by Cat Adams
Jason rolled his eyes with a smile and then winked at Mila. “Mums. What are ya to do?” Then he sobered and reached out to grasp her arm before leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Thank you. Don’t know what I’d do without her in me life. I appreciate it more than you can know. We should be back before morning. Mum knows Queen Krystella, so we should get an audience easily. The guest rooms are across from the bath.” He glanced at Tal as he fastened the last hook at his neck. “Sorry you both have to stay over.”
She heard Tal mumble something and hoped it wasn’t what she thought she heard. But it made Jason laugh, so she feared it was. The sound of his dark chuckle reddened her cheeks as he turned and disappeared through the gate and she was left to hear the words echo in her ears.
“I’m not.”
CHAPTER 15
The blush on Mila’s face made it fairly obvious he hadn’t spoken softly enough. It nearly made him smile until she fidgeted nervously and lowered her eyes to the floor. A knot formed in his stomach. Was her reaction an admission of mutual attraction, or fear of a pursuer she felt trapped with? He’d been ready to lay with her, and publicly, in a roomful of strangers. He had been the one to kiss her, and had constrained her tightly as she screamed out Dareen’s pain. Even now he wanted to gather her into his arms to carry her down the hallway to the nearest soft bed. Am I missing something important in my lust to have her?
Yet it didn’t feel like mere lust. He’d known lust many times and while it could make him forget himself for a few moments, he’d always been able to set it aside to give attention back to what was important. It was why he’d never married, nor had any long-standing relationships. He never felt it was fair to shut the woman out the moment something more important occurred.
He shook his head while she stood there staring at the floor, sliding one finger over the edge of the old wood box. A tocking noise caught his attention and he realized she’d found a loose sliver and was flicking it with her thumb. Nervous … or trying to pull attention away from herself?
It would be a simple matter to just ask her. But would she lie if she feared him? He’d known far too many Guilders who would say anything—tell him anything they believed he wanted to hear—just to free themselves during an investigation. Is that what I want from her?
No, it was time for her to make the next move, if there would be one. He could wait to see if she had any desire for him. “So what’s in the box? Is it what you need for your crafting?” She jumped as high as if a snake had bitten her, her eyes rising to his, wide and dilated. Whatever the cause, that reaction wasn’t one he ever wanted to see again.
She stared at the box for a long moment, as though she’d forgotten she was holding it. “Oh! I mean, yeah. I suppose we should look in it.” She put the box down on the table, pried open the latch with her fingernails, and looked inside. “Wow, it really is a pysanka kit, and a nice one. Come look.” The note of admiration in her voice, combined with the invitation, made him curious enough to move next to her at the table. She took each item out and looked to him for reaction, but they meant nothing to him so he could only shrug.
“The block is just beeswax, of course. Nothing special about it. But see, the dark dust in these glass jars is powdered farba—dye. All I have to do is add vinegar. It’ll liquify the powder and scar the eggshell enough for the dye to attach.” Next she held up a slender wooden stick with an odd metal funnel on the end. “Now this is a kistka. You gather beeswax in the big end and then heat the metal with a candle flame so it comes out as liquid through the point. They have electric kistkas now, but I prefer these old ones.” She must have noticed his blank look at the items, because her voice took on the tone of an instructor. “See, the whole process of making a pysanka is nothing more than painting wax on the egg, dyeing the egg, and then painting on more wax to hold in successively darker colors. The only trick is making it pretty.”
Tal touched the tip of the kistka and felt the wax, dark with soot. It made him wonder how she could see what she was doing. “But by the time you’ve dipped it several times, how can you see what parts you made which color?”
She smiled brilliantly, her eyes filled with the same joy he got when he crafted hearth stones. “That’s the fun part. You don’t know until you melt off the wax. I always have an image in my head when I start, but it’s a surprise every time. I never know what I’ll end up with.”
He shook his head and wiped the wax on his slacks. “That would make me insane. I have to see the process as I go or I couldn’t do it. When I carve beads and hearth stones, I have to see the pattern emerging.”
She raised her brows when he mentioned carving, but then shrugged—in a way that told him she wasn’t offended by his opinion. “It’s not for everyone. I’m the only one in the family who enjoys it, other than Baba. And you have to enjoy it to put up with the process. I’m looking at a long, painful night of cramped muscles and headaches from sitting in one position for too long. Plus, this isn’t my regular kistka, so I’m probably going to wind up with blisters.” She took his hand and guided his touch to stripes of hardened skin on her fingers. “Feel the calluses here, and here? That’s where the kistka rides. But this one won’t fit those grooves, so it’s gonna be painful in a few hours.”
He ran his finger lightly over the indentation in her skin. “It’s very much like the calluses where the focus stones ride in our battle gloves.” He turned his hand over to show her the whitened skin in the center of his palm. She got a curious look and reached out to play her finger lightly over the callus. A shiver caught him unaware. It quickened his heart and he was suddenly very aware of her—the feeling of her hand, the scent of her perfume. He had to force himself not to catch her eye for fear of getting lost in her gaze again. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell if this was her wanting to be close to him, or just scientific curiosity.
