Valasca grabs her horse’s mane and leaps astride. She rides over to me and holds out her hand. I grab hold of it and pull myself up behind her, sliding my arms around her waist. She squeezes my hand warmly.
“Goodbye, Wynter,” I say, looking down at my friend. Wynter’s wings are drawn in tight around herself, her eyes full of sorrow. “I’ll visit you when I can.”
Wynter nods, and before I can say anything more, Valasca and I are off, riding toward the border.
* * *
We find Yvan just where they said he’d be, near the edge of Amaz territory, just past the border’s rune-wall. His guards nod to Valasca as we approach, and she helps me dismount.
“I’ll be in touch,” I tell Valasca before I release her hand.
“I will, as well,” she promises, her expression grave.
The Amaz take their leave, and Valasca shoots me one last look before she disappears into the forest, the crimson border runes fading as they depart.
Yvan and I stand alone in the darkness.
I don’t know what to say, so I just remain there facing him, Ariel’s face stark in my mind. Yvan looks haggard and drawn as he leans back against a tree, his expression devastated.
“Yvan,” I breathe out, shaking my head in sorrow.
It’s all there is to say. How can anyone put into words all that’s happened, the immensity of the evil we’re up against?
“We failed her,” he says in a rough whisper.
We were too slow. Too powerless. Too late.
I can’t speak, so I just nod in response, tears stinging at my swollen eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he goes on. “I’m so sorry.” The words come out in a rush, his tone desperate.
“Yvan,” I say, grief overtaking me, “you did everything you could. You risked your life to get her to safety. There was nothing more you could have done. Nothing.”
Yvan nods brusquely, his face tight, like he’s holding back a wave of such strong emotion it threatens to breach every gate.
“How is she? The child?” he asks, his voice choked. “Did she stop screaming?”
I nod. I imagine that, like me, he’s hearing the echo of the little girl’s screams reverberating in his mind, feeling the weight of her terror. “She passed out from exhaustion. They’re taking her in. They’re taking Wynter in, as well.”
He swallows and nods, seeming momentarily unable to speak, his breathing becoming labored as his face dissolves into a mask of grief. Yvan clamps his eyes shut and turns away from me, toward the tree he’s leaning on, one hand clutching at the bark for support, the other flying up to cover his eyes as he lets out a harsh, choking sound.
“Yvan.” I step toward him.
He’s sobbing now, the sound of it like sharp, rasping cough, his shoulders convulsing, as if he’s having trouble catching his breath.
My own tears run down my face as I go to him. I hug his rigid shoulder while he struggles to stop crying, failing as grief overwhelms him.
He lowers the hand covering his face and turns to me, his eyes full of unguarded despair. He pulls away from the tree and falls into my arms, crying into my shoulder.
I embrace him tightly, his tears damp on my neck, his whole body racked by sobbing.
“I’m sorry,” Yvan cries again, his voice muffled on my shoulder as he shakes his head from side to side.
“Yvan,” I say, my own voice breaking. “It’s not your fault.” I hug him tightly, his arms gripping me like I’m a lifeline.
We hold each other for a long time, lost in sorrow.
His sobbing finally subsides, and he pulls away, wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. Then he looks at me, his eyes rapidly blazing to gold. “I love you, Elloren.”
My breath catches in my throat.
We both know what this means. What this declaration, this path will cost him. Will cost both of us.
My tears are cool on my skin as they slide down my face. I blink them away, so I can see him clearly. We’re completely star-crossed in every way possible, but there’s no way to fight it anymore.
“I love you, too,” I whisper through salty, tear-soaked lips.
Yvan takes my face in his warm hands and looks at me intently as my heartbeat quickens.
“I want to kiss you, Elloren,” he says, the words weighted with import, “but...it will bind us.”
“I don’t care,” I tell him, impassioned. “I want you to kiss me.”
And then he brings his lips to mine.
