9. Lovette
Chapter 9
Lovette
F lying hadn’t calmed me as much as I’d hoped.
As I circled above the conclave, watching the trees sway and the world peacefully exist below me, a few thoughts kept coming back around. It was silly and absolutely not what I should have been focused on, but what my mind wanted to revisit nonetheless.
First of all, I’d never been kissed like that before. The way Gaius's lips had felt against mine had set every nerve in my body on fire. Not that I had all that much experience with kissing, but it had never been like that. And he’d called me brilliant. Kindhearted. Lovely . He had a nickname for me. Which meant that even if he saw the mate bond as a problem, it wasn’t necessarily because of me. Despite the dark shroud of frustration, a spark of hope burned bright in my chest, under my ribs.
Right where my freshly sparked mate bond lived.
After forcing myself to stone sleep that night so I could get some rest, then nearly melting my fingertips off by scrubbing every inch of the infirmary by hand the following day, I’d stalked off to the forge, needing Imogen’s advice on things.
When I arrived, I found no trace of my sister. The fire wasn’t even lit in the furnace. There was, however, a man hanging up a new selection of leather sheaths and belts.
“Brom?” He spun, surprise widening his mossy-green eyes. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Have you seen my sister?”
Brom was somewhere between Imogen’s age and mine, tall and broad through the shoulders. He’d been in the same training class as Lionel, my twin, and had been the most talented of their year in field-dressing wounds. He had dark brown hair nearly to his waist, some sections near his face adorned with leather strips braided through. Brom was a bit of a loner, but we’d had a lovely time chatting over dinner with some of his friends not very long ago. He’d had me check a scar on his shoulder that I could have helped heal a bit nicer if he’d come to the infirmary for some stitches.
A subtle smile crossed his face. “Not in a while. I was just delivering these.”
I stared at him, wondering if my sister had also been keeping secrets or if he was harboring a little crush on her that I’d never noticed. “I see. Well, it’s not like her to be away. Maybe she’s off on an errand. If she comes back before you go, can you tell her I’m looking for her? Your work is very good, by the way.” I patted the sheath that hung along my thigh, the one he’d made that held my new citrine-handled dagger.
The one I’d killed those guards with.
Brom’s chest puffed at my compliment, but the prideful gesture was balanced by the blush in his cheeks. “Thank you.”
I raised my hand and turned to go, gut soured at the thought of the rooftop fight. “See you around.”
He waved, and I walked as quickly as I could away from there, following an impulse to take to the air once again, only this time I headed beyond the bounds of Revalia.
Knocking on the door of Ophelia’s hut brought a levity that mixed strangely with the sinking, panicky feeling the heavy magical wards around her forest gave. I’d dearly loved the time spent learning my craft under the sorceress, short though it had been.
Ophelia had what could only be described as an intense aversion to being around other people. There was no telling what mood I’d catch her in showing up unexpectedly. She was ancient, and that could bring an unpredictable, volatile nature. To be sure, existing for too long could make the most together creature quite mad. Thankfully, I’d never once seen her show a hint of the terrifying nature my father worried about.
I simply adored her.
The door swung open just as I was raising my hand to knock again, but instead of the squatty old woman I was expecting, I came face-to-face with my sister. “What are you doing here?” I blurted.
“I could ask you the same,” Imogen answered, frowning.
“You’re letting the bugs in, girls. Close the door, and come join me,” Ophelia called from somewhere within the cozy dwelling.
We walked together into the little hut’s living area, Ophelia smiling from her favorite chair as she gestured to a tray stacked with fresh bread, a little pot of butter, and steaming teacups.
“You’re just in time, Lovette. This loaf just came out of the oven. I’ve done the honors already.” I knew her well enough to know that meant there was at least as much whiskey as tea in the delicate china cups. “Sit down, the pair of you.” We stared at each other from our seats across from one another. I was to Ophelia’s right, and Imogen to her left. I noticed a faint scent in the fabric as I settled in, something sweet that reminded me of our cousin Greta. I wondered if maybe she and her husband had been recent visitors.
Ophelia sighed as she buttered a slice of bread. “Go on then. Drink some tea and tell me how it is you’ve both come to see me on the same day about mate bonds.”
Imogen choked on her tea, and my cup rattled on the saucer as I picked it up. My sister blotted her face on her sleeve as Ophelia chuckled.
Mother always said that fortune favors the bold, so I sipped mightily on the contents of my cup, the faint sting from the way it burned my throat preferable to going into this conversation without the help of the strong liquor.
“May I see that weapon, child?” Ophelia asked, putting her hand out.
