Chapter 22 #3
I shiver at the progression of my thoughts, banishing the blessing from my system. I look warily upon him, then rest my focus on his booted feet. He makes a small noise, and my eyes snap to the indent in his cheek, sharpened by the genuine smile lifting his cheeks.
“I think I needed to be thrown on my ass a few times, actually,” he laughs. My heart lurches at the sound, not because of its richness, but because the sound is one he is allowed to make. And I am not. “But the truth is, I realize it more now than ever. Blessing or no blessing, I need you, Ether.”
He... needs me? What a strange thing to say.
We’ve not spent much time together. But he insists I have to be the one to help him.
But that could also be the blessing talking. The passion urging him to flatter me, to win me over. It’s still so fresh in his veins, so new to his body.
So new to mine too. The damn thing must be trying to convince me he’s being authentic.
I twist my sword into the ground. It spins and grinds into the gritty slate, which dulls its edge. “You could’ve found anyone else,” I mutter.
Ramiel traces circles with his finger on the ground next to him. His eyelids shade his irises evergreen. “Believe me, I tried.” He glances at me without moving his head, his eyes dark and dazzling in their moat of white.
Dark and dazzling? Get a grip!
“If I’m the only one, then you’ll learn the elven way,” I say as evenly as I can. I avert my gaze, floating my knife on my palm. The sun makes the curved indents in its surface gleam, almost transparent. “How much do you know about magic?”
He looks up for a moment. Searching his thoughts. “Not much. Magic is not prohibited in Arioch, but it is one of the lesser-known topics. Mages are the magic users. Witches and warlocks manipulate materials and use books to cast spells. But the magic you use is different.”
Not a question, but a confirmation.
I nod.
Then, with a slight nudge, I offer the icy energy from my eluviam, willing it into the blade.
It fills with a pale blue color, and the black of the obsidian becomes cold in my hand.
When I lift my fingers from the edge, the warm outline of my fingers is left behind briefly before the cold of the magic within extinguishes it.
Ramiel watches, eyes wide with fascination.
I coax the magic back, desperate to retain a part of my stores. The last time I used cold magic on him, I lost consciousness. Best not to let that happen again, especially so soon after consuming the tallup’s eluviam.
“The magic of Aldorin is pure, untaintable. Incorruptible. We are restricted to the elements: water, fire, earth, and air. Air is the first we master, since it allows us to travel along the treetops with ease. The next is water, then earth, then fire.”
I turn the knife over in my hand. He blinks at me.
I can sense the klopse nearing us, smelling the energy I’ve just exposed.
If it couldn’t locate us before, I’ve now alerted it to our position.
With a steady breath, I continue, “Magic flows beneath us in Aldorin, in the roots of the trees. All connected by the ley lines our goddess established long ago. Most creatures, like elves, ogres, pixies, nymphs, and lesser beings, choose to specialize in one of the four elements. Ogres, for example, use fire. Elves, air. Nymphs, water. All of us select an element that will help us with daily tasks.”
Ramiel’s smile forces me to stop.
“What?”
“I just find it interesting that your magic is incorruptible, yet you easily thwart the goddess’s wishes when transferring the energy into a weapon used for killing.”
I snort. “The weapon does the killing. The magic enhances the material.”
“So you specialize in…water, then?” He eyes the blade with interest.
I wipe the excess frost on my leg, then sheath it at my thigh. His focus is torn between my face and the skin I’d just exposed in the process.
“I’ve mastered them all,” I say plainly. I ignore how shocked he looks.
“So that’s why my father chose you,” he mumbles. I stiffen.
A gulp struggles down my throat. Heat brushes the base of my neck.
“I’m worried, to be honest,” I blabber. “About you. About what this trial you’ll be facing means for the fate of the kingdom. For the fate of my people.” Both are true.
My life depends on his failure.
His kingdom depends on his success.
We are at odds with one another.
Ramiel nods. “Everything will work out. I’ve seen you fight. And with my newfound magic and our connection, I’m confident. I will succeed.