His lips are warm and full and salty from his tears, his kiss tentative as a surprising warmth blooms from where his mouth touches mine, his heat sliding through my affinity lines in a tingling rush.
His kiss is like the sweetest honey, like something I could gladly drown in forever.
And then the warmth builds, growing heated where his lips move against mine, my sense of his fire rapidly escalating until his heat is shuddering through my entire body, flames coursing through my lines and around us both.
I gasp, pulling back a fraction, my breathing gone deep and uneven. “Your fire...”
Yvan stares at me through wild, glowing eyes, his voice ragged. “Is it too much?”
“Oh, no,” I breathe out, bringing my lips back to his.
Yvan’s hot mouth claims mine, his hands fanning out over my back, holding me tight against him as his incredible fire courses through me. It’s better than anything I’ve ever felt. Better than the first warm sun of spring, better than the feel of the woodstove after coming in from the frigid cold. The fire burns away every tragic, heartbreaking thing.
“I’ve been alone for so long,” he whispers, his lips a fraction from mine, his heat racing through me.
“Not anymore,” I whisper back.
He nods and reaches up to tenderly stroke my hair as his fire envelopes me, and I smile at him through my sadness, because even in the midst of so much horror, it’s wonderful to finally find each other.
“Can I stay with you tonight?” he asks. “I don’t mean...” He pauses for a moment, his hand stilling in my hair as he visibly attempts to collect his thoughts. “I just want to be with you.”
I nod in assent.
He takes a deep breath and presses his forehead lightly against mine. “We should get back. We have a long walk.”
“All right,” I agree.
He leans down to kiss me softly, his heat shivering through me. Then he takes my hand firmly in his, and we set off in the direction of the North Tower.
CHAPTER FIVE
BOUNDARIES
As the woods open up before us, my heart leaps at the familiar sight of the North Tower—a welcome refuge from the harsh world surrounding us.
My hand clasped firmly in Yvan’s, we walk silently across the moonlit field until we reach the stone structure.
Yvan takes the lantern by the door down from its hook, lights it with a wave of his hand and opens the door. He trails me wordlessly up the winding staircase, long shadows bouncing off the walls as the lamp sways back and forth in his hand.
I’m deeply aware of his presence, the sound of his footsteps, his breathing. I have so many conflicting emotions at this moment, it’s difficult to sort them all out. The faces of Ariel, the little Icaral girl, the broken Icarals stripped of their wings—all these things devastate my heart.
But it’s not all darkness.
Yvan loves me.
I’ve sensed it for a long time, but now he’s fully surrendered to it, and so have I. And the completely unexpected, all-encompassing fire of Yvan’s kiss—just the thought of it makes my feet unsteady.
We enter my cold, silent room, so empty now of life—the birds gone; Wynter, Ariel, Marina and Diana gone. Only Wynter’s artwork provides a lingering, bittersweet memory of what was.
Yvan stalks toward the fireplac
e and throws out his hand. A ball of flames explodes in the hearth and lights up the haphazard pile of logs. The fire rapidly warms the room and casts a flickering orange glow over everything.
Yvan looks distractedly around, as if not quite sure what he should do next. “Which bed is yours?” he asks.
“That one,” I say, pointing to it. Grief stabs at me as I look around at the other empty beds. “Not that it matters now.”
He sits down on the bed, looking pale and traumatized.
“Your face... There’s some blood on it,” I say, my voice low.
Yvan reaches up absently to touch the small wound on his cheek, then briefly examines the blood on his fingers before looking back at me, stricken.
I fetch a cloth and a basin of water from the washroom and bring it over to my bedside table. Standing before Yvan, I place one hand on his shoulder and bring the washcloth up to gently clean the gash on his cheek.
Yvan’s lip twitches as I make contact with the wound. He brings one hand up to rest on my hip, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as I continue to dab the blood away from his face and neck, dipping the cloth back in the basin every so often.
