“Great gods, put down the sword, Tessla!” Vale’s voice is muffled and he’s doubled over, his hand tight over his nose, his palm out to halt me. “I’m not trying to attack you! You were dreaming!” He pulls his hand briefly away, blood all over his face, all over his palm, streaking down his chest.
I hesitate, heart hammering and sword held high.
He curses in Alfsigr, then puts his hand back over his nose, pivots and lies across the foot of the bed, arching his head backward.
“What are you doing?” I cry.
He glares at me. “Trying to stop the bleeding! Put down the damn sword!” His voice is muffled, but stern, and it cuts through my senseless panic.
Everything falls together. The dream. The terrible dream.
I’m not in the woods. It was all just a dream.
I take a deep, shuddering breath, my panic slowly receding. I lower the sword.
I punched him. I punched Vale.
It’s a shock to see him sprawled out over his bed. Lean and muscular. The tops of his hipbones jutting up from his pants. His chest, streaked with blood. His head thrown backward, long neck arcing.
His half-naked state pushes my alarm higher.
“Why are you unclothed?” The question comes out as an unfortunate shriek.
“I heard you screaming,” he grinds out, pinching his nose tightly. “I didn’t throw on my tunic. I just grabbed my wand.” He holds up his wand and flicks it idly in the air. “I quickly realized you were dreaming, and I was trying to wake you.”
I huddle at the top of the bed, trembling and hating myself for it.
“Can I have a handkerchief?” he asks. “Top drawer, side table.”
I fish out a handkerchief from the drawer and hand it to him with shaking hands. He takes it with a wary glance, keeping his head back.
I eye the blood on his chest. “That’s a lot of blood,” I say apologetically.
He throws me an incredulous look. “Well, you hit me really hard.”
“I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice.
He lets out a sigh that’s muffled by the handkerchief and shakes his head, glowering at the ceiling. “It’s not just because of you. I’m prone to this.”
“Getting punched?”
He coughs out a laugh, then cringes. “No, nosebleeds. Whenever I pull air magic...if I pull too much, my nose bleeds. It’s an incredible nuisance. Amuses Fain to no end.”
There’s a dark bruise blooming under his eye.
“Did I break your nose?” I ask, horrified.
He sighs. “I don’t know.”
“Do you have arncian tonic?” I ask, tentatively. “It’s good for this sort of thing.”
“No, I do not,” he says drolly. “Being a Level Five Mage, I’m not often punched.”
I hug my knees and wipe my residual tears away. The larger cat jumps up on the bed and then onto Vale’s stomach. Vale’s muscles tense in response. Then he shakes his head, as if resigned to mayhem, and strokes the cat.
After a few minutes, he sits up, still pinching his nose with the handkerchief. Slowly, he pulls it away, dabbing his nose, studying the soiled cloth.
“Am I still bleeding?” he asks me, both of his eyes anchored by dramatic bruising, though much worse on the left side.
“I don’t think so,” I say, shrinking down, chastened. “I’m so sorry, Vale.”
Vale nods and looks around. There’s a smattering of blood on the white sheets.
“Well,” he says to me with a sigh and a weary glance. “Looks like we bloodied the sheets after all.”
I gape at him, a bit put off.
Vale purses his lips, as if horrified with himself. “I’m sorry, Tessla. That was in poor taste.”
I shake my head. “No. Don’t apologize.” I glance sidelong at his bruised eyes. “I suppose this isn’t any man’s dream of a sealing night.”
“Punched and bleeding all over the bed? Not really,” he readily agrees. “It does put a new spin on Sanguin’en, though.”
I look to him sheepishly. “Both your eyes.” I bring my finger up to trace under my own eyes. “They’re blackened. It’s really bad on one side. People will think I fought you off me.”
He shoots me a level stare. “You did, in fact, fight me off you.”
I sigh deeply and shoot him a rueful look.
“Well, this should be entertaining when we rejoin polite society.” He arches his brow at me. “Don’t you think?”
