Chapter Forty
Talen steps in front of me, close enough now that I can see the tight pull around his mouth, the muscle twitching in his throat. His eyes—stormy, unblinking—lock on to mine like he’s trying not to yell.
But whatever he’s about to say, he doesn’t get the chance.
“You two should go dance,” Rowan cuts in, grinning like an idiot. His voice is all sunshine and mischief, like he’s helping. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinking your relationship’s fake.”
“Rowan—oh my god,” I snap, shooting him a glare sharp enough to cut steel.
Talen doesn’t look at Rowan. Doesn’t even flinch. Just lifts one brow at me, a silent You told him?
I don’t answer, mostly because I don’t have to. Talen’s gaze shifts—quick, clipped—toward the far end of the courtyard, where Professor Strannt is leaning against his cane, watching us with that same thoughtful, dissecting look he has when he calls someone down for a Demonstration.
Talen exhales hard through his nose, not quite a sigh—more like the sound someone makes right before they punch a wall.
“Fine,” he mutters, voice tight. “I need to talk to you anyway.”
He extends his hand, not offered sweetly, but with the kind of tension that says this isn’t a request.
I don’t want to dance. But I’ve got questions, and he’s got answers, so I take his hand anyway.
Muttering something under his breath, Talen leads me toward the dance floor, his grip steady but tight. Once we are surrounded by cadets dancing, and out of Weasel Senior’s sight, he turns, pulling me in close. One hand lands at my lower back, the other slides into mine.
The warmth of him hits all at once—his scent, his body, the heat curling between us. It’s the closest I’ve been to him in months, and my body knows it. Muscles pull taut like they’re still pissed at him for shutting me out, for leaving me in the dark. Even if my head knows better now.
The music drifts around us, low and slow beneath the stars.
The air still holds a bite, that end-of-spring chill that clings to bare skin, especially where my dress dips low across my back.
A shiver rolls down my spine and Talen’s arm tightens.
Not much, just enough to notice. His hand shifts slightly higher on my back.
His touch is gentle, steady enough to pass for calm—if I didn’t know better.
As I glance up, I catch a fresh cut slicing down his cheek, small but deep, still red at the edges. For a breath, his gaze meets mine, and something in him eases. Then his eyes drop. Just a flicker. But it’s enough. He’s seen it, my arm.
The ointment helped, took the worst of it down, but the burn still lingers in red streaks that don’t quite fade into my skin. Faint, but not forgettable. His whole body stills, except his fingers that twitch where they hold mine.
“Did she do this to you?” His teeth stay clenched around the words, like he’s trying to contain it—whatever it is that wants to claw its way out of him.
I shift back a bit, trying to make it casual. “It’s fine. I’m fine,” Talen doesn’t look convinced. I nod at the cut on his cheek. “What happened to your face?”
He ignores it. Doesn’t even glance away. “No. We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.” His jaw tightens. “Did Beth do that?”
The way he says her name makes it clear he already knows the answer, but still, he wants to hear me say it anyway. But I don't want to talk about her, what happened, what I almost did, I'm not ready yet.
“It’s not as bad as it looks. Physically, I’m fine, nothing the healers couldn’t fix. Beth’s strategy was to drain me dry, then finish the job. Clever. Clean.” I shrug, but it doesn’t land right. “Anyway, what are you doing here? Lucien said you wouldn’t be back till next week.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just stands there, hand still resting against my spine, warm through the thin fabric of my dress. Then he exhales.
“I didn’t hear the results,” he says finally, voice breaking.
“I just heard she nominated you. And I just…” His hand curls into a fist against my back.
I feel it press into my ribs like he’s trying to ground himself—anchor whatever's boiling under the surface.
“I just fucking knew something was wrong.”
He came back for me?
“If I’d been here when she called you...” He breathes. “God, I would’ve killed her on the spot.”
The words land like a weight dropped straight into my chest. Guilt rises, thick and sour, curling at the back of my throat.
“Well… too late.” I stare at the ground, because it’s easier than looking at him when I say the next part. “She’s dead, and she was someone’s daughter. She was a sister. And Lucien. And it’s—” I swallow. “It’s my fault. Just like the baker, she's dead because of me, my actions. My choices.”
His right hand lifts, catches my chin and tilts my gaze to meet his, fingers rough from training, but the touch is steady. Gentle.
