THIRTY-ONE
“What is going on in here?” Lord Gellar demanded as he and several of the Sworn Exarchs shimmered into the corridor that led to the classrooms for Magick School. The silver thread of news had pulled them from their meeting about magic breaching the wards.
Zarek hadn’t expected to find water pouring from the classroom ceiling in a steady cascade. It pooled across the stone floor and streamed into the corridor, where servants scrambled with cloths and buckets to contain the beginnings of a flowing creek.
“I’ve never seen that before.” Martar grinned, failing to hide his amusement as he extended a hand from the classroom’s open doorway and let droplets strike his palm, where his magick turned it into ice.
“Neither have I.” Gellar’s frown deepened with concern.
“It began without warning. All the students swear they didn’t do it.” The flustered professor stood before them, completely saturated.
Fifteen students stood trembling in a line against the corridor wall, their drenched tunics and regional dress colors plastered to their skin.
“Aren’t these rooms protected?” Condorr held his palm out as if to read the magick, then shrugged. “I can’t feel any form of magic within that room, but I can feel the wards holding.”
“And yet here we are.” Rocharde caught some of the water and tasted it. “It’s freshwater. This is proper rain. Cold, too.”
“No wonder the students are trembling,” Condorr murmured.
“Sure it’s not your presence and those shoulders doing that?” Rocharde teased, with Martar chuckling beside him.
“Could it be a spell?” Zarek asked the professor.
“I thought so at first. But I’ve tried countermeasures. The witches and sorcerers have as well.” The professor gestured toward the other teachers gathered in charcoal robes, their silver-threaded sleeves soaked, all in a huddle as if trying to solve a math problem. “Nothing stops it.”
Gellar turned to the students. “Who did this?”
No one spoke, as several lowered their heads.
“Zarek,” Gellar said quietly. “Read them.”
A visible ripple of fear moved through the line.
“Keep your heads down. Do not look up,” Zarek commanded. He had no desire to scorch young minds.
He focused on them one by one. Surface thoughts rose easily—confusion, fear, fragments of lesser pranks and guilty memories. Nothing like this.
“Their thoughts are clear,” he said calmly. “To press further would cause harm.”
“Please, Lord Gellar. We didn’t do it,” one student pleaded.
Martar gestured back toward the classroom. “Is this everyone?”
The professor hesitated. “Miss Duboise was here… but she was dismissed. I allowed her to leave for the afternoon.”
Gellar’s eyes flicked to Zarek.
Zarek understood the command.
“How is Miss Duboise progressing in your class, Professor?” Gellar asked mildly.
“Exceptional. She knows the material. Passed every assessment, but she seems… bored.”
The professor’s thoughts fell openly and remarkably quickly to Zarek’s magick for reading minds. “There were questions she asked you before the rain began… fire safety. Sprinklers. What would you do if a flame broke out?” Words about a mortal safety system.
Zarek broke the connection, leaving the professor to gasp for air and rub his temples.
Zarek lifted his gaze to the falling water, which was not a structured spray.
It was raining.
Cold rain. Falling as if from a cloud.
And all of their protective wards were intact.
Zarek turned and walked down the corridor with long, controlled strides.
“Where are you going?” Martar called after him.
“To speak with Angela,” Zarek replied without looking back. “And to find a way to stop this.”
Behind him, the professor squeaked out, full of nerves, “My Lords, if she has done this, and we cannot counter it—it is an uncontrolled power that none of us can—”
“Professor,” Gellar cut in smoothly to contain the panic. “It is raining. Dismiss your students. We will determine the danger of this incident.”
Even if it was only rain, it was a magick that had breached the wards that protected the Keep. And that was what made it dangerous.
In the blink of an eye, Zarek reached Angela’s door, and did what had become a habit whenever near her—removing his gloves.
Normally he only removed them when he was alone in his chambers, so as to not to burn anyone.
But with her, even the idea of a mere brush of her skin, the touch of her fingers or her dainty wrist, without the feel of leather, was becoming a need that even appeased the Claiming.
He lifted his hand to knock, but the door opened before his knuckles touched the wood.
Angela stood there in a rich plum gown, the color did wonders with her eyes and complexion, with her hair damp from the rain.
For a moment, he forgot why he was there.
He had seen realms that were universes within universes, but he’d never seen such raw beauty like hers, it bent the layers that caged his soul.
Only then came the reminder that he was the darkness that brought the storm that stole her smile when she spotted him.
It was more than the Claiming, which stirred like flame under skin.
This was deeper, beneath the ribs. He couldn’t name it, as he’d never felt this before.
Until the dragon stirred, and a single word climbed with the heat of his magick seeking hers.
Mine.
He swallowed hard and stepped back to contain it. The staves on his leathers did not flare. They never did when he was alone with her. Only when he was with others, which was as annoying and revealing as an unwanted blush.
