Chapter 22
I’m thinking about walls.
Outside, in front of the cottage I share with Zan, I move through the forms of a kata.
I want Zan inside my walls—literally and metaphorically.
I felt uncomfortable at first with the idea of a lock, and I think I need to examine that.
Five hundred years ago, the Order walled me into a room with no exit. I was trapped.
But I was also, in a way, safe from them, for the first time in my life.
The problem wasn’t so much the wall, as that I didn’t have the key.
Well, I suppose I did, but I couldn’t use it without hurting myself.
The ability—the freedom—to open the door is the difference.
That I could have a space for myself by choice is the difference.
And—that I could choose to let someone in.
That I could not be alone.
That isn’t something that ever occurred to me as a possibility back then.
Sages are always alone.
But maybe they don’t have to be.
Maybe, there’s a space between letting everyone in and letting no one in.
Walls, yes—and also keys.
Zan is the key, for me.
How do I make him know that? I’m not Teren; comfort is not my gift to give.
Can he feel at home with me with all my wrath?
A hitch in my kata; there’s something there.
I chase that thought.
Can he feel at home with me because of my wrath?
I think about how when I detonated, the potential of our mate bond deepened.
I think about how he has never silenced me, only stayed by my side, no matter the anger I express.
I think about how when I punch him, he punches back.
But: it’s not all anger between us, either.
Certainly not today.
There’s laughter, and ice cream.
There’s flying, and holding.
Maybe wrath isn’t going to destroy what we have; it’s what brings us together.
It’s what makes it possible for us to hold this space for each other.
Without my wrath, I’d never have freed myself from the Order. I’d never have saved Zan, and he’d never have been able to save me.
Walls aren’t just a way of keeping people out; they’re a way of protecting what’s inside.
Boundaries can be opportunities for growth, on all sides of them.
Wrath can make space for joy.
My magic flushes through me at that thought, my kata settling into my skin in a deeper way. Clarity.
And it’s only then that I become aware of another feeling; so deep a part of me that I never registered it, because—a wonder—it means safety.
Zan is leaning against the door, watching me.
He hasn’t dried himself off; his hair is dripping wet, and he’s as unbelievably attractive as he was when he dropped us in the lake.
Somehow more, even, now that he’s not trying to hide that look in his eyes.
Is that why?
Dammit, I should have bathed with him.
Surely that would have been movement too.
...Perhaps not meditative in quite the same way, though.
Then again... maybe I should test that assumption.
Without ever stopping moving, because Zan of all people will never stop me, I crook one hand toward him.
In an instant, he darts in.
My magic reacts to him without thought, spilling out of me to curl around him.
I reach for him, but with a playful smirk, he doesn’t let more than my magic touch him.
But his magic also touches me.
It’s a different kind of dance, this one; we match each other movement for movement, a chase we both want to end the same way.
And ultimately it does, our magical auras of azure and magenta so entwined that they close us together, and we kiss as though it’s been a lifetime.
It has, of course.
I wonder if it will always feel like we’ve waited for so long for each other.
I finally break away for air, resting my forehead against his as we both breathe in each other.
“Let me cook you dinner,” Zan murmurs.
Not exactly where I thought we were going, but:
A dragon in the kitchen where he wants to belong.
An act of care for a mate.
He’s the one who needs to go slow, but as long as we’re still moving toward the same place, I can wait for him.
Not idly, though.
“Okay.” I smile. “I guess I’ll just have to make more ice cream to take the edge off.”
Dryly Zan says, “I’ll prepare the sink for a siege.”
This time I’m the one who kisses his forehead. “Put the lock on the door first?”
A boundary; a statement that we are an us, and that this is our sanctuary.
Zan’s eyes flash, and he kisses me again.
We eventually make it inside, and as threatened, I make more ice cream while Zan cooks.
I’m happy with my blackberry ice cream, but that just means I want to try more ice cream. Since blackberries are still the ingredient I have for that, though, I’m experimenting.
Zan told me I can use eggs in ice cream, too, and that it might make it creamier, like the vanilla ice cream I tried at Nomi’s house.
(He helpfully cracks them for me, since I am evidently still hopeless at that even when not pissed off at him. For now!!)
Eggs are a ridiculous food, I decide. That they can be a savory omelet or the basis for ice cream is unbelievable.
Then again, here I am, as the Sage of Wrath, trying to create joy.
Maybe eggs and I will find common cause yet.
