Water House

by Shelly Jarvis

  “Are you excited for the Match?” Dryden asked, steering the conversation into neutral territory.

  “Of course,” Ros said, forcing a bright smile. “Do you have something special planned for tomorrow?”

  She tried to listen as Dryden spoke, but found herself distracted from his words while she raked her eyes over him. He was shorter than his cousin, though not by much, and a bit stocky. His blond hair curled over his ears in a boyish way that Rosalinde found endearing. Dryden’s nose was crooked, like it had been broken and he hadn’t let a Healer tend to it. He was handsome, like Florian, but in a way that was more natural, less polished.

  Ros suddenly realized that he had stopped talking and was staring at her as if he was waiting for an answer to a question she hadn’t heard. Before she could make a complete fool of herself, Larkin appeared at her side and said, “Rosalinde, dear, I hate to pull you away from such stimulating conversation, but you promised my brother a visit before dinner. Shall we go find him?”

  Ros gave the Fire mages an apologetic look and said, “I’m sorry, gentlefellows, but I must keep my promises. If you’ll excuse me?”

  “Of course,” Florian said, a slight crease formed between his brows but disappeared almost immediately. “You’ll save me a dance tonight, won’t you?”

  Rosalinde nodded as Larkin pulled her away. They were already three steps away before Dryden called out, “Me as well, Your Highness.”

  Once the girls were out of earshot, Larkin said, “Good grief, that was painful to watch, even from a safe distance.”

  “That’s what I have to look forward to,” Ros said. She made to take another sip of wine, but Larkin grabbed it from her hand.

  “I changed my mind about the heavy drinking tonight. You’ll need your wits to avoid getting stuck with the likes of them.”

  “I’ll need the wine to tolerate my time with them. They’re all like this, Lark. I’m doomed.”

  “How fatalistic.”

  Ros recognized the deep voice. She turned to see the black-clad stranger leaning against the wall, arms folded across his broad chest.

  “You,” she said, eyes narrowed.

  The man’s smirk came easily to his face again. He nodded slightly and said, “Me.”

  “You ran off before…” Ros started. Before what? Before she could hate him more, or thank him again, or wipe that stupid smirk from his handsome face? She pressed a hand to her forehead, realizing she’d had too much wine in too short a time.

  “Good evening, sir,” Larkin stepped in, curtsying to the man. “Thank you again for helping Princess Rosalinde. As you can surely see, she isn’t feeling well tonight.”

  “Wine can do that,” he said.

  Rosalinde’s eyes darted up to him, but Larkin cut her off before she could say anything. “The Queen would also like to give her thanks and has requested you seek her out.”

  The man’s eyebrows lifted, and Ros was delighted that the Queen’s request had taken away that infuriating smirk. But as she watched him, she also realized that this man did not try to hide his surprise, or his amusement, from anyone. He wore his expressions with ease. It was a confidence like her mother’s, but rather than being built on holding emotions close to hand, his confidence seemed to come from giving everything away.

  “Who are you?” Rosalinde asked, giving into the drink and letting the wine loosen her tongue.

  An expression crossed the man’s face that Rosalinde couldn’t quite place. But then his smirk returned and he was giving his full title as all house nobles did: “Cassian Scalise of the House of Night, only child of Ombretta of Shadows, wielder of Darkness, heir to nothing.”

  Chapter 5

  House of Night. Wielder of Darkness.

  Rosalinde couldn’t get Cassian’s words out of her mind. Though the call to dinner had spared her from any further conversation with him, she couldn’t help but wonder what else the son of shadows might have said. And the big question on her mind, the one all other questions led back to: Why was he here?

  She let her eyes drift down the table, towards the end where Cassian was sitting. She’d dared a glance at him twice already, and both times he’d caught her before she was able to have a proper look. When he’d returned her look the second time, tipping his goblet in her direction, she’d turned her eyes away as quickly as she could, feeling heat creep up her neck and onto her cheeks. Though she wanted to believe it was still from the wine, she’d quickly lost all feelings of heady recklessness the moment she found out who the stranger was.

