Chapter 50
Chapter fifty
Seraphina
Sera snuck from her room and walked the halls to find Vasso. She needed a plan. One that didn’t rely on the Council of Elders. She’d done what they asked, found a doorway, and written a note, doing her best to render phonetically the sounds of the words Vasso had used to open it.
The task was complete. The only problem was that the Council could choose to go back on their word, and, well, a demon lord could not.
Ophelia was pulling threads in rapid succession from the center of the pool. It was late… or early. Sera had fallen asleep beside Alistair and had no idea what time it was.
“Do you know where Vasso is?” she asked, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands.
“In the training field, I believe,” Ophelia said over her shoulder, but when she caught sight of Sera, she paused. “Seraphina, are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine.” And wasn’t that the biggest lie she could tell herself? Nothing was fine.
Waving Ophelia off, she trudged to the entryway that led outside.
The stone door was open, and the dawn light trickled in.
What she needed to figure out, preferably before she set foot in front of him, was what Vasso wanted.
They were at war. She was his enemy, and he had agreed to a bargain to teach her how to wield magic. Why?
Reasons, her magic said to her.
Nothing of use, per usual.
There must have been a book in the archives that could explain the two of them. She didn’t think that a witch and a warlock with the same magic would experience this. In fact, she was positive they wouldn’t. Otherwise, surely Dominick would have been exclusively with other oracles.
An ache formed in the center of her chest, and she rubbed at it absently, scanning the training circle for Vasso. His lean figure was nowhere to be seen, but a butterfly made of shadow, leashed by a wisp of black mist, landed on the tip of her nose.
She smiled to herself and followed it into the woods.
Ironoak Forest was waking around her. When the butterfly’s silhouette vanished into the thinning trees, she saw Vasso atop a boulder overlooking the valley. He had a book in his lap and graphite in his left hand, shoulders slumped and white hair in disarray.
Her heart lurched when he looked at her. Moons, he was stunning. Unnaturally so—otherworldly, even, if she had to guess.
“Am I interrupting you?” He seemed so serene, sketching on his pad, she felt a little guilty.
“No.”
The boulder’s rough surface ripped at her palms when she climbed up beside him.
There was a sheer drop off the ledge below, and she realized that she and Alistair had almost died at the bottom of this slab of granite.
But up here, with the sun rising over the Lanac mountain range, where the clouds burned with orange, rose, and lavender dawn, she wished her heart didn’t feel so heavy.
The beauty of the sunrise was mocking her grief as she thought of Colton and Dominick.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Who?” Sera asked.
“Plaranina.” Vasso pointed to the highest peak with his stained fingers. “Even so close to solstice, she is still capped with ice and snow.”
“I didn’t realize she had a name. We just referred to it as the Lanac Mountains.”
“You’ve been above ground for too long,” he said and rubbed at his chest. “You’ve been crying.” He scanned her face, then her body with a pinch of panic she’d never witnessed from him. He was usually so cool and unconcerned. “Would you like me to maim him for you?”
Sera huffed a laugh. “No, he didn’t do anything. Well, he did, but it wasn’t his fault.” She sighed, thinking of how hard Alistair had cried when she held him. “I know that we’re at war now. I know our realms are fighting each other for power.”
“Supay seems to be hungry for it.”
“Is he the one who took Nora?” she asked.
“Yes. He’s unstable, to say the least. Making desperate decisions that don’t benefit the realm.” He ran his hand through his hair. He was wearing his signature black outfit with the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone.
“How long have you been out here?” she asked.
“A few hours. I enjoy the air. Sleep comes difficult to me. Where’d you get these?” he pinched a piece of gray silky fabric from her sleeve. “I saw you wearing them the other day when we met your familiar.”
“The domovoi brought them to me. Figured you wouldn’t mind, with how accommodating you’ve been lately.”
Vasso scoffed.
Sera hesitated, but took a deep breath before asking, “Are we going to talk about yesterday?”
“It’s been a lot to take in.” Vasso worked his jaw and stared back out at Plaranina, his voice deepening. “But I like the way my clothes look on you.”
Heat blazed up her neck and across her cheeks. Of course they were his. They were the color of his eyes.
“Why do you keep braiding your hair?” he asked and pulled her braid from behind her back, laying it on her shoulder.
All she could think about was the way he had tugged it.
How deeply he had kissed her, how much she wanted his hands on her even now.
“I need some hair creams from the Citadel. It’s a mess if I don’t moisturize it.
” Losing her nerve to bring up their kiss again, she said, “I didn’t know you liked to sketch,” motioning for him to hand his book over so she could inspect it more closely.
He raised one brow at her but relented.
