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“I’m scared,” I admitted. “I’m scared to hope. The odds are against us, and even if we do get out, I’m scared of who I’ll be once we’re free.”
She shifted closer, wrapping her arm around my bicep. She rubbed my arm and even though it brought heat to my skin, I still broke out in goosebumps.
“You are Ladon Castelli. Revered High Commander of Osavian’s armies and pain in my ass. Always have been and always will be.”
I chuckled, and her hair brushed against my cheek. “And you are Emilie Duval, annoying, spoiled princess that I can’t seem to shake.”
“Queen,” she said softly, and a new wave of panic rushed through me. I didn’t dare meet her gaze as she spoke. “I’m supposed to be Emilie Castelli, Queen of Osavian.”
My chest tightened at the sound of my last name next to hers. But she wasn’t mine. In all the chaos, I’d forgotten that one little detail. The woman who’d touched me, tasted me…my brother’s betrothed. I wanted to forget it again.
Her fingers tangled with mine mindlessly, and I didn’t want to let them go. Didn’t want to lose her touch. She stirred and began to pull away, but I laced my fingers firmly between hers. Emilie stared at where our hands connected for a moment, motionless.
“Ladon—”
“Please,” I pleaded. I couldn’t stand to let her go. I needed her presence to keep me sane. “Don’t leave me.”
It was more than a physical request. Mentally, emotionally, I needed her to get through this. We could deal with the consequences later—if we ever made it out alive.
“It’s not that. It’s…look at your hands,” she said.
I followed her line of sight and studied every point where our hands connected—her palm against mine, her fingers grazing my knuckles, my thumb tracing the vine on the back of her hand.
The vine around her wrist…it was…glowing.
I gasped and sat up straighter. “What the…”
Suddenly, she was beaming with excitement.
“Ladon, I think you’re…I think you’re siphoning.” She huffed a laugh. “Do you feel it?”
I’d felt the tingling earlier on but hadn’t thought anything of it. Just a physical reaction to a tender touch. But as I watched the vines glow along her hand and wrist, I knew she was right. I was siphoning.
“How is that possible? Am I not hurting you?”
Her face showed a lot of emotion but pain wasn’t present.
“I don’t know how, but no, you’re not hurting me. Maybe…maybe the magical vines are only restrictive of our own magic. Maybe it’s possible to tamper with someone else’s tattoos. Gods, Ladon. You can siphon. Do you know what this means?”
I knew exactly what it meant. Hope. It meant we could stand to hope again.
Siphoning was like refilling an empty cup. My own magic source had been depleted by the vines, but if I could borrow Emilie’s… After drawing out the magic laced in those vines, Emilie withdrew her hand. “Do something,” she said.
I chuckled. “Bossy little thing, aren’t you?”
She tilted her head with irritation.
Not wanting to test her, I focused my attention on the dripping grate in our bedroom. After many weeks of not using my magic, it felt foreign to me. I channeled everything I had, which wasn’t much, into carving that mountain to my will. There was a groaning sound as the mountain shifted. Several rocks fell through the cracks into our room, and then it went silent.
“What did you do? Did it work?”
I stood and walked until I was standing under the grate. Holding out my palm, I turned to look at her and smiled. “No more dripping.”
I’d focused on bending the ground on the other side of the grate, molding it so the water ran in another direction, rather than falling into our room in an unpleasant cadence.
Emilie jumped to her feet, took four large strides from the bathroom to where I stood and wrapped her arms around my shoulders.
I froze. The weight of her body against me was a shock I wasn’t prepared for. My head spun and my heart raced, but she held me tightly. Slowly, I relaxed and wrapped my arms around her waist.