“Listen to me, Bloom.” His voice is soft, controlled, but it drags along the edge of something sharper.
“You’ve made mistakes. Sure. But this?” His brows pull tight as he looks around the courtyard.
“None of this is your fault. Beth wasn’t your fault.
She nominated you. She targeted you.” He lets that sit for a second.
Then: “If anything, it’s mine. My fault.
Just like the baker's death. I trusted her. I let her train you. I stood there like a fucking idiot and thought she—” He shakes his head. “Fuck. I thought you had…”
For a moment, I hold his gaze—eyes locked on his, dark hazel, gold catching in the candlelight. And god, it’s stupid, but I forget to breathe.
Because he’s still touching me. Fingers tilted under my chin, holding me steady like I might bolt or break, or both.
Heat floods down my neck, pooling low in my stomach—tight and dangerous.
But then the strap of my dress slips and his gaze drops, just barely—fingers brushing skin as he slides the fabric back into place, and suddenly the spell snaps.
The music drifts in again, muffled strings and low laughter from somewhere across the courtyard.
Right. I’m not here to dance, not here to talk about Beth, or get lost in whatever this is. I’m here for answers. About us, about what's going on with our magic.
I pull back from him a fraction, didn’t even realise I’d been leaning in.
“She told me,” I say, voice careful. “She told me about your first girlfriend. How she died…”
Talen freezes, body still, shoulders tight. I see it, the pain flickering behind his eyes. The split-second decision. Is he going to shut me out?
Then—
“Come on,” he mutters, taking my hand softly. “Not here.”
He leads me out of the courtyard and down a side corridor, the candlelight dimming with every step.
Then—once the music fades and the voices thin to echoes—he stops.
Hands catch at my hips, turning me gently.
My back meets stone, cool and solid behind me.
A quick flick of his wrist, and the remaining sounds go, everything falls silent.
For a second, he doesn’t speak—just looks down, dragging a hand over the back of his neck like he’s trying to haul the words up from somewhere deep. When they come, they’re rough and quiet.
“We were so young,” he says finally, not looking my way.
“Sixteen. I had just b—” He cuts off, swallows then continues.
“—my magic had just started coming in. Hard and fast. I didn’t mean to.
But I didn’t know how to stop it, and she was just…
she was so beautiful, so young. One second we were laughing, and the next.
..” He shakes his head. “I didn’t even know what I’d done, we’d done, until it was already over. ”
Another pause, this one longer. “My family cleaned it up. Told me not to talk about it, said the memory would fade.” His voice drops.
“But it didn’t. It’s still there, that moment, like it’s stitched into me.
” His chest rises as he takes a heavy breath in.
“But we figured out what happened. That it was a freak convergence, rare, almost impossible. Then you came along.”
His hand scrapes through his hair again, restless, before he finally turns to look at me.
“I thought I felt something when we were close, but I didn’t trust it, so I let it go. But then, Ashvale. When you said you felt weak… That’s when I knew, because that's what she said. Right before.” He swallows hard again as he drops his head. “And fuck... I knew.”
“It’s okay,” I say quietly. “I know you didn’t mean to do it. Brian told me how it works.”
Talen’s head snaps back up. “Brian?”
“The guard, Ezzy’s friend, he... never mind.” I shake my head. “Look. I know. It’s not just you. It’s us. It’s something between us. And I know you weren’t trying to take my magic. You weren't trying to kill me. You stopped. You pulled back. That’s why you haven’t touched me, right?”
“God, I wanted to,” he breathes. “I wanted to so badly. And that’s when I knew I was fucked. Because all I wanted to do was reach out and touch you—and I couldn’t trust myself, trust you.” He looks at me, eyes bare. “Your magic was so unstable, I couldn't stop it from flowing into me.”
“Was she the last woman you’ve been with? Like that, I mean.”
“Fuck, no. I was nervous after her, yeah. But I figured out pretty quick, it’s not something that happens with just anyone.
” A beat. “I’ve been with other women since.
My fair share. But that thing—the connection, the transfer—it never came back.
And I didn’t think it would. I mean, what are the fucking chances?
” His gold rimmed eyes lock on mine. “But if it was going to happen again... of course it’d be you. ”
“What do you mean?”