Eight
The following three days were a total, snarling mess of frustration and temper.
Largely on my part. Lydia had more patience than I ever anticipated, and we worked together on the lawns outside the manor.
Sometimes her daughters would come by, sometimes Clesian.
The only time that things really got out of control was when Seville would offer pointers.
She and Lydia would snap at each other about the semantics of their magic, about how it felt in the palms of their hands or how to channel it from their core, and then Lydia would go on some rant about Seville only understanding the surface of what she could achieve without a heartbond.
This only made Seville roll her eyes and spit venom in the form of curses or other curt insults, and then she’d storm off.
By the time the sun hit midday on the fourth day, both Lydia and I were reaching our wits’ end.
I’d twisted my hair into a loose bun, and the collar of my thin blouse was doused in sweat.
With my knees pressed against the ground, my skintight trousers were stained with grass and muck.
I’d been holding that position for hours, digging my nails into the earth in the hopes of centering myself with the source of their familial magic, and the sun had baked the bare skin of my neck into a tender pink.
My face was flushed both from exertion and constant defeat, and I tossed my hands into the air after failing, yet again, to spark even a hint of their power.
“I can’t feel anything,” I groaned.
Lydia worked her jaw and tapped her delicate fingers along her arm.
Her own perfectly tailored blouse—cinched at the center to highlight her slender waist—was free of sweat, along with her clean silken pants.
Her feet were bare against the blades of grass beneath us.
She’d had me do the same in a last-ditch effort to feel the earth from multiple locations.
“Maybe you need more touchpoints.” She was grasping at straws, and we both knew it.
“Yes, I’ll just get naked and roll in the grass, and poof”—I waved my hand in front of me for effect—“a tree will bloom. Seems completely plausible.”
She tilted her head to the side and let out an exasperated sigh. “Sarcasm doesn’t help. You’re certain you’re steadying your breath?”
“If you ask me one more time to breathe, I swear to the gods I’ll take you to the ground,” I seethed.
She had no idea how fucking well I knew how to breathe.
It had been the entire fucking focus of my training with Rorik, and if he heard her ask that of me now, he’d probably burst out laughing.
Picturing his smirk only fueled the gnawing frustration in me, and I cursed.
“It might be a bit rude of me to ask, but . . .” Lydia studied me carefully for a moment. “Have you been intimate with Rorik?”
Heat scorched my cheeks. “Absolutely not.”
“Pity.” She sighed. “Physical intimacy strengthens the bond and makes accessing our power that much easier. Why, after one evening where Clesian and I were joined for nearly six hours—”
“Lydia,” I cut her off with a sharp tone. “I think that’s enough. It won’t be happening, so no need to go down that route.”
Voices rose from somewhere in the courtyard, and I glanced past Lydia toward the maze of hedges and flowering bushes.
Rorik was standing there with an easy smile teasing his lips and a relaxed stance, with his hands slipped into the pockets of his black trousers.
He wore a gray shirt today, one that matched the pewter color of his piercings, and I couldn’t help but notice the corded muscles of his forearms. Ossanna was with him, too, and she let out a haughty laugh.
Her sable hair fluttered in the faint breeze, and her eyes were bright in the light of the sun.
She was beautiful, even I could admit it, but I knew beneath the veil of her glamour was an Ever withering away from blight.
It didn’t stop irritation from rearing its head, and I bristled at the effortless way her flowy dress draped around her curves.
And here I was. Covered in fucking dirt.
“Why is she even here?” I growled.
Lydia snorted. “I ask myself that all the time. Ossanna feels indebted to Rorik, in a way, for bringing to light the truth of Orin’s intentions with her daughter.
And Rorik isn’t one to turn away an advantage.
Tactical or romantic, it appears.” She sucked on her teeth in disdain just as Ossanna made a show of tracing Rorik’s arm with her finger.
“If you ask me,” Lydia continued, “someone with a heartbond shouldn’t be dallying with anyone else, though I know not all Evers share that sentiment. ”
Dallying. Pain sliced through my heart, but I refused to acknowledge it. “Rorik bonded with me to save my life. There was never anything else between us. If that’s why he’s spending time with her, then so be it. What Rorik and I have . . .”
