The Source of Magic: A Fantasy Romance

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The Source of Magic: A Fantasy Romance Page 13

by Rowan, Cate


  The earth shivered, sending an echo humming through his bones. He dug his fingers into the dirt, whispered a listening spell and waited.

  Another tremor—deeper, longer. Nearer. He reached for the silken bag with the starlace and tied its long cord at his hip.

  Jilian was deeply asleep. He hesitated at the sight of her peaceful face, but shook her shoulder. “We must go.”

  She woke, blinking in confusion. “What? Why?”

  “We’re in danger. Lace your boots and follow me.”

  Alvarr looked around for the fydds, but they were gone. Smart beasts. Loyalty wasn’t always their greatest asset, but they had a good sense of self-preservation. They were in as much danger as he and Jilian. Maybe when it was all over they’d find the fydds again.

  And when it was over—if they made it—he’d give himself the castigation he so richly deserved for not being better prepared.

  He hung the saddlebag with their food and water over his left shoulder and buckled the sword belt around his waist. The tremor grew. Alvarr felt the stirrings through his boots now, not just his mind-sense.

  So did Jilian, in the midst of lacing her second boot. When she looked at him with questioning eyes, he put a finger to his lips and motioned her to hurry.

  He grabbed her hand and they stole away, leaving their bedrolls behind. Too late to save their belongings—better to save themselves.

  At least they had the starlace. He touched the bag and was momentarily reassured, but the claws of all his demons still sliced through him. A beautiful woman cries in your arms and you forget all sense. You don’t deserve her—or the royal dais your parents graced.

  Alvarr spread his mind-sense around them, and with it his sight was better than Jilian’s. Twice he steadied her as she tripped over gnarled roots, but fortunately she kept silent despite the shock of each stumble. Clasping her hand firmly, he led her down the trail. The moonlight was dim, but every little bit helped.

  Then they heard the howl.

  Alvarr glanced back at their camp. A dark bulk snorted and sniffed at their abandoned gear. Jilian saw it as well, and gripped his arm.

  Too late for stealth—time to run!

  He tugged her into a sprint. She kept up with him, her breaths rough with fear. Stay calm or it will be worse for her…

  But they weren’t ready, and he knew it. He was still too weakened by Bhruic’s assaults and the Crossing to Jilian’s world and had deferred Jilian’s Source training. Even at the height of a mage’s strength, most would shrink from a confrontation with a goroth.

  Five hundred yards more to the cave. They should have camped in it. His mistake could kill them.

  The roar sounded again, ominously closer. Trees cracked behind them. How close, he didn’t know, didn’t want to look.

  “What…is that?” Jilian asked through ragged gulps of air.

  “I’ll explain later. Cave ahead.” With his free hand he pointed at the waist-high entrance to the cavern, mercifully visible now.

  The scream of rage behind them spurred them forward. “Don’t look, just run!” Another tree cracked behind them. It blasted over their heads and crashed in their path, roots rawly exposed, clods of dirt plunging to the earth. “This way!” He yanked her around it.

  As they dodged the tree, Jilian looked back. He couldn’t blame her. But the fear on her face ripped his heart.

  He jerked the saddlebag off his shoulder. “Take the food and run for the cave!” The entrance was only a few paces away, but the narrow opening in the rock would cost precious seconds to scramble into. He drew his sword and turned to face the creature that until now he’d known only from legend.

  Two fanged heads snapped and hissed on long neckstalks. Oily black scales gleamed in the dim moonlight, highlighting eyes the hue of lava. A forked tail whipped in the air, mirroring the flickering of the two glowing jade tongues. Each tongue hovered between four lethal canines as long as his blade.

  “Alvarr, climb in!” Jilian screamed from behind him. He risked a quick glance to be sure she’d scrambled into the cave entrance, then began to back toward it. He was still fifteen feet away when the twin heads growled.

  The rumble of sound shook his spine and would have raised the hair on his neck, if it weren’t already spiked. Grimly, Alvarr tightened his palm around the sword hilt.

