21. Chapter 21 #2
His face grows weary, and any happiness that was there before quickly vanishes. “No. The garden does not respond to my magic. One might even say… it resents it.”
I glance back at the new growth climbing the arch, then at the shadows pooling at his feet.
Thorin steps back, giving me room. “I would like you to try again.”
I kneel in the soil, ignoring the dampness soaking through my trousers and place my palms flat on the earth.
My magic hums in response, searching for the coldness buried deep within the soil where the rot takes hold.
Finding the darkness comes easier now. So does calling my warmth to heal the dark magic suffocating this garden.
The first time I reached for my magic, it felt wild—like trying to catch lightning with bare hands. Now it answers when I call, flowing through me as naturally as breathing. I have more control than I ever did when I was a simple healer in Elvora.
I let the warmth spread through my arms instead of forcing it into the ground.
The garden meets me halfway. A strange ache brushes against my mind.
It’s not painful, but it’s there. I spend several minutes trying to caress the feeling, to identify it.
I reach for it, grabbing on until I know what it is.
Its need. And loneliness. And for once, it doesn’t belong to me.
My eyes fly open as I look at Thorin, now kneeling beside me.
He’s so close that our bodies almost touch.
I try not to focus on that, instead drawing my attention back to the ground.
The flowerbed beneath my hands is still, but I can feel something reaching back.
Clawing, more like. No—not clawing. Waiting.
“It's alive,” I whisper.
Thorin doesn't answer, but I didn’t expect him to because I don’t think he’s surprised. I let out a slow breath and stop trying to control what happens next.
Instead…
I listen.
Warmth pours from my palms into the earth, reaching. The cracked soil softens as tiny roots begin weaving beneath the surface, searching for one another after centuries apart. I can feel their ache, their longing to become what they were once more.
Something green unfurls beside my hand. One sprout. Then two. The sound is too soft for anyone to hear it, but I can. I hear a sigh. It doesn’t come from me or Thorin—it comes from the garden itself.
I lift my head, looking at what I’ve just done.
Color spreads through the nearest flowerbed in delicate threads, creeping between the stones before disappearing beneath the dead roots farther out.
It’s only a few feet. Not enough to make much of a difference.
But compared to the endless gray surrounding us, it feels significant.
My attention shifts to Thorin, and a light smile tugs at my lips.
He looks like a man who has found something lost after convincing himself he’d never see it again.
My chest tightens, but not because of the garden.
It tightens because I’ve never seen him look like this.
The king disappears, and for one moment… he’s just a man.
“You've done remarkably well, Lyra,” he says.
I brush the dirt from my hands as I stand. “Thanks. I have a pretty good teacher. He’s a pain in the ass, but…I’ve learned a lot from him.”
We stand in silence for a minute, looking at what I brought to life. Slowly, Thorin turns to me. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me. No… through me. He studies me as if he’s seeing into me.
“May I?” he asks, and I know what he wants.
I nod my approval.
“I want to know what you feel…”
“Just do it before I change my mind.”
He smiles, and then he reaches. I feel the silk caress of his presence against my mind, brushing right at the edges.
He’s seeking something, flipping past my…
thoughts? Emotions? I don’t know what he’s probing for until he brings it so vividly in my mind that I see it. Hatred. It’s hot, raw, and real.
I’m going to kill him.
Gods, he’s beautiful.
I hate him.
Gods... why does he have to be so damned beautiful?
I want him to touch me again.
Higher. Please, Thorin.
Gods, I’m going to explode. I need this man.
He’s racing past my feelings. OH. He wants to know how I feel.
NO.
“Stop!” I scream, because I don’t want him to know the truth. I’m a coward. He isn’t searching my mind at random. He’s only pulling forward the memories tied to him. He never even reaches for Onyx, as though it never occurred to him that someone else might matter. Arrogant bastard.
“Thorin, why?” I ask, certain the hurt is written all over my face. Tears sting my eyes, hot and heavy, and I fight to keep them from falling.
“Why do you need to know?”
“I need to know if you feel the pull like I do, muya mivanti.”
“What do those words even mean?”
“That is not important right now.” His eyes soften, and the familiar silver swirls come into focus. He brings his mouth to my face so gently, kissing my tears. He drags a fingertip across my eyelid, then presses it to his tongue, savoring the taste.
“Gods, your tears taste just as sweet as your arousal.”
“Thorin!” I groan, looking away, but he cups my cheeks to stop me.
“Don’t look away from me. Not this time.” He studies me for a long time and I do the same.
“Goddess, you are divine, Lyra. You possess the most beautiful spirit. You are without a doubt the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. Inside and out.”
Is he sane? I know he saw the flickering thoughts of ‘I hate this man’ flash by at least a hundred times.
“I—” He stops me by crushing his lips against mine, fisting my hair as raw, primal instinct takes over and we’re not titles. Not king and healer, we’re just… together.
And gods—I’ve never felt something so beautiful or explosive in my entire life.