The sketch was of the mountains. The peaks and valleys had just enough shading that the empty paper appeared to be white snow. “It’s exquisite,” she said. Vasso didn’t say anything, just continued looking toward the rising sun, deep in contemplation.
She flipped back a page, and there was Snik, seated, his head tilted, ears out wide. The resemblance was uncanny. She could feel the curiosity coming off the page as the goblin looked forward.
Then further back again, and there was a bird in three phases of flight. Then a vuk. “How long have you been drawing?”
“For as long as I can remember.”
Sera turned the book over, taking in the type of leather it was bound with. “I’ve seen these before. Have you lost a few of these sketch pads?”
Vasso shrugged. “Most definitely throughout the years. What did it have in it?”
“A wolf, or vuk, like this one. Three birds in phases of flight. There was an aliato…” She flipped the page again, and there, in much more detail than the crude drawing she remembered, was the elken.
One more turn and Sera held her breath. Everything around her grew silent as she stared at a perfect rendition of her face on the page.
He’d drawn her, captured her flawlessly.
Her hair was wild, her brows scrunched in concentration, and her chin set firm as if she was determined to make something work.
She should’ve been embarrassed by the face she was making, but it was so expertly captured that she could only behold it in awe.
“It was yours,” she whispered.
“What was?” He glanced at her then. “Aah, you weren’t supposed to see that one.” Vasso closed the sketchbook and placed it on his other side.
“You drew those pictures. The one I was cataloging before I left the Citadel.”
“I don’t know how I feel about the Citadel having renditions of my work.” He lowered his voice. “But if it was you who preserved them, then I guess I can live with that.”
He gave her a half smile, and a fluttering exploded in her chest. Somehow this felt like a quiet apology.
They sat silent together until the sun had crested the highest peak. Sera curled her knees to her chest and rested her chin atop one. “How do you really feel about what we saw at the ruins?”
She didn’t know why she asked. Probably to get the disappointment over with.
That, and to avoid the topic of their kiss.
He was already pulling away from her, not that they had been close to begin with, but there had been contact between them.
And yet Sera couldn’t stop thinking about his lips.
The undiluted joy in some of the images.
And although she was seeing Vasso through her own eyes, she knew that if she could have seen her face in those moments, the looks would be reflections of each other.
Sera felt the heat of his gaze along her cheek but refused to look at him, not wanting him to read desperation on her face.
“That’s a complicated question,” he said.
“Why?”
“I have lived a long life.” Vasso cleared his throat. He rubbed at the callus along the inside of his palm over and over. “Your—our vatra magic isn’t common among my kind. The fact that we can wield it together…”
Sera let a trickle of her mist leave her hand. Thinking of her familiar, she manipulated the fog to form the raven.
Vasso chuckled. “You and birds.” He pushed his magic into hers.
A chill ran through her, followed by a rush of warmth, and slowly her mist raven flapped its wings. It was Vasso who made it move—made it better.
“I need to ask you a favor,” she blurted out.
He tilted his head toward her. “A favor? I thought you said no more bargains.”
She smiled and nudged his shoulder with hers. A slight breeze had a few stray strands of hair tickling her cheeks and neck. “Alistair needs to take Ophelia within the next day or two. He will return for me… but…” She swallowed. She prayed Dom would forgive her. “I can’t go back.”
Vasso raised his brows.
“The Citadel is in full war mode. They aren’t going to spare a team to save Nora,” she said.
“You know this for certain?”
“I don’t, but they were already reluctant. They won’t give me a team if it means more demons can be slain in this war.” The sun burned bright ahead of them now, washing away the purples and pinks of the morning, painting the sky solid blue. “I need you to take me.”
“Shit,” he hissed.
“What?”
“So you want me to march you into the underworld and do what with you? Seraphina, they’ll rip you apart.”
“I plan to ask for a trade. Me for her. I’ll sacrifice myself if I have to, whatever it takes. Barter me… I don’t care, just help me. Please.”
He bared his teeth and looked away.
It was a death wish. She knew that was what he was thinking, because she felt it too.
It was the least she could do for her sister.
Somehow Nora had escaped death, but Sera knew it wouldn’t be for long, and that was one thing she wasn’t willing to let happen.
Sure, Ophelia had said Nora wouldn’t perish underground, but the witch also went on and on about free will.
“And what do I get in return?” he asked. There was no lilt to his voice, no smirk or sarcasm.
“Anything you want,” she whispered.
His gaze danced along her forehead, across her eyes, before settling on her lips. She parted them, dragging in a shallow breath. Was that what he wanted? Her?
“I’ll think about it,” he grumbled, and he slid off the boulder.
“Vasso, I don’t have much time.”
He started to walk away, but stopped. “Nothing will bother you. Follow the butterfly if you get lost.”
The mist insect floated in the air, and he departed without another word.