.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but it doesn’t lose its playful edge.
I hadn’t realized how tightly I was gripping his fingers. I quickly retract my hand, and all my thoughts slam back into my skull at the same time.
“You used a sigil,” I say as understanding dawns.
“I think the words you were looking for are, ‘Thank you.’” He smirks slightly. Smirks! Lucan, of all people, Mister Stoic-beyond-reason-and-impossible-to-read-or-scowling-at-best, is smirking at me.
I ignore the remark. “You’re not gilded. People who have enough of a connection to Etherlight that they can use sigils without the gilding are…”
“Very rare,” he finishes when awe silences me.
I’m not alone. It’s the first thought that crosses my mind.
It’s not at the level of “Valor Reborn,” but he also has something that makes him very special.
Something that the vicar no doubt has wanted to keep for himself ever since he found out Lucan has this skill.
Maybe he knew when he declared Lucan his son.
Like he’s some kind of disgusting collector of particularly gifted individuals.
Just like Saipha said, he’s useful. I force the thought to the front of my brain, replacing the other. But all my heart wants is to pull him closer and talk about…everything. How does Etherlight feel for him? When did he find out and how? What other sigils does he know, if any?
“You were right. I did go back to the atrium two nights ago, but only to get this sigil.” He tugs at the lacings of his jerkin and then pulls it and the loose collar of his shirt aside, exposing the top of his chest. I fight a flush that instantly rises to my cheeks at the sight of his collarbone and instead focus on the thick, black line that’s been stained onto his skin like a tea ring from a mug—it’s the start of an artificer frame. “I thought it’d be helpful for us.”
“Us?”
“Consider this my application.” He releases his shirt, and I hate how much I resent the fabric falling back into place.
“For what?”
“To be your ally in the Tribunal.” Perhaps it’s the lingering Etherlight, but his eyes still shine with flecks of gold, like an unintentional gilding.
“You want to be my ally when you’re keeping secrets from me left and right?” I narrow my eyes, and he has the audacity to seem amused by my annoyance.
“We all have things to hide, don’t we?” He gives me a pointed look, expectant. There’s no way he could be referencing my fears about being cursed, yet it feels like he is. I look away.
“And, to think, four days ago I thought you hated me.” I tease a hand through my curls, not sure if I’m more annoyed at him or at my reaction to him.
“Never hate, Isola.” His gaze softens, though I can’t say why. Something stirs in his expression, like admiration.
I place both hands on the bench, lean forward, and look him dead in the eyes. Trying to see through to all the things he’s not saying. “You’ve never made an effort to endear yourself to me.”
“Are you still on about your mum’s birthday?” He sighs.
“More than that.”
“It’s not like the vicar would just let me casually spend time with his Valor Reborn when you were in the chapel.”
“You could’ve found me outside the chapel.”
“Would you have let me?” he asks as if he’s thought it through countless times. “Be honest. Could I have walked up to you and asked you to spend an evening with me and you’d say yes?”
I fold my arms as I think about just how intently I’d been avoiding him specifically when I ditched my training. “Well, you weren’t exactly nice to me that first night here.”
“We were literally being attacked, and you were doing your best statue impression.” Lucan shakes his head and returns his attention to me. “If I didn’t like you, why would I go out of my way to patch you up then or help you now?”
“You did it to get something out of it,” I point out.
He laughs, and the sound nearly makes me jump as it echoes off the floor and ceiling. “You are an astoundingly stubborn person.” It reminds me of what he said the first night, and I realize what almost stuck out to me then—he says it as if it’s a compliment.
“Teach me the rest of the sigils that were in the dragons, and I’ll consider this whole ‘allies’ thing.”
“You think so highly of me.” He rolls his eyes but turns serious once more.
“I could only manage to get one by myself—and I went for the yellow dragon because I was hoping it was healing. I got pretty beat up in the process, so thankfully it was. I hid under the yellow dragon until morning. The inquisitors must’ve disabled the others while I was asleep. ”
“Did they ask you about seeing a sigil?” I ask. Lucan shakes his head. “Me neither. So, they must be all right with us using them…”
“Right. You have one that protects. I have one that heals. That’s a good team right there. Why not work together?”
“And what about Saipha?”
“Two allies are better than one. We’re all stronger together.” His proposal hangs in the air as I consider it. Can I trust him? Other factions have begun to form. Saipha and I are less outnumbered if we have a third.
She would be screeching at me to say yes, or dying of laughter, if she knew that I have him begging to help us without even having to do one little bit of batting my eyelashes.
Luckily, I’m not Saipha, and my caution is going to keep us safe. “How do I know that you haven’t asked others this same thing? That I’m not being played?”
“I wouldn’t expose my advantage like that to just anyone.” Not a particularly convincing argument… As I’m weighing the risk against potential reward, he continues, “Take some time and think about it. I don’t need to pressure you now because I know you’ll come to the right decision.”
Arrogant. “Fine.” I stand and start for the door.
“You’re welcome, by the way.” He draws my attention back to him. The very corner of his mouth curls slightly. “For healing you.”
I’m actually incredibly thankful—and ashamed I haven’t thanked him yet—so of course I bite out my, “Thank you.”
Lucan smiles, and the whole room brightens. Once more, he seems to glow. But this time there’s no magic involved…it’s all on his own.
I quickly leave before I’m caught staring. The last thing I need is for him to think I like looking at him. But as I step out of the chapter house and back into the cloisters, I hear two voices coming from a hallway ahead.
Voices I know all too well.