Bonus Epilogue
Vetiver Fenn
Vetiver sat behind his desk in the glass-paned greenhouse in the floralogy wing, enjoying the little bit of warmth the glass radiated from the few hours of sunlight Aquillas got during the winter months. These were the most peaceful hours of his workday. Just him and a sea of plants.
A thud came from the dry storage. He sighed.
And whatever that was.
He thought it was a rat, perhaps, trying to eat the dried holly berries or nibble on the Chicken of the Woods colony he’d been carefully cultivating. Curse me, he thought, pausing from his work plucking petals from a dried sunflower the size of a dinner plate. How did they get in there?
Vetiver rose from his knotty oak desk, nearly opting not to put his boots back on—then thought better of it.
He flung the door open, prepared to zap the rodent to teach it a lesson—but found a fellow Elven student instead.
“What are you doing in here?” His hand fell.
"Ah!" A doe stared up from where she crouched on the floor, her violet eyes wide.
Vetiver’s gaze fell from her eyes to her slightly tapered ears, then down to her chin, where a thick black stripe split into two down the small of her throat.
She wasn’t Elven. She must be the student from Valeria, handpicked by the Regent herself.
And judging by the state of the wooden root bins, she’d clearly been searching for something.
The surprised gape of her pink lips made his heart stutter for an infuriating moment.
He despised anything out of his routine, and finding someone in the storage room—a doe, no less—was the very definition of out of the ordinary.
She was forbidden fruit sitting right at his Spirits-damned "feet".
And saying Spirits-damned was not an overreaction.
She was small, with gently tapered ears that seemed nearly like the humans of old.
She couldn’t be taller than the thorn apple bush he’d planted last spring, about five foot three, maybe four.
Though nothing about this doe seemed prickly.
She was all soft angles, with coppery skin like the center of a pollinated sunflower.
“What are you doing in here?” he asked a little quieter this time, taking another step inside.
“I-I—” The doe retreated her hands from the roseroot bin and hastily shoved it back onto the shelf. “I was…taking inventory!” she sputtered and pushed her round spectacles up the bridge of her nose, pretending to inspect a bin of ginger rhizomes with a loud "Hmmm…"
“Inventory,” Vetiver deadpanned.
“Yes?” She flashed an unconvincing half smile.
“For which professor?” He’d never seen her in any of the horticulture or floralogy classes before, so she was likely in a much different wing of study.
“For…uh—"
“That was rhetorical," Vetiver said. "I’m the one in charge of inventory, so it’s my head on the line if you steal anything. So if this is about peppermint, you're out of luck. Professor Fulkow got sick of it all being—”
“It’s not!” the doe blurted, nearly a shout, then covered her mouth.
Instead of rearing back like he thought a Valerian like her would, she actually shot to her feet and stepped closer to him, so close he could smell the light, fancy perfume that clung to her clothes, littered with notes of cranberry and vanilla bean.
“I mean, it’s not. About peppermint, that is.
" She rubbed her hands on her arms repeatedly.
“I was going to replace what I took eventually, I just need…”
"What?"
The doe bit her plump lower lip, then held out her hands. They were slightly curled inward and trembling, and a couple joints were visibly swollen.
“What happened?” Vetiver asked, resisting the urge to touch them.
“It happens most mornings,” the doe admitted, starting to massage the pressure points between her thumbs and forefingers in turn.
“The healers back home don’t know the cause.
Mana therapies don’t cure it. Heat helps, but my fire died last night, so it’s worse than usual, and I didn’t have any enchanted hot stones ready.
I was hoping there might be an herb here that stimulates mana circuits. ”
“And you were planning to, what? Chew a bit of everything in here and hope something worked?” He scoffed, shaking his head.
“Not a great plan." Her ears fell back as she looked away.
He should have let it end there. Being alone with her was dangerous in his current state.
But instead of escorting her out, he found himself hurriedly adding, "But, depending on what you need, maybe I can help.
You mentioned hot stones?" That would be simple enough. In and out.
Peeking her head out the door, the doe looked left, then right, then closed them into the darkness. Vetiver snapped his fingers to start a little mote of green flame.
She sidled up closer to him, bringing them nearly chest to chest as she whispered, “I have an exam in twenty minutes. Hot stones won’t help fast enough. I need something more.”