  The demon’s right head hissed toward him, glistening teeth bared. Jade flames roared from its mouth.

  Alvarr vaulted away just in time. By Fate, this one breathes fire!

  Then my blade is useless. He slid it into his scabbard with a savage thrust. All he had was what little magic remained to him—and goroths were nearly immune.

  Gritting his teeth, he summoned all his power. “Narvath crenor jassim,” he whispered. A feeble shield-sphere swelled around him—for all the good it would do.

  The goroth’s left head whipped toward him, fire speeding in front of it. The transparent shield-sphere wrenched back with the assault. Alvarr’s skin warmed through the shield.

  Mother Fate, he begged, how do I get into that cave?

  He glimpsed Jilian’s horrified face, lit a sallow green by the goroth’s fire. Seconds later he deflected another assault. His skin baked in the heat and his kyrra drained rapidly.

  His fingers brushed the silken herb bag still dangling from the loop on his trousers and he cursed again. They’d come all this way for the herb—he couldn’t crush it. He undid the knot with one hand and raised the edge of the shield. “Catch!” he shouted at Jilian, and threw the bag. Wide-eyed, she snatched it from mid-air. Bless her reflexes.

  The goroth attacked again, this time from above. Alvarr drew the shield-sphere up to withstand the downward assault. The shield deflected the flames, but the heat mauled him.

  Bellowing, both the heads came at him at once, one from in front and one from behind—between him and the cave. He dropped to his knees to reduce the size of the sphere and thicken it, but when the flames struck, heat shrieked against his body.

  The heads retreated for a moment, inhaling to replenish their fire breath. His only chance.

  He lifted the back edge of the shield-sphere and dove headfirst, twisting, into the cave opening. With a scraping jolt he landed on his side. He scrabbled for a handhold to grab so he could pull himself all the way in—but not soon enough. The goroth’s flames licked at his boots. He screamed in agony and yanked his feet up the passage.

  “Here!” Jilian grabbed his hand to haul him in. Alvarr scrambled away from the searing fire and into the dark shelter of the cave…and collapsed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The pain raging in Alvarr’s feet tugged him out of an exhausted sleep. He groaned at the pressure of his burned heels and sore body against the cruelly solid cave floor.

  The touch of gentle fingers on his brow eased him from his torment. He opened his eyes to semi-darkness lit by a wan candle.

  “I’m so glad you’re awake,” Jilian said. As she moved, the flickering light cast shadows across the worry lining her brow, the tension in her mouth. She laid a cool, moistened cloth on his forehead.

  He reached for her fingers and held them against his cheek. By Fate, he was glad to see her again. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine. You, however, have a terrific case of scorched feet. Second-degree burns, I’d say.”

  He moved one of his feet and hissed at the throbbing pain.

  “Men,” she harrumphed. “It’s not enough to be told something, you have to test it, too.” But the corners of her lips curled up.

  He sat up carefully, grimacing at the aches along his side where he’d landed. “Did the herb survive?”

  “It seems fine. That guard-spell Varene put on the bag may have worked after all. Thoughtful of you not to land on it, although it looks like that cost you.”

  “Bruises heal,” he said with a grin. A glance up the passageway showed a narrow glow of daylight. “Is the goroth gone?”

  “No. Waiting at the entrance,” she said sole
mnly. “I nearly got singed myself when I went to take a look.”

  Damn.

  She hesitated. “Why can’t you fight it off with your magic?”

  “Goroths have a kind of magic themselves, one ancient and powerful. Only greater power can affect them. After my last Crossing, I no longer have that. And after the fight with it, still less.”

  “Oh,” she said in a small voice. She busied herself with re-dampening his cloth, sparingly.

  He noticed her efficiency. “How much water and food do we have?”

  “Not much. If we’re careful, enough meals for three days. As for water—a bit less. I needed to soak your feet to help the burn.”

  He caught her distressed look and touched her arm. “Then stop using the water for my forehead. I’ll be all right.”

