I feel the pressure again. Roiven, asking to be let in. My body stiffens, and Roiven sighs. A frown creases his face.
“What are you so afraid of?”
“Nothing.”
“The truth, Cai.”
“One of us is going to regret this,” I snap.
“Are we?” Roiven’s eyebrows raise slightly.
“You really want to be stuck withme?”
“I can think of worse fates.”
I don’t believe he means it. Oh, the enchantment doesn’t let him lie, but he’s probably comparing this to being eaten alive by reapers. But if I say yes, he’ll consider negotiating, and that’s the only way this war will end in anything but annihilation.
I gulp, nod, and finally close my eyes.Alright?I think.Let him in. Fine.
I can feel something reaching for me. When I focus on it, it’s almost like the hum of enchantment. But the tone is different. This isn’t frantic or aggressive. It’s quieter, a rumble of power waiting at the edge of my mind instead of a buzzing insect bashing its way inside.
I reach for it, the way I learned to reach for enchantment.
The pressure softens, and then changes, as the power rolls into me like a summer thunderstorm. Suddenly I feel like I’m falling, like my whole body has tilted down and is rushing through the sky; like the ground vanished beneath my feet. I try to open my eyes and find they’re sealed shut. A flood of feelings rushes through me, a dizzying swirl of emotion coming too fast for me to name.
This is Roiven. He’s more scar tissue at this point than he is man. I can feel how hard it is for him; how much easier it would be to believe the world is rotten and to give in to the anger and hurt pulsing in his veins. But he goes on believing in goodness anywaysthrough sheer fucking stubborn obstinance. I can feel his love for this secret village and the people here.
But the main things I feel? Guilt. And anger. I stop looking, and I don’t try to figure out what it means. This feels too much like spying on him.
And by all the gods, I don’t want to know what Roiven is seeing inmyhead. I’m glad the feelings don’t translate into pure thought because now that I’m realizing how much Idon’twant him in my mind, the only thing I can think about is how attractive he is when his clothes are stripped off, and it’s the absolute last thing in the world I want him to know, because it's a fairly embarrassing thing to be thinking about, and I’monlythinking about it because of how terrible it would be for him to know. But he wouldn’t be able to tell that, would he?
Roiven’s hand loosens, and slips away from mine. I open my eyes slowly and find him staring in shock at his arm.
“It’s done?” I ask.
There are markings on my hand, reaching up my arm almost to the elbow. Like enchantment marks, the lines dark green instead of blue-black, and painless. Witchcraft instead of crystal. I gulp. There’s no hiding this.
The marks are on him, too, twining between the black enchantment lines and the pale silver scars where I've worked to remove the spells.
“How did we already…?” he whispers. The emotion pulsing from him now feels like disbelief.
“What's wrong?” I ask nervously.
“Nothing.” He looks up to face me. His eyes move quickly, cataloging me. His jaw looks tight, like he’s clenching his teeth. My face burns. I desperately hope he didn't know what I was thinking about when we formed the bond, but I'm certainly not going to ask. I could die of shame on the spot.
“Then… we’re going?” I force myself to ask. Roiven nods, the movement sharp. His eyes drop down, off my face, to the dress I’m wearing. Are we going to sit crammed together on Sava’s back again, or will he insist on her carrying me in her paw?
“You ought to change,” he rasps as he hands me back my sword. “It’s going to be a long flight.”
27
Roiven’s emotions fade and dull as I go back to my room, then sharpen as I walk by his side to reach Sava. He changed when I did, tying his hair back and donning a long-sleeved, dark overcoat on top of his leather armor, and thin leather gloves. I can’t help but wonder if he’s covering his arms because of what I was thinking when we forged the bond.
He’s also got a large bag over his shoulders, nearly as big as a person, and a second coat slung over one arm. He offers it to me when I leave the room. I shake my head no to the coat, but I accept the gloves he offers me next, taking just the one for my left hand. I remember how cold holding onto her spikes felt last time, so high up in the air. Roiven stuffs the unneeded garments into his bag. Then he unlocks one of the doors in my courtyard and leads me out onto rugged, uncarved terrain.
When he closes the door, you can’t tell it’s there at all. It’s disguised by a rough stone surface that doesn’t reveal its hinges or rectangular frame.
We’re in the open now, not hidden behind a ridge. And downthe side of the mountain, only visible from above, I can see into a dozen green areas that must be gardens for all the food.