No consummation lines. Vale with two black eyes and a potentially broken nose.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, the words sounding hollow.
Vale absently folds the handkerchief over in his lap, and I notice how graceful and long his fingers are.
“There’s so many rumors about me already,” he says with a resigned breath. “Why not add a few more?” He sends me a wry smile.
“I like you, Vale,” I blurt out, shock spinning through me at my own admission.
He bursts out into a short laugh, then winces, reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, Tessla. Thank you for clarifying.”
His eyes light on something just behind me and flare wide open, his fire surging in sudden, chaotic streaks.
I turn and am horrified to see Fain’s book peeking out from under my pillow.
The light in here is dim, but it’s easy to see the deep flush now coloring Vale’s cheeks. “It was a present,” he tells me, looking mortified. “From Fain. In jest. He gave it to me a few years back.”
I’m flushing, too. I can feel the heat of it on my cheeks, down my neck. I hug my knees, looking anywhere but at him. “I’ve never seen anything like...that. Ever.”
He nods and swallows audibly. “Neither had I.” He looks to the ceiling, as if wanting to be swallowed up by it.
I eye him, brow raised. “Those pictures. Is that...is that what you want?”
He takes a deep breath, then eyes me narrowly. “Tessla, I’ve had about as much experience with...these matters as you. I’ve no idea what’s even logistically possible in that book. I seriously doubt some of it...” He trails off, his ruddy flush deepening.
I’m beyond embarrassed, but also painfully curious. “You like the one with the woman...riding the man...like he’s a pony?”
He shrugs and looks sidelong at me. “It’s...interesting.” He lets out a deep sigh. “Not all people are as staid as ours. The Noi, they’re more...open-minded.” He motions toward the book. “You must be curious. I certainly was. You can look at it, if you’d like.”
When I don’t respond, he gives me a level look. “We’re fasted, Tessla. No sense having secrets from each other. There it is.” He points at the book. “My big secret. I own that book. I think, in the realm of secrets, it’s quite minor.”
“It’s...it’s wildly improper!” And you looked at every single page, I remind myself.
Vale spits out a laugh. “So is your having a wand, last I checked.”
“This is entirely different.”
He cocks his brow. “Is it?”
I glance sidelong at the book. “So,” I say tentatively, “you haven’t been with anyone?”
He spits out a laugh. “Women are terrified of me.” His mouth gives a bitter twist. “Apparently I project a great deal of fire when I...kiss. It scares them.”
“How many women have you kissed, then?” I trace a line of stitching on his quilt, feigning disinterest.
“Three.”
I meet his eyes, waiting for more.
He lets out a long sigh. “There was a Salishen girl. I was sixteen and at sea for the first time. On board as their Wind Mage. The crew knew I’d never...” He gestures with one hand, a loose circular motion. “So they paid the girl and snuck her in with me. I’
d been sleeping. She slithered under the covers, right on top of me. I thought I was dreaming. I...well, I kissed her. Sent fire through her.” He looks down at the wand in his lap, rolling it in his fingers. “It’s hard for me to control my fire when I’m that close to a woman.” He looks at me, gaze intense, color burning high on his cheeks.
I flush. “What happened?”
He shrugs. “She ran away. Yelling that she’d been burned by a demon.” His mouth gives a cynical twist, but I can sense his discomfort in how fitful his fire’s grown. “I heard them outside, telling her that they’d already paid her. They threw her back into my room.”
“What did you do?”
“Once she calmed down, we played cards most of the evening.” He takes in my surprised look. “Well, I wasn’t about to throw myself at her. And I didn’t want them to abuse the poor girl. The crew just assumed...” He bobs his head and shoots me a pointed glance.
“Did you ever see her again?”
His face tenses uncomfortably. “A few years later, on the streets of Salish. She was strung out on nilantyr.”
My brow furrows with a silent question.
“It’s a powerful drug,” he explains, then shakes his head, as if clearing away an unpleasant memory.
“And the second kiss?” I ask hesitantly.