  Her father stood from his seat beside her, interrupting her thoughts. The room fell to silence, all eyes turned to the King of Talabrih as he began his speech.

  “Good and noble people, Elementalists and mages of renown, it is my honor to host you this night in our yearly celebration of our great houses. The crown welcomes my kin from House Water,” he said. A fine mist seemed to fall on the crowd, gentle and refreshing in the heat of the great hall.

  “We are pleased to host the great Fire Lords,” he said, raising his goblet to the cheers from their side of the table. The candelabras throughout the room seemed to glow a bit brighter with their raised voices.

  King Tancred continued, “We welcome our guests from my dearest wife’s dynasty, the noble House of Earth.” They pounded fists on the table. Flowers of extravagant colors bloomed from centerpieces where there previously had been no blossoms.

  “And finally, the esteemed House of Air,” Tancred said, taking a drink in their honor as a cool, sweet-scented breeze moved through the room. “I am delighted to see so many familiar faces, to renew the peace between our houses that we’ve enjoyed these long years, and to share our abundance of mutual respect with those faces that are new.”

  Ros shot a glance down the table towards Cassian. He drank a toast along with the others, not seeming to mind that his house wasn’t received in the King’s speech. But how would her father even know to include him? Darkness wasn’t really an element, just an outlying combination of...something. No one knew for sure what elements made Night house, so they couldn’t classify him with any of the others.

  “As you all know, this is an especially exciting time for myself and your Queen. This is the year our lovely daughter finds her husband in the Great Match. We look forward to the competition, and ultimately, to joining the throne to one of your fine houses.”

  He raised his goblet again, and Ros listened to the excited chatter return as guests raised their cups and began the feast in earnest. Servants carried platters laden with breads and cheeses, fruits, vegetables, and nuts grown in the Queen’s private garden, an assortment of meats in various states of preparation.

  Ros’ stomach grumbled at the sight of it all. She’d missed breakfast while indisposed with Alaric, had felt ill from anxiety at lunch, leaving wine as the only thing she’d consumed that day. She took two medallions of wild boar dripping fig sauce, a heaping of creamy sunchokes, several vegetable slices her mother had grown, and a fluffy, heavily buttered roll.

  While Ros lost herself in her plate, the room filled with hearty laughter and raucous stories, tales of feats and failures, epic stories of love and heartbreak, and finally, inevitably, the talk fell to discussing the Great Match. Although Rosalinde tried not to listen to the chatter, she couldn’t help but catch words here and there as the entire room discussed her fate as if she weren’t even there.

  After dinner and dessert, when all had eaten their fill and more, one of the participants in the Great Match worked up the courage to leave his seat and present himself before Rosalinde and the royal family. It was a tradition observed every year, no matter who they were competing for, that each contestant would present themselves for approval in front of the royal family. But this time Rosalinde found the practice suffocating, rather than building excitement as it had before.

  The first this year was a fire mage of a lower house. Nariq, he had said. A combustion mage.

  Rosalinde noted his curls of red hair, hi
s thin-lipped smile. He had a kind face, and if she’d seen him elsewhere she might have assumed him shy. But he was the first to make his way to the front tonight, his confidence belying his innocent appearance.

  Others followed, twelve in total, from Air and Water, Earth and Fire. Nariq the combustion mage was one of only two competitors she’d never met. The other was an Air Elementalist named Graeme, the dark-haired mage she’d seen fly in on the air phoenix. There were others she didn’t know well, but she had met all of them at least once or twice through the years.

  The Fire cousins made their way to her father’s side, Florian giving her a devilish wink as he stated his title. Larkin’s brother, Lyzandor, presented himself, unable to make eye contact with Rosalinde the entire time. Though there were some handsome faces among the others who would battle in the Great Match, Rosalinde found the whole affair a bit tiresome.