“My father threatened me with the Feast of Undying. This year, the kingdom promised to reveal the face of their crown prince, officially announcing his duty to the throne.” His eyes are suddenly vacant as he speaks.
He doesn’t seem to notice how my entire body reacts to the mention of his father, or that my thoughts were already circling this topic.
“But with Xavelor’s death, there’s only one heir who can take the position. ”
“And that’s you,” I say flatly. My nose wrinkles.
How could the king not want his own flesh and blood to assume the throne?
Unless he has someone else waiting in line?
But that’s unlikely, because every Faundor ruler has been of royal blood.
Though Ramiel is not full-blooded, the fraction flowing in his veins still counts, doesn’t it?
Ramiel simply nods. “I’ll be expected to defeat a dragon, just like Xavelor would have. It won’t be easy?—”
Before I open my mouth to refute his negativity, the prince’s attention has snapped elsewhere. I follow his gaze to the stone wall of the arena, and my breath lodges in my throat.
The klopse has arrived.
Fuzzy and black, the little beast plods along the toothed crenellations of the arena, hair swept in rabid patterns.
I bet Ramiel can sense its slow beating of magic energy now.
The poor thing can’t even maintain its trademark camouflage, so it’s the furthest thing from a worthwhile source of replenishment, but the hunger in the prince’s eyes flashes as a canine’s does.
He’s starved, as I recently was. And he has no way of controlling himself.
I’d lured the klopse here to see if it might leave a shallow wound on the prince, to fulfill the terms of the deal between me and the king.
Just a scratch, I try to influence the klopse.
Of course, it cannot hear me. I still have no clue as to why it had been wandering within the castle’s training grounds.
Perhaps it’s a target for bored soldiers?
Or maybe they’ve been bred for other purposes.
No matter the reason, it offers me the perfect opportunity to put Ramiel at a disadvantage.
One scrape from a klopse and the injured body part will be out of commission until fully healed.
Ramiel’s eyes glaze over with venom. He has totally forgotten about the insignia that now glows along his bronzed arm, his eluviam overpowering it with the urge to conquer the beast and quench his thirst for magic. Reaching for his sword, he scales the wall clumsily to confront the ragged beast.
Guilt continues to claw away at me. He has magic, but he is also mated to me now. We have a bond. If he is hurt, I will be hurt too. That is enough of a disadvantage, is it not?
Uneasiness makes me twitch toward him, but he doesn’t seem to notice, so I call to him.
“You’re unwise to wield a weapon against that creature, especially an adult of its kind,” I shout, but he isn’t listening. His eyes are trained on the oblivious, soot-colored being’s wobbling movement along the wall. “Ramiel? Are you listening to me? You should come down from the?—”
“I feel a sort of magnetic pull to it. Can I get stronger if I... if I kill it?” The prince sounds unsure of himself, but his movements become smooth and calculated as he raises the sword above his head and advances on the creature.
I make a move toward him, but I’m suddenly restrained when he says, “No, watch from there. I want to do this on my own.”
Horror keeps me rigid, the blessing locking me in place, my mate’s order the law my body must obey.
He must be unaware of this aspect.
I hold my breath, focusing on the matter at hand. “You can’t fight that beast. It’s a klopse. A ravenously hungry one, at that. It’ll attack you before you even see it coming. It’ll kill you?—”
“This little thing? Kill me ?” Ramiel laughs. “It’s like a walking ball of yarn, it couldn’t?—”
Before the poor prince can blink, the coal-colored beast grows into its full size, about twice that of Ramiel’s head, and strikes his arm with its four massive teeth. The movement is almost incomprehensible, like a flash of black lightning.
I freeze. The prince freezes. Gods, time itself freezes. The world stops.
When everything resumes, my saber clangs to the ground, and I hear nothing save for the shriek of pain rippling from the prince’s mouth.
A searing sensation starts in my shoulder and spreads down to my elbow.
Tiny pinpricks shuffle along my arm, and I stop breathing, my face going hot.