I notice the smear of blood flows under his shirt. His eyes are still closed as I reach down and unfasten the top button of his shirt to allow better access. I’m gently pulling the edge of his shirt open toward his shoulder when his eyes fly open. His movement a blur, he grabs my hand away from his shirt, his face taking on a wildly fierce expression.
My heart speeds up, my face coloring until it’s uncomfortably hot, ashamed to have overstepped the boundaries between us.
“I’m...I’m sorry,” I blurt out, stumbling over the words. “I was just going to clean up the blood that got under your shirt...”
His grip on my hand is still hard—too hard.
I’m deeply embarassed, not understanding what I’ve done. Not knowing enough about men to figure out my error.
Yvan’s grip on my hand loosens, and his fierce expression falls away, quickly replaced by a look of mortification. “I’m sorry, Elloren,” he says, his voice strained. He holds on to my hand, gentle now, the sadness and conflict in his eyes deepening. “I just want to lie down...with you.”
I nod, and Yvan releases my hand, refastens the top button of his shirt and reaches down to pull off his boots.
I glance down at my clothes. Like his, they’re mussed and smell of sweat and blood.
Ariel’s blood. The blood from her wing.
It all crashes back into me. That horrible place. What they did to Ariel. How we were too late.
Too distraught to care about modesty, I pull my tunic off over my head, then unfasten my long skirt. I throw the clothing roughly into the corner, wanting to burn the bloodstained garb to ashes. I kick off my boots and slide the Wand into one of them, now clad only in a thin camisole, pantalettes and stockings.
I blow out the lamp on the table, wishing I could snuff out every horrible thing in this world as easily.
When I turn back to Yvan, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, quietly watching me as firelight flickers over the room. I walk over to the bed and slide around him on it, lying down and getting under the covers. I settle in, staring at his back as sadness and grief overtake me.
Ariel. I want her back. I want everyone back.
Yvan turns and places his hand gently on my arm.
We remain like that for a long while, lost in thought and mutual sorrow. My eyes grow heavy, and I’ve just surrendered to letting them fall shut when I feel Yvan sliding under the blankets facing me, his hand finding my waist.
I reach up to caress the edge of his face, careful to avoid the gash, and can make out his eyes closing in the firelight. I stroke my hand through his silken hair, and his breathing deepens.
He pulls me close and brings his lips to mine, kissing me gently, his fire sparking as he traces a slow line down my back with his fingertips, his warmth shivering through my lines and setting off an ache deep inside me. I can sense him holding himself back and giving in to something powerful all at the same time, as his fire quickly rouses to a ravenous stream.
Yvan’s grasps hold of my waist as our kisses rapidly deepen in hunger, his fire and my fire lines surging around each other.
“I love you, Elloren,” he breathes against my mouth before bringing his full lips insistently back to mine. My body arches toward his as he grips me close, and I lose myself to the feel of his fire coursing through my affinity lines and his long, hot body pressed against mine.
Yvan’s breathing quickens as I twine my tongue around his, his fire pulsing through me in a decadent rush as he takes his time kissing me, his deft hands trailing along the length of my back.
We kiss for a long time, caressing each other, losing ourselves to the mounting fire.
Then I slide my leg over his, and Yvan’s breath hitches. He slips his hand just behind my knee, groaning into his kiss as he pulls me even closer. His seductive heat whips through me, filling me with the irresistible desire to merge with him completely.
Both of us are breathing heavily when Yvan slowly slides on top of me, still kissing me passionately, both of us completely lost in this unexpected heaven in the middle of hell.
As Yvan moves against me, I can feel how much he wants me. I wrap my legs tightly around him, and he gasps, his fire giving a hard flare as he kisses me deeply, his fire and his body making me as dizzy as the Tirag.
He draws back a fraction, his breathing ragged. His eyes are molten as he looks down at me, my skin glittering emerald in the firelight.