  Fortunately, there weren’t as many as Rosalinde had expected. The number changed each year, depending on how many twenty-year-old Elementalists there were at the time. A dozen seemed plenty enough as it was, and she was grateful there were fewer than previous years. Less names to remember, less pretense, less forced interactions throughout the week. Less to deny when she chose her husband.

  Her father stood, preparing to thank the participants and their houses, but a chair scraped against the floor in the silence her father had created, drawing all eyes to the heir of nothing, Cassian Scalise. He stood from his chair in a way that could only be described as lazily. Each step he took seemed to Ros to shake the room, though in truth his feet were silent as sin.

  Cassian reached the head of the table where the royal family sat, his eyes on Rosalinde the entire time. Though the other houses had made their polite bows, giving nothing more than what was required, Cassian made a show of bowing so deep, his forehead nearly kissed the floor. It was a gesture that sent the other houses into a whispered frenzy and left Cassian’s now-familiar smirk in place as he regained his stature.

  “Your Majesty,” he said. His eyes slid to the Queen and he added, “Your Grace.”

  Sariyah dipped her head towards him and said, “Good sir, I am at a disadvantage as we have yet to make an acquaintance.”

  “A misfortune indeed,” Cassian said. “My name is Cassian Scalise. I believe you know my mother, Ombretta of Shadows.”

  The assembly in the great hall made a collective gasp at the name. The last time anyone had seen Ombretta, she had been in this very room, speaking with the same two people her son now greeted.

  The Queen regained her composure as swiftly as she had lost it. “Yes, of course. How is your good mother?”

  “She is well and sends her regards, Your Grace.”

  Despite Sariyah’s calm exterior, the King was visibly shaken. His voice was thin as he asked, “And do you come tonight in her honor, to carry her words and gift us the presence of the House of Night? Or are you here on other business?”

  “It is my deep pleasure to represent the House of Night at this feast,” Cassian said.

  Ros studied his face as he spoke, seeing a genuine delight playing across his dark features. Whatever his motives, he was being truthful in that he was enjoying himself.

  Cassian’s eyes met hers and he said, “But I do have other business, Your Highness.”

  It took Ros a moment to realize he had addressed her, not her father. In all her years at feast, even tonight when men came forward to claim a right to her hand, none had addressed her specifically. Not only had he spoken to her, but he waited for her permission to speak.

  She took a steadying breath and asked, “And what business is that, Cassian of Night house?”

  “To participate in the Great Match, my lady. I’m here to win your heart.”

  Chapter 6

  Sixteen heartbeats passed before the ringing in Rosalinde’s ears stopped and she was certain what she heard. Even now, lying alone in her bed, she couldn’t believe what he had said. I’m here to win your heart. Not “win the Match,” or “win your hand in marriage,” but her heart.

  The thought sent a shiver through her. In that moment, she had looked into his deep, dark eyes and seen something there she wasn’t sure of. It wasn’t lust or desire, for her or power or anything else; no, it was more like...greed. Hunger. Whatever game Cassian Scalise was playing, Ros was certain it had nothing to do with her heart.

  But what could she have said at that moment? Could she have refused him entry into the Great Match? It had never been done before. No, he would be allowed to compete with the others as tradition dictated. Though Ros wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not even to herself, she was curious to see the mage in action, to see how far he would go.

  In the end, it wouldn’t matter what he did or didn’t do. The Great Match would display the Elementalists skills for the kingdom to judge, but it was Ros who made the final determination of who would be her winner. She could excuse Cassian from the games any time she wished.

  Her thoughts stilled when she heard light footsteps outside her door. The handle turned. Ros slipped from the bed and ducked behind it, readying her magic on her fingertips. Though there were dozens of guests in the castle this night and the week to follow, the royal wing of the castle was off limits. Guards were posted throughout the castle, so it was likely the figure that had slipped through her door would be familiar to her. Still, better ready to defend oneself than trust in the protection of others.

  As Ros watched from the edge of the bed, the figure moved through the room with familiarity. They walked to the bed and gently lowered themself onto it. Ros watched a hand reach out across the bed, searching the blankets for her and finding nothing.

