25 Theodore
Theodore
The sunlight cut like blades after the darkness of the Mage Seer’s tower.
My guards hurried us through Della’s packed streets, and we made it back to the Eleuthios just as it was being loaded with provisions.
We would cast off before sunset, and if the weather was fair, it would be nearly a week before we reached Obelia, though the Obelian Sea was known for its rough waters and coarse winds.
Trepidation had stitched itself through me with needle-sharp efficiency, the thread pulled so tightly through my body that I couldn’t bring myself to sit.
I leaned against my stateroom door, arms crossed, while the sinking sun washed the room in sleepy, warm light.
It haloed the scattered waves of Imogen’s long hair in amber.
She sat on the settee with Agatha, wearing a new gown, green with soft pink flowers, that brought out a rosy flush in her cheeks.
It made me picture her sprawled in one of my gardens, blooms pressed against her golden skin.
The two of them looked through the many parcels of dresses and underclothes and sleep things Agatha and Lach had collected.
Imogen’s smile was full and bright, lighting her eyes as she drew her fingers over the frill of a skirt, then the little bag that matched it. Soft regard filled her gaze as she watched Agatha.
The past weeks had been agony. One harrowing moment engulfing the next, to the point that neither woman had been able to mourn the least of their tragedies: that they’d lost their home, their belongings, and any semblance of the life that they’d fought so hard to build for themselves, as imperfect as it may have been.
I forced a breath into my tight chest and cursed quietly. Helplessness pressed in on all sides, as did my sneaking suspicion that the plan we’d all agreed upon—to have Agatha perform the killing spell—was doomed to fail.
Their conversation turned quiet and serious.
Imogen was now flipping through the book on draughts, while Agatha riffled through the little collection of vials we’d stolen from the Mage Seer.
Imogen’s finger traced a passage as she bit at her bottom lip.
Despite my state, I nearly walked over to her and took that lip between my own teeth instead.
“Theo,” Imogen said without looking up from the book. “How long do you plan on brooding?”
“I’m not brood—”
“You are.” She met my gaze then, her look as intense as the slanting sun at her back, and gave a harsh look. “I know you’re worried. But this is the best plan we have—” She shook her head. “It’s the only one.”
I dropped my arms. “I know. The problem is—”
A knock came. I crossed to unlatch the door and there stood Lachlan, holding up a rusted cage with a large black rat inside.
“Oh fucking Gods.” I stepped aside, pinching the bridge of my nose. It had been my suggestion that we get the draughts, that we perform both a spell and a severance, but I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming unease as we took steps toward enacting the plan.
Agatha was still gray-tinged. I suspected she did her best to hide it from Imogen, but I knew the signs of trauma and fatigue. I could feel the periodic speeding of her heart when she was near. And Lachlan had shared his concern over how little she ate.
Agatha straightened herself on the settee, making herself look prepared, but her pulse suddenly thundered. “Your Majesty,” she said, “If I’m meant to perform the spell successfully, I need something to practice on.”
Lachlan’s jaw was close to snapping as he set the caged rat on the low table before the settee. Our eyes held briefly, before he stepped back and crossed his arms. “I’d like to make it known that I hate this.”
Agatha blew out a fast breath. “We spoke about this.”
“Right, and that conversation did nothing at all to change my feelings,” Lachlan said, irritably.
Agatha’s fist struck her knee. “You are the only one here objecting, Lachlan. Stop it and let me do this. I need to do this.”
Tentatively, I cleared my throat. “Well, I—” I snapped my mouth shut at Imogen’s and Agatha’s twin glares.
I could count on one hand the number of times I’d felt conquered, and being caught in the line of their combined scorn was one of them.
I knew, however, that remaining silent would be far worse for us all.
I gulped audibly. “Agatha is not well enough to perform this spell.”
Agatha flushed with fury, but something sparked in Imogen’s eyes. Some concern that I’d perhaps just soothed.
“Did you put him up to this?” Agatha asked Lachlan, voice blistering and sharp.
Lachlan swiped a hand down his face. “No. He simply sees the truth, Agatha. You need to rest. Not to perform—”
She stood in a rush, then swayed so steeply that Imogen jumped up to right her. My stomach clenched at Agatha’s swift and total mortification. She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers digging into Imogen’s forearm as the truth of my claim cut through her defensiveness.
The only sound came from the rat, squeaking and gnawing at the rusted bars of its cage. Imogen ran a comforting hand up and down Agatha’s arm, until finally she opened her eyes.
Agatha gave a weary shake of her head. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, you’ve done nothing but try to help,” Imogen said, squeezing her tight. A horn reverberated over the deck, followed by the whistles and calls of the ship preparing to weigh anchor.
Lachlan went to Agatha’s other side and drew her in close. “And Halla is truly out of the question?” he asked. “Can’t we force her?”
Imogen scowled. “Halla is untrustworthy. I can’t parse what she wants, but I know she has no desire to inflict any true harm on Eusia—or anything tied to her.”
Lachlan quirked a dark brow. “Not even you?”
Imogen shook her head in wary thoughtfulness. “I think she regards me with a mix of fear and veneration. She knows I keep Eusia alive, and despite herself and how she’s been wronged, she cannot shake her devotion. She sees me as blessed—and I suspect she resents that.”
“So Halla is out of the question.” I stepped forward. “I can say with certainty that Lachlan would be shit with spell work—too blunt.” Lachlan huffed his agreement. “That leaves you with one remaining option: me.”
Imogen went icily still.
The ship dipped and creaked as it headed into the open water.
The cabin crackled with Imogen’s indignation.
Lach and Agatha were taut, looking between the two of us until she gave Lach a tap on his arm.
“I’m going to nap,” she said, quickly. Lachlan helped her toward the door.
“I hope His Majesty has killed that rat by the time I wake up, Imogen.”
Imogen set an anxious hand to her stomach.
Even after the door shut, I held my tongue.
The ship rolled, and the calls of the sailors and the captain beyond the stateroom walls filled the strained air.
She stood at the foot of my bed, a hand wrapped around one of its posts to keep herself steady against the rocking.
Though her gaze was unflinching, her lush mouth tightened with fear.
I let my gaze move slowly from her sunlit tumble of hair, to the disorienting lines of her body in that gown, to the knife-sharp look in her eyes.
Fucking Gods, I’d known it from the first time I’d seen her. She was unavoidable. Destined.
“You will loathe yourself for it, Theo,” Imogen finally said, quietly. “Perhaps you’ll loathe me too in the end.”
I grunted at the impossibility. “I would loathe myself if I did nothing and let you pass me by.” For her and her alone would I let go of the safety line that I clung to and hope that I could tread the crashing waves.
It happened slowly, her acceptance of the circumstances. Her honey eyes dragged across my face, dread tightening their edges. But soon her shoulders loosened, her tension eased. She blew a harsh breath through pouting lips.
Something raced through me—anxiety or excitement—or some indecipherable melding of the two. “Good.” I jerked my head toward the settee. “Come sit on my lap, then, Mage,” I said through a half smile, “and teach me a spell.”