“Ah, yes. That was a few years ago. At the University. A Keltic girl, friends with Jules and me. She was inexplicably fond of me. One night I kissed her, and it quickly cured her of both her attraction to me and all feelings of friendship. She avoided me from that point on. I overheard her telling another woman that kissing me was like kissing a bolt of lightning.” The line of his jaw hardens. “Of course, once my mother took power, there were quite a few women who were willing to suffer through being with me. For power. For money.”
I nod in understanding. “Like Genna Thorne.”
Vale spits out a sound of disdain. “Genna Thorne would never have been able to handle my fire.”
The room goes quiet. The only sound is the wind whipping outside.
“And the third?”
His eyes darken, and he looks probingly at me.
Astonishment washes over me. Me. I’m the third.
He takes a deep breath and looks down at the wand in his lap. “That night, you were coming untethered. You needed fire. And fast. Your affinity was disappearing. I tried to feed fire into you with my wand pressed up near your heart, the pulse at your neck. I tried several spells.”
I remember his hands on me, and my cheeks grow warmer.
“It almost worked. But I couldn’t get enough fire into you. And then I remembered.” His mouth turns up in a crooked grin, his eyes two simmering coals. “Kissing me is like kissing a bolt of lightning.” He pauses, growing quiet. “I’m glad it worked.”
I loved it. I loved it. I loved it. The memory beats out with the rhythm of my heart.
“And you saved me.”
“I saved you,” he quietly affirms, but there’s nothing quiet about the strength of his affinity fire billowing toward me.
“With a kiss.”
His mouth turns up in a cynical grin, making light of it all, even though there’s nothing light about the way his fire is raging. “So...was it like being kissed by a bolt of lightning?” He asks the question casually, as if my answer will be as insignificant as air. But I can feel how fraught with tension he is, and how easily I could shatter him.
“No,” I tell him.
His eyes widen with surprise.
“It was like...” I flush, remembering, gripping at the sheets. “Like a torrent of flame. Broad and powerful and overwhelmingly hot. Flashing through me. It was...much more intense than a bolt of lightning.”
“So...even worse.” It’s an attempt at dark humor, but I can practically feel the painful wound ripping open in him.
“No,” I say, my voice almost a whisper. “Even better.”
His fire sparks hard and hot. “You liked it?”
I loved it.
I give a tight nod.
His fire flares, running in a hot stream. When I look up at him, his eyes are pinned tight on me.
“I’ve scared someone with a kiss, too,” I tell him, hugging my knees. “Like you scared those two girls. It was a few years back.” I hesitate, my brow tensing. “A Kelt attacked me. One of the miller’s sons. Dragged me into a barn. I screamed, but no one was there to hear.”
“What happened?” he asks, and I can feel the change in his fire. An angry flare now. Fiercely protective. Wrapping itself around me.
“I kissed him,” I tell him. “And I threw as much fire into him as I could summon.”
His eyes narrow with approval. “Clever.”
“He flew off me. Called me a demon whore. He told everyone I was a witch.”
The memory saps my strength, and I suddenly feel the full weight of my crushing fatigue, my fire tamping down to a sullen simmer.
“It wasn’t the first time,” I tell him. “I was attacked twice in Doveshire.” I’m trembling now, with pent-up anger. I’ve never told anyone this before, knowing that Grandfather wouldn’t be willing to hear it. That he’d agitatedly wave me into silence and tell me not to speak of such things, to pray for renewed purity.
I look at Vale, straight in the eyes. “Prior to meeting you, I’ve never had a kiss that wasn’t forced.”
Vale winces at this and nods, staring at the floor. “Tessla,” he says, his voice low and emphatic. “I will never, ever force myself on you. I hope you’ll believe that, in time. I lack charm, but I won’t abuse you.”
I nod, his warmth coursing over me, my own fire bursting in chaotic fits and starts. Charm, at this moment, seems incredibly overrated.