“Oh. Of course.” I unlatched the sheath and pulled out the dagger, placing the handle in her palm. “Brom was at the forge earlier, by the way,” I added, raising my eyebrow at my sister. “He was restocking.”
“Mmm.” Imogen’s noise was bland, but I didn’t miss the way she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giving me a reaction.
“This is well suited to you, Lovette.” Ophelia nodded, handing me my blade back. “And it’s excellent work, Imogen. You are doing very well honing your gift. The citrine was a perfect choice.” The pride on the ancient gargoyle’s face was something to behold, her smile wide if gap-toothed, her cheeks crinkled. “Though I’m very curious how a healer has managed to use it in such a way.” She brushed the tip of her finger against the flat of the blade, and I fought to keep from shrinking against my seat under the full weight of her stare.
“What way?” Imogen asked, tone threaded with concern.
I’d somehow forgotten how intuitive the old sorceress was. The way she knew things was often as impressive as it was disconcerting. “It’s a long story.”
“The best ones are.” Ophelia nodded, emptying her cup. She glanced between us. “Go on then.”
“I…” I swallowed and skipped ahead, asking, “Is there a way to break a mate bond? Or could it be ignored? How long until one or both bonded went mad if they did?”
Imogen swore. “For the record, I knew you were keeping something from me.”
“You’ve got secrets too!” I accused, defensive through my guilt.
Ophelia just laughed. “That’s quite a question, girl. No, fated bonds cannot be broken without death to one of the pair. They can be ignored, sure, if you don’t mind feeling like you’re carrying around a hot coal in your chest with no hope of soothing the ache. For how long? Nobody knows for sure. Most pairs who try this last only decades, but some have endured without fulfilling the bond for centuries.”
“There have been mates that ignored their bond for hundreds of years?” Imogen asked, horrified. I wasn’t sure whether this information left me feeling hopeful or saddened.
“Not many,” Ophelia said gently. “And it isn’t pleasant. Nobody gets away unscathed, no matter how hard they pretend.” She frowned, eyebrows drawn together as though she were visualizing someone specific. “Tell me, Lovette. Who is it you’re looking to break a bond with? Must be someone dreadful if you’re ready to go that far.”
Imogen leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “It’s Gaius, isn’t it.”
My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I put my shoulders back, sitting up straight before nodding.
“Is it now?” Ophelia asked, laughing so hard she slapped her knee with one hand. “What a match. Though you do balance one another nicely.” She stopped laughing and tilted her head. “Alright then. I see the concern.”
“I’m not surprised at all, you’ve had some kind of chemistry with him for a very long time.” My sister looked almost smug.
“Chemistry?” I demanded, oddly offended. “What chemistry? He’s mostly just infuriating. It doesn’t matter, anyhow, he’s not interested in fulfilling the bond with me. That’s why I’m here.”
“Mmm. But you haven’t told me the story yet, child.” Ophelia leaned forward, pouring another round of whiskey tea as she waited.
Short of leaving, there was no avoiding her request, and there was no good place to start. After several moments with her staring at me, my heart thumping painfully behind my ribs, I found myself blurting out everything that had happened. My mouth kept spewing words as I relayed how I’d followed Gaius to the council building, how things had gone wrong, how I’d ended up killing three guards. I managed to hold back telling them any damning specifics about our visit to Caster’s business or the resulting days spent quietly working beside Gaius, but I did include the broad strokes in my retelling. I glossed over the fight we’d had after the events with the councilmen and their guards, but they both grunted as if understanding why the rehashing of the covenants battle was a point of contention.
They both stared at me as I recovered by stuffing a piece of buttered bread in my mouth. Imogen swore under her breath again, long and slow, while Ophelia's head tilted to the side, her mouth half-smiling as though she were impressed. Admittedly, I felt quite a bit better after having spilled my guts. I’d been driving myself crazy avoiding my sister these past few weeks, and I hadn’t realized how heavily everything was weighing on me.
“My, my. That’s a tricky situation you find yourself in.” Ophelia sat back, regarding me carefully. “Don’t give up on him so easily. It’s what he expects, you know. He thinks the worst of himself. Always has, but since the covenants… the decline has been obvious to those paying attention.”
The ugliest of his words rolled through my mind. Unforgivable. Filthy. Deplorable.
“Not without cause, though, surely?” Imogen asked. “You don’t get to be in a position like his easily.”
“In fairness, he’s done terrible things. Haven’t we all? But nothing is that simple, even the most black-and-white situation contains many shades of gray. You know this.” I did. Ophelia squinted at me. “There’s more?”
I shifted in the cushion. “He also seemed very concerned about our ages. That Father would not approve.”