“That’s interesting.” She continued to stroke his palm as she stared at his hand, until he was forced to either pull it away or wrap it around hers.
“What—” He had to cough to clear the sudden dryness of his throat as he lowered his hand back to the table. “What is?”
“This mark. Isn’t it just about the diameter of the opal? Are all the stones you guys use cut to the same size?”
He shook his head. “No, they’re all individual. We usually have to get a new glove when we advance to a stronger stone.’ But she was right. It did appear to be the same size. He pulled the opal from his pocket and laid it in the center of his palm. The edges fit perfectly, as though it had made the callus.”It would fit the glove I have now. That’s not very common.”
Mila pulled out a chair and sat down, then patted the chair next to her. “You said a more advanced stone. But isn’t a stone a stone? Does that mean a diamond is more powerful than, say, granite? I just don’t know anything about how your magic works. I’d like to, if it isn’t a secret.”
He didn’t mind, but there was already so little night left. “No, it’s not a secret—at least from other Guilders. But are you sure we have time?”
She looked down at the jars and other items on the table and uttered a small snort. “I don’t think we can risk not taking the time. This is for all the marbles, isn’t it? But I’m still so worked up from everything that’s happened today that I know I won’t be able to get into a decent state of mind right now. I normally put on some quiet music, have some fruit or chocolate and a glass of wine before I start, but I don’t think there’s time for all that. And, I think it would help me keep a purpose in mind when I’m making the pysanky.”
All of her points were good ones, and it made him think. “What purpose were you thinking of when you made the egg in your house?”
“See, that’s just it,” she replied while tapping on one of the glass jars with a fingernail and flipping that shiny black hair out of her eyes. “I thought about that all the way over to the library. But it’s not like remembering you had a ham sandwich for lunch last Tuesday. Anyone can do that. This i
s like dredging up what precise thought was going through your brain when you bit into the sandwich. I remember deciding to try a simple black-and-white egg so I could finish it quickly and go to bed. I was halfway through one egg, but was out of red dye. I couldn’t finish that one … but I wanted to do something because my fingers were all twitchy. They get like that after a rough day at work. But I can’t imagine something like magic would have popped into my head. I didn’t really believe in it until Vegre walked out of a glowing gate and dragged Sela through it. So, while I’m trying not to jinx the process of making the egg by thinking things I probably didn’t last time, I don’t want to overlook the possibility I might have had a random thought about healing or magic in a flash of inspiration.” She made a face, like she didn’t want to be thought crazy. “Does that make sense?”
He nodded. “Of course. Re-creating a particular intent consistently is the reason the guild academies were created in the first place. Teaching someone how to craft is no different than leading classes on writing the alphabet or adding numbers. It’s based on memorization, repetition, and recognition. You learn what intent creates what result, what word best associates the intent in your mind and then you practice the intent with the word—over and over until it’s second nature.”
A light seemed to click on in her brain. “So, if you shouted the word ‘fire,’ and had the right intent, fire would appear?”
He smiled, because it was very much the question an apprentice would ask. “In a manner of speaking. But it would be very much like shouting just the word, ‘five,’ with equal intent, and expecting five apples to appear in your hands. Without training, I might see a drawing of the number five appear in the air, or perhaps five apples—buried in a nearby dumpster. Or … I might find five elephants crashing down through the roof. The devil’s in the details. Five what? Apples. Where? In my hands. But you don’t have time to say all that in a crisis, so your brain has to simply know. See?”
Mila mulled for a moment, chewing on her lower lip in a very cute manner before squinting her eyes a bit. “Okay, that makes sense. But if I called out, for example, ‘candle flame,’ then I might get that? Is that specific enough?”
Interesting. She’d transferred the question from what he did to whether she could. He pursed his lips. “Try it.”
She leaned back in her chair, surprise clear on her face. “What?”
He pulled the opal from his pocket and set it on the table. “You’ve mage in your blood, and there’s probably enough magic left in the focus for a small candle flame.” He pointed to the wall. “There’s a candle. Think on it for a moment, point the focus, and call your spell. No need to shout, though. It’s quiet enough in here.”
“Really? You think I might be able to do magic? God, I feel like Harry Potter.”
Tal couldn’t help but laugh. He hadn’t heard of the popular overworld books until Jason brought them to his attention after he started working undercover at the library. They were certainly entertaining, if not entirely accurate. But the classroom scenes were very evocative of several of his harsher instructors. “Yes, but Harry already knew he was a crafter. Whether you are is yet to be seen.”
She touched the opal gingerly, as though it might bite her, then clutched it in her palm tightly. “Just pick it up and point?”
She held it out before her, nearly pointed at the ceiling. He reached out and eased her arm down with a small laugh, since the candle in question was only about shoulder level, seated. “Like an arrow, darling, not a club.”
The look that came over her face … pleased, yet amazed, made him wonder what he’d just said. He didn’t remember anything unusual—he’d just told her to lower the stone. Once again heat rose to her face, but she didn’t pull back her arm, so he continued. “Look at the candle. Concentrate on the thought of what a candle flame looks like—what color, what height, what width. Then say your words and mentally push the magic from the focus to the candle.”
