Chapter 21
~21~
C illian held Alise as she broke open with a profound grief he’d never had guessed lurked within the cool, collected and often inscrutable wizard-woman. He’d been chipping away at her, deliberately working at getting her to confide in him, employing every trick he could think of to seduce, cajole and, yes, even bully his way through her reflexive defenses.
He hadn’t expected this immense grief. Nor that she’d be, in the end, so fragile when she gave up the walls she’d been hiding behind. Guilt assailed him that he’d done this to her, but he set it aside. She shouldn’t have had to bear this burden alone. If this is what it took to get her to open up to him, then so be it.
He only hoped that she wouldn’t hate him for it.
At last those ugly, horrible sobs weakened, diminished, then faded away altogether. They lay there together in near silence, broken only by her occasional sniffles. She also gradually tensed as she recovered her senses, the wine-red, rose-red, crimson scent of her magic intensifying as her formidable intelligence reasserted herself.
Figuring he’d better strike now, in this interstitial moment between the utter devastation of her grief and the moment she’d recovered enough to begin rebuilding those usually unassailable walls, he spoke. “Tell me the story,” he said in a quiet, gentle voice, “from the beginning.”
She stirred restlessly, quite as he’d expected, and he firmed his embrace. “There’s no wriggling away from this,” he informed her. “The proverbial cat is out of the bag, so you may as well arm me with the information I need.”
“I can’t decide if I hate you or…” She trailed off, not willing or able to finish it, much as his heart longed to hear the possible alternative.
“You don’t hate me. You hate being vulnerable.”
“Is that why you trapped me here?” Her voice had a cantankerous note, but he knew her sharp tongue well—and, to tell the truth, had become perversely fond of being flayed by it—and her heart wasn’t in the accusation.
“ Wrapped you here,” he corrected, “in my arms, my blankets, and my silence. I suspect I may end up saying this to you all our lives, but you can trust me, darling Alise.”
“All our lives?” She snorted, her face pale in the shadows as she pulled back to look at him in the dim light filtering from the other room. “And here just moments ago you were going on about not fitting into my life or this grand future you imagine for me as Lady Elal. Though now you should understand the main reason why that can never be.”
He didn’t tell her about his fantasies, how he imagined being her friend and advisor, no matter how high she rose. That he couldn’t be her lover forever went without saying. Only Alise being at this nadir of her life prevented her from seeing that as clearly as he did. But he would savor being her lover as long as it lasted. He’d store up every moment, every touch and scent and flavor and whispered word, even the sharp ones she spoke in anger. And he would do his best by her, to help her through this, so that when she inevitably left him and moved on with her life, she’d think of him fondly. Perhaps receive those visits he dreamed might persist throughout their days, if only she recognized his value to her.
“Tell me the story,” he said again, “from the beginning.”
She sighed, but he sensed her capitulation. “This will sound like an excuse, but it was all Nic’s idea.”
Cillian thought wryly to himself that he wasn’t at all surprised. Even when she’d been a promising uncat, all but universally acclaimed as a wizard and the next head of House Elal, Lady Veronica Elal had been a force to be reckoned with. He kept quiet, however, hoping receptive silence would keep Alise talking.
“It began with Laryn,” she continued on a long breath. “She betrayed Nic to the Sammaels, you know. Or perhaps you don’t. Gabriel had been psychically injured in the effort to rehabilitate Seliah and was unconscious for days and days. Laryn told Sergio Sammael and he, assuming Gabriel would die, abducted Nic to his house so he could force her to bond with him as his familiar. This is maybe going into the weeds too much. Anyway, once Gabriel had rescued Nic, they faced the problem of how to deal with Laryn. Asa, as her wizard, felt deeply betrayed, but she also carried their baby, got during their Betrothal Trials. No one wanted to execute Laryn as she deserved.”
“So Nic hit upon the idea that you could sever the wizard–familiar bond and free Asa of his connection and obligation to Laryn.”
“Yes, in part. She thought to offer the option to Laryn as an alternative to execution, because it would allow me to practice for what she most wanted me to do.”
“Free your mother from her wizard, your father.”
“Exactly.” She shoved her hair back from her face, the inky silk of it falling through her shadowy fingers. “They found Maman in the tower where Nic had been imprisoned, left behind when Papa fled. Maman wasn’t herself, possibly from being kept in alternate form for so long—as punishment for helping Nic escape her wedding—or because of the attenuation of the wizard–familiar bond.”
“So, Nic came up with the arguably innovative and fascinating idea of severing that bond in an attempt to save your mother’s life.” It really was a clever solution. The Convocation texts were filled with tales of the tragic effects of the wizard–familiar bond attenuation, both nonfiction and fiction, including—notably— The Saga of Sylus and Lyndella . The familiar inevitably wasted away and perished. Cillian hadn’t gotten to that part of Sylus and Lyndella’s tragic tale, as Lyndella’s death in her wizard’s arms as he rescued her too late to save her obviously came near the end, but that famous fictional familiar’s epic passing was often referenced in that context.
“Innovative and clever, yes, except that now we know why no one does it. The technique didn’t work.” Grief and, worse, self-recrimination haunted her voice. “It truly is impossible.”
“Not to be pedantic,” he said, hugging her close to give what comfort he could, “but clearly the technique did work and is possible. You successfully severed the wizard–familiar bond between two couples. That’s an amazing achievement.”