  “Can you conjure more?”

  “In need, yes, though it may not be as sustaining or nutritious as that which comes directly from the earth.”

  She gave a nod. “I was worried about you. You felt feverish.”

  “I probably was. I heal quickly. Although—” he grimaced at the throbbing— “these feet may take a lot longer to recover.” He paused, frowning. “Unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  At last there were no excuses left for either of them. It must be done.

  He reached for her hand and clasped it to his chest. “The time’s come, Jilian. Time for you to become a Source.”

  Jilian struggled to keep her face expressionless. At his words, she became aware again of the dangling pendant and its chain around her neck.

  She didn’t want to battle some freaky evil sorcerer! She’d already been nearly terminated by an arrow from said sorcerer’s men and was now cornered in a cave by a double-headed, fire-breathing nightmare.

  But as she stared at Alvarr, feeling the rhythm of his heart under her hand, she knew that all she’d been through wasn’t even the worst part.

  What if she tried to do this Source thing—truly tried to help him—and couldn’t? Perhaps she wasn’t really a Source. How would Alvarr even know? There hadn’t been any since he’d been a baby. Or even if she were, she might not be a talented one like her mother was. She might be useless.

  And when he realized it, Prince Alvarr of Teganne would do exactly what all the other men she’d ever trusted had done: abandon her.

  His gaze weighed on her, and his silence. Finally, unwillingly, she turned to look at his red and swollen feet.

  How could she refuse a man who’d just risked his very life to save hers?

  But he’s the one who put my life in danger in the first place, the little voice whispered.

  She scratched a phantom itch on her calf. Maybe, she whispered back. But you, little voice, don’t sound very kind. Or admirable.

  Expelling a breath, she met his eyes. “All right. How do I do it?”

  Alvarr’s shoulders lowered as he exhaled, too. He released her hand from his chest and turned it so her palm covered his. “Just be open to what happens.”

  His fingers intertwined with hers and a heat like the inland California sun grew between their hands.

  The tingle began there and crawled up her arm. It reached her midline and a warm radiance cascaded through her body. Gasping, she glanced down, expecting the blaze to be visible—but only the candle from her pack shed its light in the cave. But oh, how she felt the tingle—exquisitely, from head to toe.

  She peered at Alvarr, who watched her with the smallest smile. “What is this? What’s happening?”

  “Through touching, we’ve built a bridge between your power and mine. What you feel is your own kyrra.”

  Overwhelmed, she closed her eyes. Every cell in her body was joyously vibrating, fully alive. But even more, the power seemed to concentrate in certain…places. Certain erotic places. She shifted her legs beneath her, trying not to wriggle. “What now?”

  “Transfer the power you feel to me.”

  He wants me to give up this feeling? She eyed him sidelong.

  He caught her glance, held it, and his voice rumbled sensually. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” He chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t worry, I won’t take all your kyrra. But if you transfer some of that power to me, I’ll heal more quickly.”

  “If I lend it to you, do I have less? Does it come back?”

  “Over time it will replenish. The power of a Source is a part of you, a facet of your soul.”

  She nodded, then shot him a candid glance. “Do you…feel this the same way I do? The same…quivers?”

  He raised her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles, watching her.

  Her body flared in response to the caress and she shut her eyes. Don’t be stupid! You’re just responding to that kyrra of his, not him.

  He lowered their hands. “I feel something similar. But since you have much more kyrra than I do, the quiver’s probably stronger for you.”

  “I have more power?”

  “Yes.” He grinned. “I used to be one of the strongest mages in Teganne—but you’re a Source. My power is but a lirrahcup to your lake.”

  Jilian drew her brows together. “Do only mages and Sources have kyrra?”

  “Everyone has it in their soul, but most can’t access much of it. Mages have far more than most—but even we can’t tap all of it without lethal risks and exploiting many grievous, dark arts. Sources, though…your power is vast, and reachable. You just can’t use it yourselves.”

