A STONE STEEPED IN SECRETS #2
“What you and I are feeling . . . it’s not a weakness,” I said.
“I used to think it was. And yet, every time I looked at you, or you snapped at me for something I did or said, I grew a little more fond of you, until I couldn’t fight it anymore.
” When she remained quiet, I shifted my hips, reminding her that we were still joined, and that this thing between us mattered.
“This isn’t weakness,” I repeated. “I want you to know you can tell me how you feel.”
She tilted her head back, holding my stare, and gods the silence was worse than if she were to say she had no feelings at all.
“I . . . need you to tell me how you feel, Nivelle.”
This was the most vulnerable I had ever been with a female.
I had never needed to hear someone declare their feelings, because I had never had any to give before.
This felt so natural, and at the same time, it was completely terrifying, because what if I’d read her wrong?
What if this was just a minor thing for her? A game?
Say something, please, I silently begged.
Her attention lowered to my shoulders, then my collarbone, where my shroud lay inked upon my skin. She traced the upper markings with her fingers. “What does this mean?”
Not able to keep from hiding my confusion, I leaned back. Was she really asking about my shroud, when I just asked her about her feelings?
“Is it another mark from an injury?” she asked.
“No . . . It’s called a shroud. It’s the mark of someone who has sacrificed much for the sake of others. One receives it when a courageous, selfless deed is done.” My skin prickled where she trailed a swirl with the tip of her nail.
“When you almost lost your leg, then?”
I nodded. How did this have anything to do with—
“I did not like how my heart felt when you told me about your leg. It made me want to hurt whoever hurt you.” Her fingers stilled, and so did my breath. “And I began to wonder if this mark was the mark of a curse.”
“A curse?”
“Yes. Curses leave marks in their wake, for both the caster and the cursed.” Her hand spread over the center of my chest. “I am glad to know it is not a curse. If it was . . .”
“What would you do?”
“I . . . I would find a way to undo it for you.”
She was telling me how she felt without actually saying it. And I understood completely. This was her way of saying she cared for me—the way she knew how. And it was more than enough.
I grinned down at her. “So, am I still your worst nightmare?”
Her mouth tugged into a soft grin as she said, “If you are my nightmare, Roirdan, then I do not think I want to wake up.”
A few hours passed, and we finally rose from the bed and got dressed. As it turned out, there was another task that Nivelle was here for that I was not aware of.
And it had to do with the witch goddess.
“Tell me again why we’re summoning Torin?” I was already in a pouty mood after having to watch Nivelle put clothes on. Now, we were about to be in the goddess’s presence, and there was something about her that didn’t sit right with me. So it was my mood, this time, that was slightly sour.
“Because if Aremis wants to have any chance at breaking free from the Aether, he has to have a certain stone. At least, we think that’s the case.”
“And Torin has this stone?”
“She wears five. One of them has to be what we seek. And if it’s not, then maybe she will know where to find it.”
“Uh-huh . . . So you didn’t want to stay the night here just to take advantage of me? This was all about getting some stone for a spell?”
She looked up from where she sat, shoving her feet into her boots. “I wanted to stay because I still had unfinished business.”
“You mean me,” I corrected her, tossing a wink.
“Gods, what have I gotten myself into?” she muttered. Her foot slammed into place, and she side-eyed me as she laced it up. “Just don’t say anything to Torin. Let me do the talking.”
“You know that’s not going to happen.”
“Nightmare indeed,” she murmured, fighting a grin.
Apparently, there were certain beings Nivelle did not allow into her home.
Deities fell into that category.
Nivelle stood in the center of a stone circle, amidst the trees, while I watched from the perch of a lowly, twisted tree branch. She’d pointed to the low-lying branch when we arrived, and I knew what she was asking before she even gave the command.
Below me, on the ground, sat a satchel of some of her belongings that she had gathered to take with us back to Calledan.
One of those things, I flipped back and forth in my hand.
It was a small silver token, similar to a coin, though the crudely carved markings were not any that I knew of.
Nivelle said it was a prayer token that held an ancient incantation for protection—something that had been passed down in her bloodline.
When I found it on the mantel of her fireplace this morning, she told me to keep it.
Since then, she had been quiet. I told myself it was in anticipation of summoning Torin. It had to be. We had left the cottage on good terms, and if my pride had anything to say about it, she was thoroughly satisfied enough to not harbor any resentment toward me.