Was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Which did not explain why, when Ossanna chose that very moment to stand on her toes and straighten the collar of his shirt, my vision turned red.
I felt our tether snap with unexpected ferocity, like I’d gripped the handle of a whip and cracked it hard, and Rorik’s head jerked toward me.
Irritation laced his expression, and he said something quietly to Ossanna.
She turned and her eyes widened in mock surprise, and then a wretched smile lifted one corner of her mouth.
She offered a wave and then turned on her heel, heading toward the bridge stretching over the quiet stream cutting through Fernglove lands.
No doubt she was heading for the nearest ley line marker so she could breeze home in a matter of moments.
Rorik stalked toward me with the lethal surety of a predator and displeasure gleaming in his eyes.
I couldn’t explain the ire brimming beneath the surface of my skin.
I shouldn’t have cared. It made absolutely no sense that I did.
Rage slithered through me and twisted through my stomach, and I planted my feet firmly as I glared directly at Rorik.
“What are you doing?” he asked, heated words masked beneath a layer of nonchalance that I could’ve picked apart in my sleep.
I spat out an answer before Lydia could open her mouth. “Training, no thanks to you. Can you take your bullshit elsewhere so I can focus?”
Both of Rorik’s brows shot toward his hairline. “I see it’s going well.”
“She’s having trouble accessing our magic,” Lydia said coolly. Her eyes were near slits as she folded her arms across her chest. “I find it interesting that you have time to entertain a Waterstone, but you refuse to help someone who could aid our family.”
“It’s not my fault you haven’t been training her right.
” His smile was a dangerous weapon, and he wielded it with deadly accuracy.
My nails bit into my palms as I curled my hands into tight fists.
Again, I was struck by the level of fury surging through my limbs.
It was mine, and yet . . . I closed my eyes for a moment, and the heartbond burned through my consciousness, shimmering gold and sturdy as always, but this time, it felt stronger.
A little tighter. I could still sense a wall at Rorik’s end, but it felt weaker somehow.
Fucking fantastic. Our control was slipping.
Again. Slowly, I opened my eyes, but Rorik wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was scowling at Lydia.
“You’re absolutely correct,” she said with a perilous grin of her own.
“If you would be intimate with her instead of a Waterstone . . .” She took a step toward Rorik, and I watched in fascination as her glamour rippled away to reveal her bestial features.
I’d never seen them before. At the silver fete, the most she’d shown were pointed teeth and ears, but this Lydia was fearsome.
Iridescent scales rippled down her cheekbones and along her neck, even coating the length of her arms. Her fangs protruded past her lips, and her eyes took on the reflective sheen of a cat.
Scaled wings exploded from her back and stretched wide, and the earth at her feet bloomed into hundreds of tiny white flowers.
The air sang with her magic, and a fresh, floral aroma filled my senses.
Rorik’s magic, as sharp as the summer sun, flared in response. “Careful, Lydia.”
“I can do incredible things, but I cannot teach someone how to access magic from their heartbond when their partner refuses to share.” Even the shape of her words seemed to change, elongating as if on the tail end of a hiss.
She glanced past him to the quickly fading form of Ossanna. “Or perhaps you regret your decision?”
Rorik didn’t even bother with his own glamour. His hard tone was warning enough. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Just leave us alone,” I said through clenched teeth.
“I tried, Edira. You’re the one who came crawling back here.” He rounded his glare on me, and his sinister grin revealed the tips of his fangs. “I thought I taught you how to run.”
Anger snapped in me. One moment I was thinking clearly, suppressing the bubbling mess of emotions threatening to explode, and the next I was lunging.
I thought of nothing except hitting that damn face of his and hopefully taking a few teeth with me.
His eyes widened as I moved, and while I still missed, he barely had a chance to shift to the side before I went sailing past him.
His dark laugh rumbled from somewhere in his chest as he rolled his neck from side to side.
“Go inside, Lydia. I’ll take it from here.”
Lydia’s gaze shifted from him to me. All I could do was grimace, and my fists trembled by my sides.
A dull ringing was pounding in my ears. She watched me for a long moment when mischief sparked through her eyes.
With an easy flick of her wrist, her glamour fell back into place, and she left without another word.