Completely possible.I snorted to myself as I left my room. The manor was alive with faint whispers of life as attendants went about their duties and chatted aimlessly with each other. Their movements were a dull murmur that pulsed like lifeblood through the house, and I smiled to those I passed on the way to the kitchen. Their demeanors were so different without Orin’s suffocating rule, and I was glad to see that not just the family thrived in his absence. Breakfast had ended, but I didn’t mind; instead, I snagged a cup of freshly brewed coffee and a scone, eating it while making a beeline for the library and the bay window that overlooked the front lawns.
Draping a knitted throw blanket across my lap, I took a delightful sip of coffee. Rich hints of vanilla coursed over my tongue, and I let out a hushed, pleased sigh.
“What an enjoyable sound.” A deep, sinful voice infiltrated the quiet of the library, and I lifted my gaze to the archway to find Rorik watching me with a teasing grin. His hair was damp, and he wore a loose black button-up shirt with fitted trousers that clung to the defined muscles of his thighs. I vaguely wondered if he ever looked disheveled. Or if mussed hair and wrinkled clothing would do anything to make him less devastating. Rolling my eyes, I took another long drink. Without the sigh.
“I am quite vocal,” I said, throwing a tease back his way. Two could play at his games. I watched to see if my words rattled him like his quips so often unnerved me. It worked. A heated, dangerous sensation flared down our heartbond.
“Noted.” His answering smile was downright wicked. “Still here, I see.”
“Was I supposed to go somewhere?”
“You left rather quickly last night.” The playful lilt to his voice shifted softer, something akin to concern, and his gaze roved the length of my body. “I was hoping you’d be gone when I came down the stairs this morning.”
My eyes narrowed as I blew out a breath. “Yes, well, I’m not going anywhere. You might loathe our predicament, but I live to defy you.”
“So stubborn,” he murmured. The words lacked any bite, and a prickling warmth spread throughout my limbs. Tension stretched taut between us, begging to be cut. Antagonizing each other, it seemed, was what we did best. Draining the last of my coffee, I cast the blanket from my lap and stood up.
“Shall we practice?”
Rorik raised a brow. “Practice what? Making fun little sounds? If you’re so inclined—”
“No.” I shot him a hard glare while simultaneously refusing to acknowledge the swell of disappointment in my gut. “Magic. One session is hardly enough, and I get the sneaking suspicion you’re holding back.”
“Me?” His lopsided grin was all the affirmation I needed, but he placed a hand over his chest in mock insult. Then he laughed. It was low and infuriatingly attractive, and suddenly I wasn’t the only one making appealing sounds. “I told you I wouldn’t make this easy.”
“Fine.” I set the mug on a nearby end table and crossed the room in a few easy strides. “Then how do I convince you to work with me today?”
A deep hum purred from the back of his throat as he looked down at me. “I’ll teach you today if you rest tomorrow.” Immediately I opened my mouth to argue, but his finger was pressed against my lips yet again. “I know I can’t stop you. If I don’t help you, you’ll just overexert yourself trying to do it alone. But you have to keep your health in check.” He leaned closer, his breath intermingling with mine. A knowing look coursed through his gaze. “Understand?”
All I could do was glower at him. And bite. Either I took him completely by surprise, or he let it happen—I didn’t want to examine that dangerous thought for even a moment—but I snared the tip of his forefinger between my teeth and bit down hard. A tinge of salt skated along my tongue. A dark joy bloomed in the recesses of my mind. This was fun. A guttural growl simmered from his chest as layers of his glamour fell away. He stared at me with beetle-black eyes as horns pushed through his forehead to tangle with his locks. Then he smiled, showing off his own fangs and dragging his tongue along their tips for effect.
“The last thing you want is for me to bite back.”
Wrong. Absolutely fucking wrong.
Still, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that. Without ever breaking his gaze, I released his finger.
“I can always ask Lydia and Seville to help again.”
“I sent them and Clesian out to check our lands and our neighbors’ lands for anylostEvers.” His smile stilted. “In case your hallucination was not, in fact, a trick on your senses.”
The visage of the Ever from the market, with her cunning grin and knowing stare, filled my mind. I cursed beneath my breath. It was any wonder he didn’t want me to strain myself. But if she was real and had her eyes set on me, then I wouldn’t go down without a fight. I wouldn’t be a victim again like I had been with the Starglens.
“Guess it makes sense to train me, then.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I accept your terms. Now, can we get on with it, or are you going to posture some more with your magic?”
“Posturing sounds fun.” He let his glamour slide back into place and then sighed, turning on his heel and heading for the front doors. “But fine. We’ll do what you want.”
I followed him in silence as we moved through the pristine courtyard and onto the manicured lawns, heading for a lone tree that I was surprisingly thankful to still see standing. It was an amalgamation of bodies, with thick legs twisting over one another to form the trunk and burrow deep into the earth. The bark was leathery skin of varying shades, and its limbs were arms bent at obtuse, knobby angles that ended in elongated hands and twiglike fingers. Bone-white flowers bloomed from the tips of nailbeds at their highest points, and smoke-gray leaves cupped the gossamer petals. This was where Fernglove ancestors were buried and apparently reborn, and even now, the tinge of death called to my threadmending magic.
When I’d first laid eyes on the ancestor tree all those months ago, I’d been horrified by its existence. But now... My gaze slanted to Rorik. We’d spent so much time beneath these limbs. It was a familiar staple when it came to bolstering my power. And now, apparently, his.
He sank to the ground and crossed his legs, placing his hands palms up on his knees. “Let’s get started.”
The next few hours flew by as we worked, pausing only to eat a light lunch brought by Amalyss and Tasia shortly after noon. We started with breathing—wealwaysstarted with breathing—but it was different with Rorik’s hands in mine, with his magic flowing between us and our heartbond open wide. His power was immense. It was the coursing wind rushing over plains of grass, the depths of shrouded wood kissed by cool mist, the unrelenting beat of the sun encouraging life to bloom at every turn. It was the harmonious calls of birds flitting through the trees, the swell of chirping insects greeting dusk, and the reverberating heartbeat of hooves thudding against the earth. It was all that and so muchmore. What little slivers I could grasp of his magic felt like lightning to my veins. Wild and all-encompassing and intoxicating. But the more I familiarized myself with it, the easier it came and the less it rocked my senses.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmured in awe. It’d taken several tries and even more curse words to get it right, but I’d managed to coalesce the essence of earth between my palms. The vaporous feeling of it caressing my skin sent gooseflesh rippling up my arms, and yet somehow the magic itself was warm. Rorik’s hands framed mine and we sat knee to knee, but while my focus was locked on the floating orb within my grasp, his gaze had shifted to my face.
“It is,” he said, words soft.
