Chapter 27 Taera
Taera
To conceal the flustered pounding in my chest, I scowl at his outstretched hand.
“You want to.” He smirks.
“I do not want to.” Heat crawls up my neck.
“Then don’t,” he says, but his hand remains between us.
My eyes narrow on him. “What are you going to do to me?”
“A little magic.”
A steady stream of reason warns me not to, but my pride won’t let me back down.
Foreign excitement hums in my veins, just thinking about trying magic.
I tamp down on that stupidity. I shouldn’t even be thinking about this.
But learning magic—harnessing it—could be my path out of here.
It might help me survive. To scorn and reject it might mean abandoning Ezran and Gramps forever.
I’ll do anything to get back to them… even if I have to become what I fear most.
I lift my hand to Nikolai’s waiting palm.
Energy sings down my arm, down my fingers. The air rushes out of me and I lose all sense of where I am. He takes a sharp breath, shock flickering across his expression before his face returns to his mask of cool calm. Seeing his fancy face get ruffled fills me with inexplicable satisfaction.
We’re still in dizzying contact. The room starts to dance around me.
The walls kaleidoscope outward, spinning in unlikely directions.
An ornate candelabra unfurls above the bed, its dozens of glass candles lighting up with long, translucent flames.
The wall shivers, rippling to reveal a floor-to-ceiling window.
When Nikolai drops his hand away from mine, I gawk at the changed room: bright and spacious. Most stunning is the window. The desert lies beyond, extending breathlessly far until it merges with the horizon. Morning sun layers the dunes into yellow strips.
The familiar ache of gazing out at the sand is oddly soothing. It doesn’t overwhelm my mind. With the lavish glass castle all around me, and the green-eyed magician, my gaze feels equally pulled in every direction.
“Now that you can see the window…” Nikolai strides over to it, cracking one of the higher panes open. A puff of desert air blows in, smelling of dust and heat and sand—of home. My throat thickens.
“This is what happens when you try to spread the secrets of the Halls.” Nikolai reaches up, my paper in his hand, and I realize too late that he’s dangling my letter out the window. It whips in the wind, flapping, trying to escape his grip.
I shout, but I cut off short when I see what’s happening to the letter.
Once packed full of my ink, dense with cursive, the lines of my handwriting peel off the page.
The letters flutter away in the wind, leaving large patches of empty space.
When Nikolai pulls the crumpled piece of paper back inside, only a few sentences remain.
I stare. “You—you erased my letter.”
“No, the Halls did.” He tosses me what’s left. Reeling, I snatch it up and rub my thumb across a bare section. Not even a smudge comes away.
There’s no way to know if this is just another illusion.
“What am I allowed to write?” I mutter, going along with it.
“I’ll explain later,” Nikolai says, “but we have to get going.”
“But—” I swallow. “If the glass games are dangerous, like you say, and I don’t get another chance to write to my family…”
He frowns, some emotion flickering behind his mask. “Stick with me and you’ll be fine.”
I pray, silently, that Gramps and Ezran can hold on without word for a little longer.
“You might want to wear something more interesting than school robes, though,” he adds.
Why am I never wearing the right thing? I scowl. “What do you mean?”
His mischievous grin takes me by surprise. “Today students can wear whatever they want. Most go for something naughty.”
“You took all my clothes,” I remind him.
“Well, if you don’t plan on wearing my sheets again, I could conjure something for you. Anything at all.” His eyes glitter. “Although I doubt you’ve seen an immodest ankle before.”
I’m not about to tell him he’s right. The only ankle I’ve seen recently was inflamed with scorpion venom. But I won’t back down. My mind flits back to what Clarice told me about the girls in the city.
I prop my hands on my hips. “I want a dress.”
His smile widens. “Draw it for me.”
“How?”
“On your body.” His smile is wicked, making my cheeks heat and pulse race. But I won’t let him intimidate me. If Nikolai thinks I’m more modest than a nun, I’ll show him otherwise.
Lifting my hands to my chest, slowly, deliberately, I trail my fingers in a line over the tops of my breasts, down the curve of my sides, then flaring out into a short skirt above my knees.
“I like it.” He smiles. “You know, this would be a lot easier if you were naked.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “Absolutely not.”
“Even after cuddling up to me in front of everyone?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“I was not”—my face flames—“cuddling.”
“Oh?” Nikolai looks far too amused. “Then what were you doing? Expressing interest in me? I can’t say I blame you, but—”
“I was just playing along with your stupid lies,” I mutter. “You know, as your… thing.”
“Fling?” He laughs.
“Yeah, whatever.” I make myself hold his gaze, head high. “If you aren’t going to make me a dress, let’s just go.”
Nikolai brushes his hands in front of him in several sweeping strokes, and fabric tumbles out of thin air. It’s a rich, brilliant green.
I catch it before it falls to the ground. It’s glossy and warm against my skin, like satin laid out in the sun. The exact shape that I drew.
“Let me know if it fits.” Nikolai jerks his chin toward his bathing chambers.
I scurry away with the green fabric. It’s surprisingly easy to change into.
The dress is stretchy, fitting snugly to my body even without shoulder straps to keep it in place.
The skirt swishes around my legs like flower petals in the breeze.
I’ve never shown so much skin in my life—my shoulders and legs are fully bare.
My ankles are definitely on display. It’s terrifying…
but also exhilarating. The sort of dress I might dream of wearing if I lived in the city.
Pushing my shoulders back, I strut back out into Nikolai’s chambers—barefoot and in nothing but this short, strapless creation.
His eyes rake over me. Slow. Unapologetic. His lips curve up. My arms itch to tug the top of the dress upward, but I press my hands against my sides. My breathing has become shallow.
“You look good.” He’s grinning. “I didn’t think you had it in you to wear an illusion.”
“It won’t… disappear. Right?”
“Not if you stay with me,” Nikolai murmurs. “Here, the finishing touch.”
A pair of delicate green sandals form like ribbons falling from his fingers, and he hands them to me. They slip onto my feet like they’re made for me—which they are. It’s a heady feeling, to be wearing magic.
To my surprise, I notice that I’m calm. While worries for Ezran, for Gramps, still flit through my mind, the fear for my life has dissipated. My heart—and head—have calcified by days spent surrounded by magic, and I’m no longer ready to bolt at the sight of a magician. I’m about to rely on one.
Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s the dress. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m starting to understand this place.
Or maybe it’s because I’ve finally realized something.
I trust that Nikolai doesn’t want me dead.