Emarelia’s lips twitched. "I can handle him. Go."
Merath flicked out her fingers, and the tips of Tharen’s boots lit with fire, threatening to burn him. He growled lowly, and water splashed from his fingertips as he put the small fire out.
"Just testing your reaction time," Merath called over her shoulder as she turned to leave down the stairs to the boats, hips swishing like her long, thick curls.
Alone with Emarelia, Tharen gave her his attention. "What is it?"
She sighed, her short hair fluttering in the breeze. "I worry for Luella," she said lowly. Through the arched door, they both stared, as if pulled by an invisible force, to where Luella sat with Azgorath, swirling a glass of wine in her hands as she stared at her blanket-covered lap. "She keeps ignoring what is to come—her destiny. I know you won’t share the prophecy with me. I don’t expect you to. It is not for my ears, but if she keeps shoving this all down—the truth"—Emarelia shook her head—"it will come back to hurt her."
Tharen knew that already. They all did. Maybe even Luella. He called her a fumbling little lamb, but she wasn’t quite so fumbling anymore. She was… smart. He sucked salty air throughhis teeth at the thought. Acompliment? Who was he fucking becoming?
"What do you want me to do, hm? Tie her to a chair with my vines and force her to stay still while we make her confront her past?"
Emarelia’s lip curled. She was a delicate-looking female. Looks were highly deceptive. "You need to speak with herseriouslyabout what is to come. You cannot allow her to dance around this anymore. You need to train her magic, and she needs to step into her destiny. If you keep allowing her to push this all away, you will not like the end result."
"She’s—" Tharen’s gaze kept being tugged to Luella. "She’s been through a lot. A godsdamned lot," he stressed. "You see her magic—what it can do. The evidence is all around us." His hand cut through the air. "This is allher. You weren’t there that day at the castle. You didn’t see the destruction she brought. A hurricane, at the snap of her little fingers." Tharen snapped his own; the harsh noise echoed between them. "She can do the same godsdamned thing here, and none of us could stop it. So you look me in the eyes and tell me it’s better to make her confront her past, then let her think everything is okay, so she won’t grow volatile and let her feelings drown us all."
Emarelia’s face softened as Tharen spoke.
"You care for her," she said softly.
Tharen felt that strange twinge in his heart again. "I don’t want her power to be the end of us all. That’s not care—that’s self-preservation."
A glimmer of red made them both look down the steps, where Merath sat in the small rowboat, arms crossed as she watched them. Fire danced in her palm, casting shadows on her deep skin. Waves trickled faintly as they lapped against the stone steps far below.
"Speak to her. Don’t let her hide any longer. It will benefit no one if her magic shows its face—because it will sooner or later—and she isn’t equipped to handle it," said Emarelia, her sharp eyes searching Tharen’s in a way that made him feel fully exposed. She added, "You don’t give her enough credit."
Tharen watched as she walked down to the boat, and it bobbed across the ripples of soft waves, becoming a blot in the distance—all the while, feeling Luella’s air beat against him.
52
RIBBONS AND BOWS (UNDO ME)
BASTIAN
Bastian knew Luella was alone. That was why he chose now to sweep inside her room.
She jolted, hands stilling on the fabric of a gown hanging in the armoire before her, her head lifting to stare at him.
"Bastian?" Her voice was soft.
He closed the curtains to the lounge, leaving the warm breeze, rustling leaves, and distant waves flowing in through the other set of open curtains.
Luella’s eyes were wide. He felt her curiosity; greater than that, he felt her interest.
He was already dressed for the ball later this evening—fitted dark trousers, billowing black blouse, laced with blue stitching. He wore many silver hoops in his ears, felt them against his cheeks as he canted his head and prowled closer to her.
Bastian stopped when he was right before her. Her scent enveloped him, teased him. He’d been holding back for too long, and now, faced with her, he wanted nothing more than to eat her up.
He let his lips tip into a smile. If possible, her eyes grew wider at the sight. He knew it was not a comforting look.
Her knuckles grew white as she fisted her hands in the fabric of the gown she held. It was delicate and frothy in appearance, a mix of soft blue, with darker blue at the bottom like the shift of the sea from spring to winter.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, staring up at him.
Bastian crowded her against the armoire. The wood rattled faintly as her back and wings hit it.
Luella’s sweet, painted berry pink lips parted. "Where are the others?"
