A voice rings through the amphitheater, jolting me from my own thoughts. Another marvel of this place is how easily sound travels from the stone stage at the base of the rock crown. And even though the priest is barely shouting, his voice carries to the thousands of ears who have come to listen.
“Today, I will be reading to you from the Book of the Son.”
All ears, that is, except mine.
I scoff as I rise from my seat. The priests and the Shykhdar work closely with one another, and I have no doubt that today’s lesson hasbeen plucked from the books just for me. Something about duty to your family or obeying your father, no doubt. Yet for some reason, a passage from the book of the Father keeps running through my head.
For a son should only grieve his father after he is buried in God’s final embrace. A son that needs his father’s wisdom after his passing is one who was not prepared for it in all ways.
Ignoring the stares I get from the Shykhdar, I head back into the temple. I almost make it to the path to the palace when a voice calls out behind me.
“Bold of you to show your face here. Even bolder for you to leave before it’s over.”
I whirl to find Feisal walking towards me, his hands folded behind his back.
“I didn’t give a fuck what the priests said before I left, so why change now?”
“Blasphemous,” Feisal tsks as he approaches me. “Not that I expected anything less from you. Why come to Pinnacle at all if you’re just going to spit in the face of tradition?”
I roll my eyes and lean against the red stone of the temple wall, crossing my arms over my chest. As much as I’d like to leave, this is the first time I’ve seen Feisal since the ball. The fact that he sought me out just makes my next step that much easier.
“God didn’t create tradition, Feisal,” I say. “People did.”
Feisal hums. “Wrong again. People withpowerdid. Power that you could have, you know.”
Something about the forced casualness of the statement raises my hackles.
“I thought we’d already established that I don’t care aboutpower, Feisal,” I say as I push off the wall.
“I think you’re deluding yourself,” Feisal says, his eyes tracking my every movement. “I think you care about power more than most. Why else did you leave Marikadar for the Crux?”
A slow grin spreads across my face as I step towards him. I let my hips sway even as my hand casually drifts towards the strand of spells Arlon returned to me.
Feisal follows my movement, and his eyes widen when he sees the necklace. I’ve been neutered this entire time, but with my power back, he takes a wary step away from me. I follow, relishing in the unease that lights on his face. His back hits the far wall, halting his retreat.
“What do you think you know about me?” I ask, voice dipping to a purr. I stop just shy of pressing my chest to his, trapping him as I lift an arm up to brace against the wall at his back.
The knot in Feisal’s throat bobs. “I think you’re a liar and a coward.” He tilts his chin up, so proud, so defiant. “You lie about wanting power because you’re too craven to claim it.”
It’s a waste of magic, but I don’t care. I find an evocation among my spells and release it, holding the fiery burst contained in the palm of my hand. It glows red hot, and even with the abjuration built into the spell, its warmth pulses against my skin.
“Am I, Feisal? Seems to me that the power you say I’m afraid to claim runs through my very veins.”
He flinches back on instinct. I hold the magic back from causing any harm, but he can still feel the heat.
“You carry it, sure. But what are youdoingwith it, Olbric?” he demands. “Sitting in the Crux? Running assignments at the behest of those above you?”
I trace a finger down his cheek and am rewarded with his shudder. As stoic as he is, he can’t hide the fire that’s lit in his umber eyes, reflecting the light in my hand like twin flames. It’s good to know that even when I’m not dressed more femininely, I can still catch his eye like I did in Varice’s shop. At the time, Varice had claimed she’d never seen someone look so afraid and ruttish all at once, and that mix of emotions is plain on his face once more.
“Hmm, let me guess,” I say as I trace his square jaw with one heated finger. “You’d rather I be running them on behalf of you and the Shykhdar?”
Feisal smirks even as he warily tilts his chin up as my finger comes to rest underneath it. “Wrong again, and so very shortsighted.”
My eyes narrow, and I loosen my grip on the spell in my hand, letting it glow a little hotter to show my dwindling patience. Feisal flinches, and the knot in his throat bobs again as he swallows his fear.
“An arrangement is in sight that could bring magiline to Cairish, Olbric. An agreement that would make your sister Lavleen very,veryhappy. But what we don’t have is a master wizard who can teach others how to use it.”
Surprise makes me lose my grip on the spell. I close my hand, snuffing the fire, but the sudden movement makes Feisal flinch. His body is still trapped between me and the temple wall, but he seems in no hurry to escape me. Even without my fire reflected in his eyes, the look he gives me smolders. And being the object of that fear, that lust, is a heady mix.