“You’re so beautiful,” Yvan breathes. He traces his finger along the neckline of my camisole, fingering the top button. He glances back up at me as if silently asking for permission, gauging my reaction to his brazen touch.
My breathing quickens as he traces a line down the buttons until he reaches the sliver of naked skin just below, his graceful fingers sliding under the fabric of my camisole.
I gasp at the sensation his touch creates on my bare skin, a trail of delicious sparks. Yvan slides his hand higher until he reaches just under my breast, hesitating, his eyes flicking back toward mine.
I reach up, curl my arm around him and pull his lips insistently back to mine, kissing him as his hands explore my body, working their way under my clothes. His fire surges as I caress his back and feel along his taut muscles, his sharp shoulder blades. Wanting to feel more of his skin, I tug at his brown woolen shirt, freeing it from his pants.
I’ve just pulled his shirt free when he abruptly pushes himself off me and rolls onto his back, his breathing hard and ragged.
“We can’t...” he says, shaking his head firmly side to side, as if attempting to wake himself from a dream, his hand coming up to clutch at his head. “We can’t do this.”
I lie there, my heart thudding, a heated longing for him pulsing through me.
He’s right. We’re literally playing with fire. We aren’t thinking. We’re both traumatized by the day’s events, looking for escape, for comfort.
Yvan turns back to me. “I love you, Elloren, but we can’t do this. Not right now.”
Of course we can’t. We can’t just forget about everything that’s happening. We can’t afford to act on every impulse. What if I got pregnant, with the world around us spiraling into disaster?
Yvan finds my hand and wraps his around it, holding my gaze with his fiery eyes.
“You’re right,” I say as my breathing gradually evens out, and we lie there, holding on to each other, until my eyes grow heavy with fatigue.
Just as I’ve let my lids fall shut, I feel Yvan roll toward me. His arm encircles me as he brings his lips to my forehead. “Good night, Elloren,” he whispers, and I reach around to hug him back.
And then we fall asleep, wrapped up in the warm safety of each other’s arms.
* * *
“Elloren.”
The sound of his voice comes from far away as I float in the darkness of a dreamless sleep.
“Hmm,” I murmur, slowly regaining consciousness, Yvan’s lovely voice filling me with a delicious warmth. I stretch languidly, like a contented cat, wanting to wrap myself around him.
“Elloren.”
There’s a strange urgency in his voice.
Something’s wrong.
The peaceful, floating feeling disappears, replaced by a spike of nervous tension, and I struggle to wake up quickly. I jerk my head side to side, the movement forcing me fully into reality.
Yvan is lying next to me, propped up rigidly on one elbow. He’s not looking at me, but at something just past me with deep concern. I turn to follow the direction of his gaze.
Aunt Vyvian stands in the doorway, her eyes narrowed to tight, livid slits as she takes in the scene before her.
“Hello, my niece.”
“Aunt Vyvian!” I exclaim in mortified surprise, bolting up and quickly remembering that I’m half-clad in my underwear. “I... We...”
“Why are you in bed with a Kelt, my dear?” she asks me slowly, smoothly.
“We didn’t...” I defend myself breathlessly, shaking my head to refute her conclusions. “We haven’t... It’s not what it looks like...”
“What it does look like, Elloren, dear, is that you’re in your underwear, in bed with a Kelt.” Her cool gaze flickers back and forth from Yvan to myself.
I look over at Yvan, panicked. He’s watching my aunt carefully, eyes narrowed, sizing her up and, if his body language is any indication, finding her to be dangerous. His hand slides protectively over mine.
Aunt Vyvian stares back at him, and the side of her lip twitches. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Elloren?”
Yvan glances over at me, his expression guarded. He releases my hand and stands up to face my aunt. “My name is Yvan Guriel.”
My aunt eyes him up and down with a look of contempt that’s scathing.
Fear seizes hold of me.
Does she suspect our involvement in what happened at the prison?
The Iron Flower Page 52