“I’m a scholar, Tessla,” Vale says, quiet and tentative. “Or was. At the University. And I love books. Just like you. I think that’s patently obvious.” The corner of his mouth turns up, and he gestures around at his scattered piles of books for emphasis. He shoots me a wry look, then grows serious. “All those things you’ve been wanting... I think you’ll find you could have them with me. May I...may I court you?”
Ridiculous laughter bubbles up. I hold up my fast-marked and sealed hands, the design a perfect mirror of the marks on his skin. “Don’t you think you’re doing this backward?”
Vale laughs with me, his expression lightening. “I suppose I am.” He looks to me, breathless with hope, and my heart skips a beat.
He’s achingly handsome, especially in the firelight.
Everything is suddenly different. The whole world on its head.
Vale wants to court me. Wants to be touched by me.
And I want it, too.
“Will you,” he says tentatively, “consider it?”
My head is spinning, and I can’t suppress my smile. “Yes, Vale. You can court me. I’d like that.”
His brow goes up in surprise, as it he’d never imagined I’d say yes. “Well then...” He trails off, looking around, as if he doesn’t know where to start. All of his hard arrogance is suddenly gone. He blinks at me, speechless, and I’m struck by how young he looks in this moment.
“How old are you, Vale?” I ask him.
“Twenty. Just this past month.”
I consider this. “I thought you were older.”
He raises his brow. “How old?”
“I don’t know. Twenty-six, maybe?”
He gives me a crooked smile. “It’s those three years at sea. I’m weathered, apparently. And I look like her.”
His features are so elegant and intimidating. I resist the urge to reach out and run my finger along the sharp lines of his cheekbone, along his defined jaw.
He swallows, transfixed, his fire meeting mine. “How old are you?”
The question catche
s me off guard. “I’m eighteen,” I suddenly remember. “Or at least I will be, tomorrow.”
His eyes widen. “Your birthday? It’s tomorrow?”
I nod, as surprised as him.
“I’ll take you to Valgard. To celebrate.” His gaze is searching. “If you’d like. You can see your brother, and your grandfather.” He pauses. “If you want to see your grandfather, that is.”
“No, I do.” In the wake of everything I’ve learned about Vale, my anger toward Grandfather has dissipated a great deal.
“I’ll take you to hear the orchestra.” His tone turns ardent. “We can dine on the finest food. Anything. Anything you want. You can buy anything you like.”
“A horde of dragons?” I cheekily inquire, happiness unexpectedly blossoming inside me.
Vale laughs. “Of course.” He beams at me, a defiant fire lighting his eyes. “And a wand to go with them.”
Chapter 25: Valgard
Vale is quiet on the carriage, peering out the window as if deep in thought, but his secret, grasping heat is palpable and makes me flush.
I realize I like how singularly his affinity fire is fixated on me.
I’m dressed in simple but elegant silken garb, Ironflowers embroidered in raised black designs along my tunic and skirt hem. A seamstress arrived this morning with a full wardrobe for me—compliments of Mage Fain Quillen.
I smile to myself, ever grateful for Fain’s kindness toward me.
We ride over the crest of a hill, and Gardneria’s capital city, Valgard, bursts into view.
It’s a sight to behold, ringing the gleaming Malthorin Bay, sunlight spearing down through dramatic gray clouds hung low over the ocean.
We begin the descent toward the city. Jagged, jutting cliffs rise all around us, our carriage path slicing through gaps in the hillside. The road’s sheer drop on my side is dizzying. Alarmed, I glance toward Vale to find him smiling at me, amused by my obvious discomfiture. I shoot him back a look of mock annoyance.
We ride into the heart of the city to find Valgard pulsing with the excitement of a nation reborn, jubilation ringing through the air. Our flag, outlawed in all the surrounding lands, hangs defiantly everywhere I look—streaming from shop windows and lodging houses, affixed to practically every carriage and horse’s saddle. Knots of wide-eyed refugees in ill-fitting black attire make their way through the city, many of them accompanied by Gardnerians wearing white armbands and acting as their protectors.
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