  “Rosa?”

  She stood, extinguishing the magic in her hands. There was only one person who called her that. Alaric.

  She opened the curtain to let the moonlight shine through the window, bathing the man’s features in a soft glow. He smiled then, the expression changing his face into something nearly angelic.

  He was beautiful in the same way a stream is enchanting, the way a sun-kissed mountain could inspire awe. Alaric was like an unexpected snowfall at the turn of the season, surprising and lovely.

  But he was non-magical. He didn’t feel the pulse of the elements in his fingertips, didn’t know the rush of power surging through his bones. He was a local blacksmith from an inconsequential family; a quality craftsman, undoubtedly, but not someone she could marry. Alaric was a good man, but he wasn’t the right man.

  He moved to the window and placed his hands on Rosalinde’s waist. He pulled her to him, his mouth finding hers with practiced ease.

  Ros had kissed Alaric more times than she could remember, in more ways than she could count. But tonight, his lips felt like those of a stranger. There was an urgency, an electricity buzzing about him that she’d never felt before. It sent currents soaring through her, begging her for more, more.

  His hand slipped to the hem of her nightgown. She felt his warm, calloused fingers as they trailed up her thigh. Her breathing was shallow, ragged at his touch. She was desperate for him.

  Alaric’s lips moved across her jaw, down her neck, a welcome warmth that waned each time his mouth found a new place to kiss. He moved to her ear, nibbling gently as he whispered her name.

  Rosalinde closed her eyes, preparing to relish in the moment that Alaric took her. But instead she saw another man’s face in her mind: dark hair, dark eyes—Cassian Scalise.

  She pushed away from Alaric, eyes going wide. Her body heaved with excitement, panic, dread.

  Alaric’s features were sharp, half his face in darkness, half lit by moonlight. But she could see the worry etched at his brow. “Rosa, what’s wrong?”

  She rubbed a hand at her temple. “Why are you here?”

  He chuckled, reached for her. “I thought that was obvious.”

  Ros took another step back. “You can’t be here. Not anymore.”

  “Because of the Great Match?” he asked. “I don’t care ab
out that.”

  “I do. I’m choosing the man I have to marry. I can’t do that during the day and have you here at night.”

  Alaric pressed his lips into a thin line, his face taking on a serious expression she’d never seen before. “So, don’t choose anyone.”

  She huffed. “Be serious.”

  “I am,” he said. “Don’t choose some guy you barely know, someone you don’t love.”

  Ros shook her head. “Then what? Choose you?”

  “Yes, choose me. Is it really so hard to believe I would want that?” he asked, turning away as he ran his hands over his head.

  She sighed and said, “Alaric, we’ve always known how this would end. We’ve never pretended it was anything other than what it was. So why now—”

  “Because I love you,” he cut in. “I’ve loved you for a long time, Rosa. I’ve just been waiting for you to figure out that you loved me, too. But we’re out of time.”

  “You don’t love me,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You love rolling around my bed, you love the danger and secrecy, but not me.”

  Alaric fell to his knees in front of her, pulling her hand to rest against his heart. “Don’t tell me how I feel, Rosa. My heart beats for you. Can’t you feel it? Don’t you know I’d tear the very stars from the sky if you asked it of me? I’d count every grain of sand from here to Vashnadu. I’d soar on wings of light—”

  “Alaric, no,” she said, withdrawing her hand.

  “Please, Rosa. Tell me you love me. Tell me this meant something to you. Tell me the truth.”

  She stared down at him, memorizing every line of his face. The dimple on his right cheek, the thin scar through his left brow, the way his top lip dipped to create the most perfect, kissable divot. She ran her hand through his sandy brown hair, and when her periwinkle eyes met his hazel ones, she knew she’d been a damned fool. There was no possible way she could’ve kept herself from loving this man.

  But instead, tone flat and hollow to her own ears, she pushed out different words through her numb lips: “I don’t love you. This meant nothing. You need to leave and never return.”