I stir constantly, lest my ice cream become scrambled eggs, and add more vanilla but fewer blackberries, including them as chunks of berry deliciousness rather than straining them for syrupy goodness.
Not sure it will work, but I’m trying.
And if it doesn’t work, I’ll try something else, and Zan will help me crack those eggs, too.
When I return from placing the bowl in the ice house, Zan has set the table for us, with a spread of salmon, seaweed, and crushed blackberries for sauce.
“Seaweed dishes aren’t as common here as they once were, with all the new vegetables available in this era,” Zan tells me. “But I still like it.”
My chest aches.
He’s sharing something personal of himself with me, without me pushing for it.
“I’m not sure if you will, but I thought—”
I take a bite. Hmm.
“Needs more sugar,” I tell him seriously. “Really, is there any dairy in this vegetable at all?”
Zan throws his spoon at me, and I catch it, snickering, before taking another bite and tossing it back to him more gently.
He rolls his eyes at me, but a little bit of the tension leaves his shoulders.
It’s not what I would have thought to choose for myself, but this is the food of my new home.
After the first few slow bites I devour it, because apparently I’ve worked up an appetite—over the course of today and possibly forever—until a familiar sense pings at the edge of my awareness.
“Teren’s coming,” I say.
“Coming in fast,” Zan agrees. “Finish eating.”
Part of me flares at the command, but I do it anyway. Just because I didn’t need to be told doesn’t mean he isn’t right—the way things have been going on multiple fronts, I’m going to need all the energy I can get.
When the knock sounds at the door, I go to open it only for Zan to dart in front of me.
That anger burgeons a little more as I raise my eyebrows. Does he think mating makes me a child in our relationship?
When I see Teren’s haggard face, I rush to him, only for Zan to literally snarl and place himself bodily between us.
What in the—
Oh.
Oh.
Zan may think he wants to go slow with me, but his dragon instincts sure don’t.
Despite whatever brought Teren here, I smile.
I clear my throat and tap Zan’s arm.
When he turns dark eyes on me I grab him by the hair and crush his mouth to mine, kissing him hard in full view of our audience.
This time, for once, it’s him who breaks away first for air, looking slightly dazed.
“Better?” I ask him with amusement.
“Sorry,” Zan mutters. “I didn’t realize I would...”
“Didn’t think you could get more possessive of me, did you?” I finish smugly.
At my tone, the darkness in his eyes finally recedes.
But he says in a low voice, “Oh, I knew.”
And when Zan takes my hand firmly, the strength I hold him back with is maybe a little bit for anchoring me in the moment rather than losing myself imagining just how possessive he can be.
“My apologies for the outburst,” Zan says to Teren.
“Well at least something is going right today,” Teren replies wryly.
“What news?” I ask. “I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow.”
“Priests are in Crystal Hollow.”
Zan and I exchange a glance.
“Why?” I finally ask.
“We think they must have gotten wind of the message Nomi sent to Jiran, asking him to meet about your proposal for the ice line,” Teren says. “They’ve never monitored communication from Crystal Hollow before, as far as we know, but—”
“Before, they didn’t know there was a rogue sage hiding here,” I finish.
“Yeah.”
“What are they doing?” Zan asks.
“I don’t know,” Teren says. “Nomi sent me up the mountain as soon as we saw them coming in and was going to intercept them herself, so—”
“We’d better go, and fast,” I finish grimly.
“Eraya was with them,” Teren warns me. “I don’t think they’ll use violence in public with her at the front, but—”
“There are more ways to damage than breaking,” I agree softly. “Zan and I will go—” I doubt he will be separated from me right now “—but you should stay here.”
“No.”
“I’m sure you got up here because you’re wearing the scale talisman, but I put enough wards on the mountain to prevent the priests—”
“No, Yora. People need to see how the priests are with me, someone they really know. That’s the whole point of me revealing myself. I’m not staying.”
Argh. “Fine, we don’t have time for this. But we’ll have to go faster than you can move, so I’ll carry you—”
Zan twitches reflexively, and I pause.
“Better not,” he says in a pained voice.
Okay, maybe this possessiveness thing will be a little annoying after all. “Fine, whatever, but no matter how fast Teren got here we don’t know what the priests have been doing. We need to go now.”
Zan nods shortly. “Start. We’ll catch up.”
I take him at his word, and I zip out of the house.
Even taking our race to pick blackberries into account, this is the fastest I’ve ever run down a mountain. With a kata to enhance my reflexes, I practically fly down.
Carrying Teren on his back, Zan quickly paces me.