“You and I must have different definitions of the word ‘success,’” she replied sourly. “Laryn became listless and decidedly unhealthy. And Maman… she died.” Alise’s voice broke entirely. “I did that. I murdered my own mother, who I loved dearly. Not a rousing success.”
Cillian debated with himself on what to say to her. He hated that she’d been carrying this burden alone—and would love to have a chat with Lady Phel about she and Gabriel sending Alise off to cope with this bleeding wound by herself, without any support—but the logical flaws were apparent to him and might help her. “May I offer a different interpretation?”
“Cillian…” she said on a long sigh. “You don’t have to try to make me feel better. I know what I did. I’m coping with that.”
“While I would love to make you feel better, I think I have a valid set of logical arguments here, but I understand that now might not be the right time.”
She made a snuffling sound that he finally realized was a laugh. Shallow and watery, but definite amusement. “Only you.”
He wasn’t sure whether to take umbrage at that. Still, she sounded less broken and that heartened him. “Listen, you’re talking about an experimental technique with a dataset of two points. One of those points—not to be unfeeling about your maman, but regarding the situation with a level of objectivity—was a person already in peril. She’d been non-responsive since her rescue, had spent far too long in her alternate form, and seemed unlikely to survive as she was. Yes? Or you wouldn’t have tried a desperation move to attempt to save her.”
“True,” Alise agreed reluctantly. “But Laryn—”
“Right. Data point number two. A woman who was pregnant, disgraced, feeling the intense displeasure of her bonded wizard. No matter the status of their relationship, she sounds like someone already deeply unhappy to the point of apathy. Was she in robust health and spirits before you performed the severing?”
“Well, she was imprisoned in her rooms and barely eating.”
“I’m gonna call that a no.”
“Fair.” Alise sounded somewhat less despondent, which was definitely encouraging.
“Finally, every good experiment testing a new technique requires a control and you had none.”
“I don’t know how you’d control for that.”
“Offhand? I don’t either, but I can say with confidence that this was a flawed experiment.”
“It wasn’t an experiment so much as—what did you call it?—a desperation move.”
“Exactly.” He squeezed her lightly, aware of her birdlike bones and resilient spirit. “You can’t draw conclusions from that. You tried something desperate to help your mother, with the best of intentions, and it tragically didn’t save her life. But,” he said, talking over her when she tried to interrupt, “bear with me a moment, please, because this is important. The outcome could have, very likely would have, been exactly the same, with or without your attempt to save her.”
Alise was quiet for a long time. “I feel like you’re making excuses for me,” she finally said.
“Was Nic upset with you—did she blame you for your mother’s death?”
She twisted to look up at him, though he figured she couldn’t see more of his expression than he could hers. “Of course not!”
“Because Nic is so even tempered, forgiving, never expects much of anyone.” He nodded knowingly, just in case Alise missed the sarcasm.
“Right.” Alise snorted at the image of fiery, strong-minded Nic being any of those things, then she sighed. “I know what you’re doing. Nic told me it wasn’t my fault, but…”
“But you decided to blame yourself anyway. And nearly tore yourself apart in the process.”
“I have to hold myself accountable,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to become a monster. I don’t want to be my father.”
“Oh, darling Alise. You couldn’t be. It’s not in you. Your heart is too big.”
“You have a worryingly skewed perspective of me,” she said wryly. “What about my sharp tongue?”
“Sharp tongue, soft heart,” he intoned. “That’s what my people say.”
She snort-giggled. “They do not.”
“You’ll see when you come to House Harahel. In the meanwhile, what are you doing to hone this skill you discovered?”
She levered up onto one elbow, a darker shadow looming over him. “Are you crazy? Nothing! First of all, if word of this possibility gets out, it will upend the Convocation, probably start a war between houses. And second, there is no way I’m going near doing anything like that ever again.”
He waited, but she had nothing more, silently vibrating in challenge. “Allow me to rebut then. First of all, word clearly has gotten out or House Ariel wouldn’t have sent that message, specifically to you. They know something. Maybe not all of it, but they suspect and—more saliently—they suspect you . You’re in danger, Alise, and you can’t wield denial as a blunt force weapon in hopes that the threat will go away. That goes for your second point, as well: you might wish you could undo the past, but you can’t. This is an ability you have. Do you really want to wait until you’re feeling desperate enough, again, to try a skill you never spent time honing and perfecting?”
“I just won’t do it,” she answered sullenly, after a significant pause.
“Not even to save someone’s life? To save Seliah’s life? Or Nic’s?”
“You don’t know it would come to that!”
“Neither of us knows that it won’t, either.”
A low growl emanated from her and she landed the meat of her fist in the center of his chest, making him grunt, mostly in surprise. “You are impossible to argue with,” she complained.
“I love you, too,” he said, quickly pulling her down into a kiss to cover the impulsive words. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t pressure her. She resisted only a moment, flattening her hand on his chest and releasing a little mew of pleasure. So sweet, his Alise, her tongue caressing his, soft and sensual, not sharp at all.
They divested themselves and each other of their clothes, taking their time and sharing long, lingering kisses and caresses in the process. The mood had turned between them, somber with the release of Alise’s intense grief, joyful in their shared intimacy. In the muted darkness, with the snow muffling all sound from outside, he slid into the welcoming embrace of her body with the final and finite sense of coming home at last.