Imogen grunted. “Could go either way. Father will more likely react how he expects you want him to. Are you going to send our brothers messages announcing the happy news? I can only imagine how Lionel will feel about it. He’s never liked any of your suitors.”
The only man who’d ever shown any interest in me was one of my twin’s friends. My brother didn’t like that I was taking time and attention from his sparring partner, mostly, and it had only lasted a few months, besides. Imogen chortled, enjoying seeing me riled up.
“They’re only interested in my business when it suits them. They can just be mad for all I care.”
Ophelia laughed. “Well, Magnus is welcome to challenge the match, but it will be for no good reason if he does. Though I don’t believe he will—he’s been luckier than most of us, after all. You’re welcome to send him to me if he needs convincing.” There was a wicked glint in her eye. “He always brings me candy, and while I’ve got plenty in my cabinet just now, I’d happily take a bit more. And I do love to see them nervous like they get when they come here.”
“Candy?” Imogen asked.
“They? Nervous?”
Ophelia waved her hand. “The boys all think the way to keep me from becoming dangerous is to bribe me with salted licorice when they visit.”
“Should we be bringing you gifts?” Imogen asked, frowning in her concern that we’d breached some rule of etiquette we weren’t aware of.
“No, my girl, unless you feel you have something you’d like me to have. In which case, I’d take it and happily. You girls are always welcome. Those lovely women the demons have mated to as well, I’d like to see them as often as possible. They’re the most fascinating creatures I’ve had the honor of meeting in years. But your father? Any of the other soldiers? The demons themselves? I like that they think they need to make special arrangements or risk my wrath.” She faked a hiss, her hands up in pretend claws. After a beat, she started laughing, loud and enthusiastically. Abruptly, she stopped, her eyes narrowed, and she stared at me for so long I started to worry she’d dozed off with her eyes open. “Has Gaius done something to hurt you, Lovette?”
Imogen snorted. “They have no normal conversations, Ophelia. Everything is bickering. Their stubbornness is well matched.”
One side of her mouth lifted. “Yes, but I’m asking about actual hurt. That kind of banter is mostly play, is it not? I would very much like to see you put that man in his place. His ego has been far too large since he earned that special place with the council.”
I bit my lip, his words racing through my ears in harsh whispers. “I don’t think it was intentional. He is as Imo says. Just set in his ways.”
“So are you,” my sister added helpfully.
“Hush,” I chided gently.
“Mmm. Perhaps some space is needed. Weigh your options carefully. Leave him stewing in silence a little while. Time does many things.” Ophelia turned to my sister. “Now then, Imogen, what is it you want to know about young Brom?”
My sister blanched. “I never said?—”
“You didn’t have to.” Ophelia shook her head. “Nor do you need anyone’s approval to proceed if he’s your mate. Being forge mistress is an honor, but it’s still a job. A job is not supposed to consume your entire life. It is not meant to be solitary work, either. You should take on an apprentice, in fact, and very soon. Surely there’s a youngling with talent for you to train up. Perhaps two? If nothing else, they could man the bellows and keep the flames stoked at first, yes? And it would be quite convenient for blades and gear to be made and available in a single place, would it not? But you've already got designs on such a thing, I'm sure. Perhaps it’s also time for an expansion and reorganization. The conclave hasn’t been in danger in quite some time. Our kin could use with some good roots being put down. Tell me I'm wrong.”
Imogen’s mouth hung open. Then she did something I’d only seen her do a few times—she turned bright red and smiled. “You're not wrong, Ophelia.”
Ophelia tipped her head to the side in a gesture that clearly said “I know, but I told you so” and reached for her cup.
“Oh, saints. I’m so mad I’ve been avoiding you the last few weeks! I’ve missed everything!” She tsked her tongue and waved a hand at me. “I’m sorry, Imo. I was so scared that if I told you anything I’d tell you everything… and some of it is not mine to tell.”
She nodded. “I understand. I knew it had to be important for you to run off as soon as we got our greetings out of the way.”
“You’re both very wise, you make me proud,” Ophelia gushed. “So tell me, girls. What is it you seek from this old woman? Understanding? Permission? I’m afraid I’m not really in a position to provide either one, but I’ll give you placating words if that helps.”
Imo and I turned to one another, and we both let out snorts of amusement.
“I think we got what we came for. Thank you, Ophelia.”
She smiled. “It’s always my pleasure. Now go. Be happy, my girls. Whatever that means.”
The old sorceress shooed us out of her hut, the wards pressing in almost painfully after the bright energy of the inside.
My sister and I rode the wind, side by side, all the way back to the conclave. Though I still had some work to do where my mate was concerned, my heart was all the lighter for it.