Chapter Thirty-Three Riela #2
“Thanks,” I murmured drily.
He blinked, then shook his head. “That wasn’t disparagement. The seal is affecting your magic more than I anticipated.”
“So remove it.”
“Not until I’m sure the removal won’t harm you.”
“Then I hope you like icy hands and grouchy companions, because that’s what you’re going to get.”
“I’ve lived with Grim long enough that grouchiness no longer bothers me, but I would prefer that you didn’t push yourself
too far.”
The wolf made a disgruntled sound that did, indeed, sound grouchy. At least he was no longer looking at me like I was someone
who needed to be eaten.
“Let’s try the door,” I repeated. I held up my free hand when he scowled. “I won’t push myself too hard.”
After all, there was no such thing when we needed that door open.
Sitting in the middle of the stone dais that served as the doorway to Lohka, I let my magic expand again and ignored the way my chest compressed.
My control faltered as I felt the burning intensity of Garrick’s attention.
He was watching me like a hawk, and while he hadn’t said a word, he was hard to ignore.
I’d tried to shoo him away—twice—but he’d refused to budge.
Apparently, he didn’t trust me.
I refocused on the stone under me as I let my power coat it. I still couldn’t feel its magic, but I’d opened the door without
trying, so if the world were fair, opening it again should be a simple task.
The world was rarely fair.
The sun tracked across the sky, a warmth I felt less and less. I kept pushing magic at the dais until my chest felt like it
was stacked with heavy books and my fingers were numb and icy, but the door didn’t respond. When my magic wavered, Garrick
growled, “Enough.”
He scooped me up before I could protest, my limbs slow and clumsy. His chest was a furnace of warmth, and I huddled into him
without thought. He hissed out a curse when my fingers bled cold through the cloth of his tunic.
“I shouldn’t have let you push yourself so far,” he muttered. Regret roughened his voice.
“My choice,” I whispered.
Between one blink and the next, we were in Garrick’s study. He crossed the room and sank into one of the chairs in front of
the fire without putting me down. His magic pulsed, then he handed me a stoneware mug that was gently steaming.
I wrapped my stiff fingers around it and hissed at the heat.
“Too hot?” Garrick asked.
His hand was already moving to snatch the cup away, but I shook my head. “It’s okay. My fingers are just cold.” I peered into
the cup, but it was unclear what kind of liquid it contained. “Can I drink this?”
“Yes, it’ll help.”
With that dubious endorsement, I took a careful sip, then fought not to spit it back out. The liquid was thin like tea or water, but it tasted like something you might muck out of a livestock pen mixed with a strong herbal base.
“Ugh.” I couldn’t help the sound, and it was a fight to keep the tiny sip down. “Are you sure this isn’t poison?”
I could feel Garrick’s chuckle as it vibrated through my side. “It helps with magic overuse.”
Despite the cup’s burning heat, the liquid inside was just above body temperature, which hadn’t improved the flavor. My fingers
must’ve been colder than I’d thought, but even that wasn’t enough to make me want another taste.
“Don’t sip it,” Garrick advised. “Drink it in a single shot.”
I shuddered. “No, thank you. Once was enough.”
“It will help your magic recover faster.”
“It could turn me into the queen of Yishwar, and I still wouldn’t drink any more of it. It’s vile.”
Garrick laughed again. “It is, but it will help you. Drink it, and I’ll make you something better to wash it down.”
I shook my head and lifted the cup. “You drink it, then make me something better.”
“I already had a serving this week. That was enough.”
I leaned away from his chest until I could squint up at his face. “You drank this? On purpose?”
His arm slid around my back to keep me from tipping into the fire. “I did.” His jaw clenched and his expression flattened.
“I drink it more often than I would like.”
I stared at my cup, dubious, then peeked back up at Garrick. “If this is a trick, then I’m going to curse you to stub your
toe every time you get out of bed. Your little toe. Hard.”
A smile briefly settled on his lips, softening his face into something that looked like affection, then he blinked and it
was gone. “It’s not a trick, but I will remember that you have a vicious streak.”