  She frowned. “If Sources are so powerful, what happened to them? Why did they disappear?”

  “They’ve always been rare. And therefore, prized—or feared. That’s one price of power.”

  He laid their clasped hands on his muscled thigh. “It is said that years ago a skilled mage, perhaps the most gifted our world has known, chose the dark arts. His outlook became twisted, and the things and people touching his life became twisted as well. He knew that a mage and Source, linked by partnership, could wield much greater power than he could by himself. He also knew that if he linked with a Source, he might not be able to fully control that partnership. He thought it best, therefore, to eliminate any possible competition—by annihilating the Sources.”

  Alvarr’s eyes grew somber. “The assassinations were stealthy, inventive, and swift. So swift that few knew of the extent of the tragedy until it was too late. Finally there was only one Source left. Your mother.”

  A cold knot formed in her stomach.

  “No one in Teganne knew of the murders when she arrived for a visit with my parents. They’d been the best of friends for many years, and my mother, who was at that time carrying me in her womb, asked Sara to be my FriendMother. Sara assented, and in a ceremony before my parents’ court, placed her hands on my mother’s belly and vowed to help guide me into life, and into wisdom. That evening, my parents received word of the assassinations.”

  The blood drained from Jilian’s fingers, leaving them cold.

  “My father told me that when Sara heard about the murders, she grew quiet, and took her leave to go to her room. When she didn’t return after several hours, my parents became worried and went to see her. They knocked, but there was no answer. Frantic, they had guards burst down the door. The room was empty—except for a smear of blood on the flagstones.”

  Jilian’s shoulders tightened. “What happened?” she whispered.

  “My parents assumed she’d been assassinated. They blamed themselves for leaving her alone after they knew of the killings, and they mourned her. Deeply. Jilian, I know they loved her very much.” He reached out and cupped his palm against her cheek as her heart skittered in her chest.

  “A fiveyear later, a letter from your mother appeared without explanation in my parents’ suite. She was alive, but didn’t say where she was. She apologized for the ruse and the pain she’d caused them, and said she’d had to do it to escape the other Sources’ fate. Then she wished my parents and her FriendChild, whom she’d never be able to see, long lives, happiness, and peace.” He
dropped his hand and his gaze. “Unfortunately, few of those wishes came to pass. My parents tried to trace the letter. They made discreet inquiries, dispatched several highly trusted seekers—all to no avail. She was nowhere to be found because she had literally left our world.”

  “How did you find her again?”

  “Long after my parents died—” and Jilian heard the tiny catch in his voice— “I recalled something my father had said about Sara. That she’d loved knowing obscure things, and was always researching this or that. And that she’d spent time during one of her last stays in Ysanne studying your world—what the mages knew, and what the Old Letters said. Our situation was desperate, so I took a chance. In my arrogance, I assumed my father’s description of Sara would be enough. And when I saw you, I thought I’d succeeded.” A slow smile crept across his face. “You must look much like your mother.”

  “So I’ve heard. Though I’ve never seen any pictures of her when she was young. I guess…that’s because she was here,” she said, startled by the very idea. “But I have her smile, and her dark hair, though hers has gone gray. There must be traits I inherited from my father, too…I’m just not sure what.”

  Alvarr cocked his head. “You didn’t know your father?”

  “I was six when my parents split up. I never saw my father again.”

  “That must have been difficult,” he said quietly. “You were very young.”

  “So were you, when your parents died. We seem to have that in common.”

  His palm rested a moment on her shoulder. “Why didn’t yours stay together?”

  “Mom wouldn’t talk about it.” Jilian recalled the framed wedding photo she’d once found buried among the nightgowns in her mother’s dresser drawer. The glass had been smeared with years of fingerprints. “When I asked her about her marriage, she’d only say that sometimes people, even those who love each other, can hurt each other just by being themselves.” She took a breath, then looked back at him. “Do you think that’s true?”

  “Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully. “Though it may also mean those two people aren’t supposed to be together.”

 

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