Once, twice, and then a third time Mila tried to light the candle, but he felt no taste of magic. “Do you think maybe the stone is out of magic?”
She raised her brows hopefully, even as he sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid not.” He didn’t even need to take the stone from her for this. A flick of his finger was about all it took. He barely needed the word, but he wanted her to watch a proper crafting. “Switlo.” A perfect yellow flame appeared around the wick just as Mila gave a little jump and looked down at the stone.
“Hey, I felt something when you did that. Was that magic?”
Hmm. Perhaps she had a bit of talent after all. He quickly pushed the hand holding the opal toward her lips. “Open your mouth, stick out your tongue, and close your eyes. Quickly now. Can you taste the magic residue? Breathe in through your mouth and tell me what you taste.”
She hurried to comply and stuck her perfect pink tongue out, nearly touching the stone. It took only a few seconds and then she opened her eyes before smiling broadly. “I could taste something! It was like powdered sugar—or maybe cotton candy on my tongue. Really sweet.”
He nodded, pleased. Perhaps it wasn’t strong, but with more power available, and some training, she might be able to someday do minor crafting. “Very good. Fire magic tastes sweet. Earth magic is salty—like fresh potato crisps, water is sour and air is spicy.”
She nodded absently and stared at the table—not really seeing it, her fingers sliding along her bottom lip. “Cool. That explains it, then.”
“Explains what?”
Her eyes blinked rapidly, like she was waking from a dream and another blush painted her cheeks. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
Just the blush told him what he needed to know, and she was right. Kissing a mage tasted sweet. Honey, chocolate, ripe fruit—the kind of sweet was based on the individual, and all slightly different. He couldn’t pass up the chance, but it had to be on her terms. He leaned closer, until he was bare inches from her face. She froze and began to breathe fast with wide eyes. But this time he could tell it wasn’t from fear. “You never can be sure if I’m right unless you try again … just to be certain.” He paused and held her gaze, then whispered to her, so close now that the air bounced off her lips and tickled his skin. “If you want me, take me. Kiss me, Mila.”
Her breathing stilled altogether and he watched her eyelids flutter closed as she leaned forward just that tiny bit, tipping her head slightly to miss his nose. Her lips brushed against his. As much as he wanted to lean in and claim her mouth, give her a kiss that would leave her breathless, he held back. It’s her turn to explore, if she’s willing.
Time and again she let the lightest hint of her smooth lips glide across his, soft as flower petals. With each kiss, he felt her skin growing warmer. Whether it was fire magic or mere human desire didn’t change that he began to feel his body tighten and harden. He parted his lips slightly, hoping she’d take the hint that he was ready for more.
Mila took hints well. Useful knowledge.
Leaning forward abruptly, her jaw forced his open and she took her taste of sweet fire magic. He pulled some of the remaining magic from the opal back inside and let it fill him so she could get some measure of what passion used to be like among their kind, and what it could be again if she truly could do what the scroll claimed.
It was a struggle not to reach out and pull her into his arms. But the goal was to let her experience and fulfill whatever attraction she felt. When she finally pulled back, after a delightful mingling of tongues that pulled a groan from his chest, he couldn’t help but give her a tiny bit of extra pleasure.
Eyes still closed, she gasped when his lips found the line of her jaw. As he traveled down her neck, kissing and licking her skin, her head flopped to one side bonelessly and her hand reached around to slide fingers through his hair.
When he took a small nibble of the hollow of her throat, her fingers clenched abruptly into his scalp and a hungry whimper found his ear.
She was more than ready for a
nother kiss by the time he returned to her lips and this time he could sense she wanted to be the passive one.
It was pure, unadulterated torture to kiss her slowly, gently. But the goal was to relax, not excite. When he pulled back, she tried to follow, to continue the game. But he put a finger on her lips and pushed backward gently. “That’s enough for now.”
Her eyes opened and her brow raised. “No, it’s not.” But he pushed back his chair before she could finish wrapping her arms around his neck.
“You have” he tried to remember the proper pronunciation, “pusankuh to craft, and we need to eat. I’ll cook us some dinner and if you’re a very good girl,” he said with a wink and a touch of her nose, “we can relax you more later.”
She grabbed the finger and used the leverage to pull herself out of her chair and to her feet. “Just one more,” she whispered before sliding her arms around his waist and leaning in until her lips hovered near his chin and her sofly curved body covered every inch of his—including the erection that was growing more urgent with every moment that passed.
“Maybe just one,” he agreed, once again lost in those stunning green eyes. He twined his fingers into her curls to pull her close and then ground his mouth against hers. Jaws worked and tongues moved as the kiss deepened. When she moaned, he felt his fingers dig into her strong back muscles and she moved her hands rather wantonly to his buttocks to cause a similar reaction in him. This must surely be the sort of kiss that sent men willingly on dangerous quests. Because he was nearly willing to take on Vegre himself if it would please her.