“See that you do,” I grumbled, staring at the cup. I took a deep breath, held it, then tipped the terrible tea down my throat,
trying not to taste it.
It didn’t work, but I drained the cup. I clamped my lips together to keep it down and tears filmed my eyes. Vile was too mild of a word.
Garrick righted the mug, then his magic pulsed. “Here, this will help.”
I took a cautious sniff, wary of anything else that could “help.” But a sweet, minty scent hit my nose, and since that had to be better than the previous drink, I took a sip. The mint flavor was strong, which was exactly what I needed to cleanse
my palate. I drank deeply.
“Better?” Garrick asked.
I scowled at him, but warmth spread from my belly. After a moment, my fingers lost some of their icy stiffness. I closed my
hand into a fist and it no longer hurt. “Huh.”
“Told you.”
Garrick’s voice was entirely too smug, so I used my newly pain-free hand to swat at his chest. He caught my fingers before
I could repeat the action, but his skin was no longer fiery against my own.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
He tucked me closer. “You’re welcome.”
I spent the next week in the courtyard, the library, and, occasionally, my bed. More than once I’d fallen asleep in the library
and woken up in my room—alone. Garrick had been serious about regaining my trust before returning to physical pleasure.
Despite the heat simmering between us and more than one unsubtle invitation on my part, he’d kept himself under rigid control,
ending each day with a brief, searing kiss—usually on my knuckles like I was a princess in a story—and a look that could melt
stone. It was frustrating and admirable in turns.
But it had also given me space to figure out if I should trust him again with more than just my physical safety—and physical pleasure. Because if I let him into my bed, then I would
inevitably let him into my heart.
And my trust in him had grown by the day, because while I knew he must be frantic to get the door open, he’d never once pushed me. Instead, he’d brought me food and books and had even
paid one of the humans brave enough to enter the forest to go and collect my things from the cottage.
Unfortunately, the woman had returned with news that the house had been ransacked and the miniatures of my parents were nowhere
to be found. She’d brought back a few books, all badly damaged, and that was all. The villagers had wasted no time before
looting my house.
It shouldn’t have felt like such an attack, since a literal mob had shown up to force me into the forest, but it still stung.
Losing the paintings of my parents stung more.
Garrick tried to take my mind off it by spending most of his free time helping me learn to control my magic. And it worked . . .
kind of.
The door refused to open, but I could steal a sticky bun without feeling like my chest might cave in, and overall, my magic
obeyed me slightly more. With enough time and focus I could perform a very basic magical attack or conjure small amounts of
ice and water—though I’d yet to be able to create another icy vine spear no matter what I tried.
I wasn’t going to be a talented mage anytime soon—or maybe ever with the seal in place.
However, the more research I did on magical seals, the more I understood why Garrick was hesitant to remove mine. It might
kill me, but more importantly, if things went sideways, I might have enough power to level the castle—or the forest.
It was a concern for the seal on the doorway to Lohka, too. But I’d somehow slipped past the seal rather than removing it, so most of my research was focused on how I’d done it.
And if I could do the same with my own magic.
So far, the books had provided precious few answers, and my attempts to open the door had resulted in frustration and fatigue and not much else. I scowled at the source of my disappointment, but the smooth stone remained quiet and the doorway didn’t magically appear despite my glare.
“Patience,” Garrick murmured. He and Grim were on the dais with me, as they’d been every day this week. Garrick didn’t trust
me not to try something dangerous—with reason, considering my frustration level—but I felt the failure even more keenly because
I was wasting his time in addition to my own.
The porridge I’d eaten for breakfast soured in my stomach. Patience hadn’t worked. Carefulness hadn’t worked. It was time
to try something new.
According to the books that Garrick had magically translated for me, the door was keyed to certain Etheri. Since this one
was in the Silver Court, it was keyed to King Stoneguard—to Garrick. He could open or close the door at will and control who
crossed through.