But the day is still young.
I chuckled to myself at the thought as I flicked the token into the air and caught it. Nivelle glanced at me from over her shoulder as if to say, Shhh. Then, her eyes and markings pulsed with that strange, blue light as she dropped to one knee and began the summoning.
The atmosphere tensed. If this illusion of a forest could breathe, it was holding its breath at what was coming. Mist flooded through the trees like a rolling tide, and I watched as it encompassed the bag that sat below me until it was no longer visible.
The eerie fog enveloped Nivelle’s legs. A few slivers curled up around her face as if to touch her cheek, like a mother would. She didn’t lean into the movement, nor did she shy away from it. She remained still as a statue, head bowed.
“My dearest,” a hushed voice reached from the mist. It was Torin’s otherworldly whisper, the one that came from her, yet somehow . . . didn’t.
From where I was sitting, I could still see Nivelle.
I kept my eyes on her, ready to unleash my power and protect her if need be.
Against a goddess, I was probably little more than rabble, especially here, where power was nearly nullified to that of a human’s nature.
But Torin would know my wrath in some form or another if she tried anything against Nivelle.
Fuck, that nagging thrumming kept tightening in my chest the more I thought about it. If this was the telltale sign of mates, I knew very well what Niall was going through every time he worried about Auren. At this rate, I didn’t want to let Nivelle out of my sight.
But I couldn’t tell her that. Not yet. Making any sort of bold declaration this soon was too risky. It might set us back again. And I rather liked the way things were progressing, even if she’d basically told me to sit and stay on this branch, like a dog.
The mist stirred, but Torin remained out of sight. “Surely the time has not yet come for war,” it said.
“Things are moving swiftly,” Nivelle replied. “I have given the Dionachs their orders, as Niall has instructed. They await their summons.”
“Then why have you summoned me?”
“I have a . . . request.”
Quiet. All-consuming quiet. Then, a form took shape from the mist, and Torin stepped forth, in the flesh.
Nivelle remained steady, unmoving.
“Look at me, dear. You know I hate when you keep your eyes lowered like that.” The tone with which she spoke . . . it struck me as condescending.
I clenched the token in my fist.
Slowly, with a defiant gleam in her eyes, Nivelle lifted her head.
What did she have against this goddess?
Torin took Nivelle’s chin in her hand and lifted it, examining what she found there.
Her thumb pressed against Nivelle’s bottom lip as if she was trying to wipe away the inked line that sat there.
“Such a brutal mark for a delicate face.” This time, Nivelle tugged her chin free, leaving Torin’s hand hovering where it had been.
“Delicate on the outside, but so much rage beneath.”
Nivelle’s face remained raised, but she flicked her eyes down again, jaw clenching so tight I could see the muscles feathering from where I sat.
The goddess frowned. “What is this request?”
“Niall’s second-in-command is a host for the Aether, and he is ready, and willing, to unbind himself from it.”
Torin tilted her head, worry and curiosity tugging her brows together.
“The Aether? In a fae?” She gave a humorless laugh.
“I have wondered for quite some time why the entity has not shown itself in another witch since the days when we arrived here. I thought that somehow the curse had found a way of unraveling on its own.”
“It has found a home in a different kind, but it has not been unbound.”
“Yes. I was a fool to believe that we could be rid of that curse so easily.” She stared at the ground next to Nivelle. “How is it that this fae has managed to survive it?”
“He is disciplined beyond his years, and he has an unyielding soul. His will is forged in steel.”
“And I assume you want to know how to unmake the curse?”
“I already know how. What I need . . . is the stone from the hearth.”
Torin stiffened. “How have you come by this knowledge?”
Nivelle hesitated. She had picked up on the nervous tone in the goddess’s voice, just as I had.
“Tell me,” Torin demanded.
“It was found in an ancient book in the fae realm. There was no record of who wrote it.”
Torin’s nostrils flared, and she tried to hide her change of expression by turning her back to Nivelle. “I would like to see this book.”
“I do not have it.”
The goddess took a step, then another, weighing her movements as much as she did her words. “If you bring it to me, I will consider your request.”
“But we need the stone in order to—”
“Do you even know what you are asking? The stone you seek is no ordinary stone, Nivelle, and I will not part with it that easily.”