I didn’t ask what he meant; the grief now thickening his voice was explanation enough. A chance at the kind of peaceand security that rears happy children. At a childhood, at the kind of life my parents had built for myself and Magnus right under this roof.
The kind of childhoodhehad never had a chance at, either.
“Caelan.”
I didn’t know what to say. I took his hand, and my touch seemed to breach the frozen depths of some awful reverie. He glanced up at me, eyes glistening, then forced a harsh swallow.
“Long time ago,” he said gruffly, squeezing my hand. He turned it in his own and studied the backs of my fingers as he spoke. “Anyway. We were wards of the King’s state, so I couldn’t do much to protect her growing up. Couldn’t keep them from separating us, though I did everything in my power to find my way back to her. And in the meantime, I set my sights on the Kingsmen. If I couldn’t protect her, I’d protect peoplelikeher.”
He made a dry noise, something like a laugh but without a hint of humour.
“I don’t know. It seemed noble, at the time.”
“It is.Gods.It is, Caelan. I don’t think there could be any better reason.”
He took another swig.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said, a little too brightly. “Like I said, anything’s fair game.”
That wasn’t what I’d meant, but I think he knew that. I didn’t push. And for several solemn moments, we sat there in silence, my hand in his. The occasional sip from our glasses was the only sound, until eventually Caelan looked up at me with a determined smile.
“Magnus and Rosaleen?”
I stared for a moment before I nodded, once more thrown by his swift change in tack. Though I thought I understood it, in a way. He’d hadsomethingin mind, when he picked out that bottle of whiskey and suggested we get to know one another. And from the little I knew of him, I doubted this was how he’d wanted to spend this night; swapping morose stories. He was trying toget back to that easy, teasing dynamic; the comfortable middle ground between our initial animosity and whatever fragile thing was growing between us.
“The Mage and Rose,” he said thoughtfully, then shot me a look. “They named their tavern after you.”
I offered a wry smile. “Other way around, I’m afraid.”
His eyes widened, green flashing gold with amusement in the flickering lantern light.
“You’re joking.”
I shook my head, but my lips tugged into a wry smile.
I’d had the same reaction, when I’d first heard this story. Heard how my fiery, passionate father had gifted this home to a woman he’d just met, a woman who walked on little tufts of daisies and sang to his fire with her flowers. How they’d named their children after the place that had first made them a family.
“My father bought the tavern as a wedding gift to my mother,” I told Caelan. “Yearsbefore we were born.”
That booming laugh burst out of him again, and my magic swirled and fluttered in response, flooding my whole chest with warmth as it nestled against the front of my ribs, trying to get as close to the sound as possible. I spread a hand over my chest, kneading subconsciously at the heat beneath my breastbone.
Stop it.
“Wish you wouldn’t do that, you know.”
My head snapped up.
“What?”
“You keep pulling back your magic like a beast on a leash. You don’t have to do that; I’m not afraid of it.”
It wasn’t his fear that concerned me though; it was his notice.
“How do you—”
“Your eyes. They glow when your magic’s flowing. From brown to gold. Your whole face lights up, actually.”