This is what the bond does. It makes me feel what he feels, though the wounds won’t appear on my skin.
Realization floods me.
I can move.
I jolt up, clutching my elbow tight to restrict the pain. I realign myself with the prince.
He falls into the wall’s siding, stumbling over the edge.
His body thuds to the top row of seats and tumbles down, squelching along the slate.
Velvety red liquid flows down his arm and wets his clothing and face in patches of crimson.
His skin is already mottling along his nose and jaw and shoulders as his body nestles before me in an unconscious heap.
My phantom pain disperses as I glare at the bloody maw of the klopse.
Before it can take another breath, I’m on the wall, driving my dagger into its center.
Through layers of matted, soft fur, I reach its skin and wrench the blade through.
The beast must be so weak, it doesn’t realize I’m there until it’s already dead.
I grip its hair in my fist and toss its light body down the steps.
I quickly return to Ramiel and kneel to examine his wound. All four teeth went straight through his left arm, piercing straight to the bone.
Only a scratch , I’d told myself. How foolish am I?
I’ve made a mistake. Ramiel has a disadvantage already in our cursed bond. He doesn’t need a physical handicap as well. If anything, he is his own disadvantage.
I glare at the klopse’s corpse beside me, fur stiff from the humidity. Its weak core wouldn’t even begin to replenish my supply, but maybe it would help this weak prince…
The thought latches on like a flame to dry grass.
With my free arm, I dig through the klopse’s fur and stick my fingers into its death wound, searching for its eluviam.
I find what seems to be something scarcely bigger than a grain of sand— pathetic! —and hold it in front of me. Small and iridescent, it shines in the light. It’s the klopse’s eluviam, but it doesn’t have nearly enough energy to be of use to me or the prince.
Ramiel’s breathing slows. His eyelashes press tensely to his cheeks, and the hand of his unscathed arm stiffens into a fist.
The king asked for an obstacle, not a murder.
Cursing under my breath, I pop the tiny eluviam into my mouth. The small sphere melts on my tongue, and its energy spreads into my cheeks, then drops into my own eluviam, barely adding anything to the fish’s energy swirling there.
I consider Ramiel, the sweat beading on his forehead. My hand finds his, and I speak the words of Nwatalith’s healers: “ Anhakum, hakum anahum .”
To heal is to love, to love is to heal .
His arm continues to leak, creating a crimson puddle beneath us. There’s no time to consider his boundaries or if this is the right decision.
I’ve made a mistake, and this is a risk I must take for my actions.
With a huff, I lean over his disgruntled body and will the magic into my fingertips, hoping it transfers easily and I won’t have to resort to other means.
After a few seconds, Ramiel goes still.
Too still.
I hold his hand, feeling for his slow pulse.
Our village’s best healer, Alcottia, had once said a mated pair was each other’s medicine. That should one be in irreparable pain or need, the other had only to listen to Aldorin’s blessing, and all would be well.
She’d never been wrong before.
I may not be able to heal the wound, but I can stop the flow of poison the klopse had injected into him. I’ll have to hope it at least keeps him alive until human medicine is available.
Trembling, I shut my eyes and listen for a voice, an instinct. Anything.
Seconds pass, and dread fills me. The blessing chooses now to be silent?
Then, all at once, the panic and fear I’ve been suppressing slams into me—the blessing at its full force, writhing to the surface at the proximity of the mate dying in front of me.
“Just this once,” I say, heeding the buzzing in my arm.
The mark glows as an oozing heat rises from my eluviam, working its way into my neck. It is filled with a hope, a desperation, an uncontrollable desire to keep the prince alive.
My body twists on its own, not unsimilar to how the Sanvira manipulated my movements, but not as uncomfortable either. This feels… right.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, grappling with the control I’d done so well to maintain moments before. But that isn’t important now.
The heat floods me, energy rising within me, ready to transfer to my mate.
I succumb to the feeling, my eyes fluttering shut as I dip toward Ramiel and press my mouth to his.