“Zarek,” she said, surprised. “Aren’t you in a meeting?”
“There is a problem with your classroom.”
“The rain?” She brightened with a smile, so wide and bright, accompanied by a giggle; it warmed his chest in a way that had nothing to do with magic. All from a sound he found oddly addictive.
“How cool was that? I got out of class and was just about to find a way outside. I’m allowed, right? You said I’m not your—”
“Yes. No. You’re not a prisoner.” He didn’t know how he could prove that to her.
Or how to explain the inexplicable pull urging him to close the distance between them and trap her lips with his to taste that sweet mouth of hers.
It didn’t help when her warm, honeyed scent was like sugar stirred into warmed oats with pear and apple, making it both seductive and comforting all at once, like home.
What spell is this?
“Great. Where’s the door?” She brushed past him into the corridor.
“Six days inside stone walls and lectures that feel like high school all over again, and I’m over it.
I know it’s part of the treaty, but just give me the textbooks.
I’ll read them. But first, I need some fresh air, so please point me to the nearest exit sign. ”
He caught her hand before she got any farther. Relishing the feel of her soft skin and the warmth of her fingertips, that holding her hand had become his sanctuary.
Is this the Claiming or me?
“Angela,” he said carefully, even though there was more gravel in his tone. He stepped closer, lowering his voice as the walls had ears. “Did you cause the rain?”
“What?” She shared a laugh, so genuine it danced down the corridor. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t.”
He searched her face. There was no deception there. No flicker of guilt. And he’d know if there was by the connection they shared from the Claiming.
“I think you may have,” he said, letting his thumb brush over the dips and ridges of her knuckles. “Because the rain has not stopped.”
“How?” She frowned slightly, when he’d preferred that smile. “That’s absurd. The professor said those rooms were magically protected. Are you sure a student didn’t do it? Honestly, I wouldn’t blame them. That class was putting me to sleep.”
“None of those students are powerful enough for that kind of magic.”
“It was just rain. Besides, Tamarr told me you have people who can control the weather in Paradox.”
“We do, but that’s against the Accords.” Like it was against the Accords to be with a mortal—even then, he still didn’t let go of her hand. He couldn’t. “The walls in the Magick School are warded against all kinds of magic.”
Well, it was supposed to be.
This rain magic was so new that the professors raised the alarm at the wards not holding. And the only new entity within the Keep was the woman with one green eye and one blue.
“You were speaking about fire extinguishers and sprinklers in the roof just before it rained.”
Her smile fell, along with her pretty eyes dimming as if the light was being squashed inside.
He hated doing that to her. But he was Captain of the Sworn Exarchs, and the Vanguard’s Keep was a big part of their defenses against all forms of magic.
It’s why they had a Magick School, to ensure that if anything new arose, they could counteract it.
It had proven time and time again that the curiosity of children brought about the biggest discoveries.
But not in this case.
“Angela?”
As she shook her head, the damp strands clung together in shades of red threaded with warmed wheat. “No way. I didn’t do that. I’ve never done that.”
“Maybe you were not aware that you could.” Like her truth compulsion magick he had yet to discuss with her.
“No.” Her denial was edged with fear. “I can’t make it rain inside a building.”
“Angela, listen to me.” He lowered his head to hold her gaze, giving her hand a tender squeeze. “The wards remain intact. No structured spell is present. And yet the rain continues. It’s not harming anyone; it’s just water.”
She swallowed, but the calculation in her eyes was a clear sign of her turning over the scenario. Another trait he admired, how her intelligence matched her natural beauty.
“How about we go back, and see if you can stop it?”
“Why?” She pulled her hand free. “I didn’t do it.”
“I believe you.” And he did, as much as he felt her confusion blend with a touch of fear. “But let’s see if we can fix it.”
He extended his hand toward her. It was a simple gesture. Yet it always worried him that his touch would burn her.
It could never be simple, or ever be taken for granted, to feel her fingers brush against his, to slide into his palm that wrapped around hers, turning it into a truly precious gift that soothed the fire dragon inside. And so he waited for that moment, hand extended.
It should not be like this.
The Accords were clear. The Vanguard did not entangle themselves with mortals. They did not bind their power to fragile lives that would wither in decades. And they did not blur the lines between protection and possession.
Yet here he stood, waiting to hold this woman’s hand.
“I’ll be there with you the entire time,” he added quietly.
She hesitated. It was to be expected.
“The rain hasn’t stopped, and…” Allowing the faintest trace of humor to thread his tone, he said, “At this rate, they’ll have to install a drainage system on the second floor to prevent flooding.”
She nearly huffed out a laugh, almost giving him back that smile of hers.
“Please.” His hand was extended and open between them. Well aware of the gift she was, he smiled when her fingers finally found his. “This way…”