“What is it?” he breathed. Sweet Spirits, her eyes. They shimmered like auroras in the blue-green hue of his magic.
“I need you to kiss me.”
Lady Blackbird Rowan
Why has it come to this? Blackbird Rowan asked herself. Look at me, kissing a stranger in a supply closet.
The scent of dried herbs and loamy soil swirled in her senses as she tasted the stag’s lips.
And she meant taste. Perhaps it was the heightened sense due to the darkness.
Or their proximity to breakfast. There was maple.
Butter. A hint of—her brows furrowed—cardamom?
Whatever he ate, it was a tragedy she was missing out.
“Is that enough?” the stag whispered against her lips.
Blackbird twiddled her fingers. Nothing yet. Not even a tingle. Sweet Spirits, it hadn’t taken this long with Octavio. Marg had warned her not to try mana sharing with anyone inexperienced. But a few times with Octavio and once with this stag had to be safe, right?
She parted from his lips for just a moment. “Not yet. Sorry…”
“You don’t seem to be enjoying this.”
“It’s not about enjoyment.”
“Perhaps it is,” he countered. “Can I try something?”
Her internal clock was ticking. She needed this to happen now. She had what? Ten minutes? It was hard to tell how long they’d been in here.
“All right,” she said shyly. Though this was no time for shyness. The fate of her academic career was riding on this stag.
He slid a large hand up the small of her back to her nape, fingering through her raven-black hair and deepening their kiss. A little shiver coursed down her spine as the heat of his fingers transferred to her skin. Yes. Good. Good. This was good. Skin contact. She had to note that for next time.
Wait, next time? No. There wasn’t going to be a next time. This morning’s unfortunate string of events would never be repeated.
Something clanked together, then crashed to the floor. Shards skittered across the floorboards. The stag’s grip on her tightened, a solid arm snaking around her waist to pull her to the side, presumably away from the broken glass.
“Sorry,” he grumbled. “Antlers. Tight spaces.”
“Are you all right?” she asked, pressing a hand to his chest. It was firm. Warm. Like fresh Ruisleip? bread, or the way a stone bowl would radiate heat after sitting in a sink of hot water.
“I’m fine."
He resumed the kiss and accompanying ministrations, this time letting his hand glide across her shoulder, then up to her jawline.
He twirled one of the braids framing her face with his fingers, the calloused pads occasionally brushing her skin.
A lightness filled her chest, followed by the electrical snap of mana coursing through to her center.
“Oh…” Blackbird’s lashes fluttered as the sensation overcame her. “Yes, yes!” she cried. There it was!
Her eyes shot open as the circuit completed. She quickly stepped back from the stag and splayed her fingers, feeling instant relief as sparks lit, then formed into a ball of light. Some pain was still there, but she could deal with it. All she needed was the magic.
“Yes!”
The violet hue illuminated the stag’s blank face. He was all chiseled angles, with fluffy hair and vine-twined antlers. With her glaring problem fixed, self-awareness surged in her chest, followed by white-hot embarrassment. She didn’t even know his name.
“Thank you—um—”
“Vetiver,” he answered. “Vetiver Fenn. Student Professor of Floralogy.” He gestured up at the ceiling, where various vines and boughs of holly berries hung from the rafters.
“I’m Blackbird Rowan. Though you might’ve known that. Or maybe not.” She pointed to her ears, which were noticeably shorter and less tapered than his. “I don’t assume everyone knows my name, but I am kind of a…um…”
What was she here? Back home she was Elvani, taken in by the Coastal Clan on Eteross. A lady-in-waiting. A best friend.
But this was now. Here, at the Tower of Mages, she was a freak. A freak who couldn’t muster magic this early in the morning just because the fire died in her hearth. A freak who’d just begged a stranger to kiss her in a closet.
“A what?” Vetiver’s steady voice soothed her. She blinked a few times. He was watching her. Just watching her, with big, calm eyes.
Her ears fell back. Oh. Right. It must have been odd for him, being implored for a bit of sustained lip-locking so early in the morning, especially from a Valerian. He was probably disgusted now that he knew. There was no way he would’ve agreed if he had.
“Never mind,” she murmured. “Thank you for”—she waved her hands around—“this. Sorry for ruining your morning.”
She was out of the closet before he could reply. She endured enough mockery on a daily basis—and she had an exam to ace.