But I wasn’t part of his court, and I’d opened the door. Somehow, I’d slipped through the cracks, so Feylan’s binding had
a flaw. I’d been searching for it all week, and I’d found nothing.
I’d already asked Garrick to revoke his vow and attack me. Predictably, he’d refused.
But Grim wasn’t part of the vow.
The magical wolf was wildly protective of the Etheri king, which I was counting on. That and surprise. I’d worn my own clothes
today because I didn’t want to damage any of the new things Garrick had given me. He’d raised an eyebrow at breakfast, but
he hadn’t asked about it, so it was basically like he had agreed to the plan.
Or so I told myself.
My fingers trembled as I carefully drew the dagger from the sheath at my waist. This plan hinged on instincts and speed. If
I threatened Garrick quickly enough, then Grim would attack before the Silver King had the chance to call him off.
A peek revealed that Grim was closer to me than Garrick. Perfect. I braced myself for the pain, then turned and lunged for Garrick, dagger first.
Grim’s jaws locked around my arm before I’d taken my second step. A deep growl rumbled in his chest, but his hold was surprisingly
gentle. None of his fangs had even scratched my skin.
But it was Garrick’s raised eyebrow that made my temper explode.
If they didn’t see me as a true threat, then they wouldn’t attack. I wrenched my arm back, and Grim let me go rather than
biting down. Frustration mounted, and I turned and drove the dagger toward him.
The magical wolf didn’t move to defend himself, and I pulled the strike at the last moment. I was the one who was supposed
to get hurt, not Grim.
“Riela—” Garrick started.
“Fight me, damn you,” I snapped, then flung the dagger at him. My magic pulsed, and the blade flew true, propelled by my rage
and frustration—and power. Avoiding it should’ve been simple for an Etheri king, but although Garrick’s magic crackled around him, he stood his ground,
and the blade buried itself in his shoulder with a sickening sound.
For one breathless second, everything froze.
My eyes widened, unable to believe that the strike had landed. Blood bloomed through the pale gray of Garrick’s tunic. No.
No, no, no. I held up my hands, as if I could take it back, but the stain grew.
Garrick tumbled to the ground and Grim snarled.
“You were supposed to dodge!” I shouted.
Garrick didn’t respond, and true fear clenched around my heart. Etheri were hard to kill. He should’ve shaken off this wound
in a matter of moments. So why was he on the ground? Had something gone wrong with his magic because of his vow to protect
me?
I started toward him, but Grim blocked my path, his hackles raised. It was exactly what I’d been aiming for, but that was
before I’d actually hurt one of them.
“Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” I whispered as tears filmed my eyes. “You were supposed to attack me.” I eased closer, and Grim allowed it, but his growl was a constant rumble at my side.
Most of the dagger’s blade had disappeared into Garrick’s shoulder and the growing bloodstain was now bigger than a dinner
plate. I needed to get the blade out and put pressure on the wound. And learn how to magically heal in the next thirty seconds.
I ripped off the bottom of my threadbare tunic and wadded it into a bandage, then I reached for the dagger. Fear and desperation
and regret knotted in my chest as tears dripped down my face.
When I wrapped my fingers around the dagger’s hilt, Grim’s growl deepened into a warning. I pulled, but the tip of the blade
scraped against bone on its way out, and the feeling startled me so badly that my grip failed. I lunged forward and caught
the bare blade just before it would’ve hit Garrick again.
The sharp edge cut into my fingers, but I ignored the pain as I carefully set it on the dais. I pressed my makeshift bandage
to Garrick’s wound, but he didn’t stir. “Come on, come on,” I whispered. I closed my eyes and desperately wished someone was
around to help—preferably someone who knew how to use their magic.
Freezing wind stroked icy fingers across my blood-dampened hands, and when I looked up, a woman with a bow was cautiously
approaching. When she saw Garrick, her expression hardened and she pointed the bow at me, shouting in a language I didn’t
know.
Silver magic pulsed behind me, then an unfamiliar voice said, “Stand down, Hania.”