The heat traveled into her chest, weaving with the cold to create an impossible sensation of freezing and burning simultaneously.
“Do you accept one another in the Bond of Warrior and Mage?”
“Yes.”
That last word was a gasp of breath from each of them. Deckard’s brows tugged low in concentration as a sense of vertigo wound through Evylin’s body. The cold grew ruthless as the heat seared white hot. She shivered even as sweat beaded along her spine.
Evylin couldn’t tear her eyes from Deckard’s, locked in a trance-like state. Yet, her magic revealed the whole of the room to her as though she no longer resided in her own form but in the very air around them. She watched as Ilain turned to face the Warriors. Brea moved first, Ethenn following her lead. They opened the boxes, the gold and silver filigree on them a scrollwork of flora. The Warriors reached in to take the moonstones from monochromatic velvet cushions.
“Raise your left hands,” Ilain instructed. “Palms up.” It took a moment for Evylin to realize she’d meant the words forthem.
Lightheaded and her heart beating at a strange pace, Evylin and Deckard did as directed. It felt like moving through the deepest ocean.
Ethenn and Brea stepped forward under Ilain’s guidance and placed the moonstones on their palms: white for Deckard and black for Evylin. The stone felt like glass to the touch. Silver filaments diffracted the light across the semi-opaque obsidian-colored gem. Deckard’s moonstone bore the same variegation but in gold.
“Now,” Ilain said gently, “let your magic overtake you, drawing your souls together, and channel it into the moonstone.”
While Ilain, Ethenn, and Brea stepped away, a fleeting concern niggled at the back of Evylin’s mind. How was she going to accomplish such a feat? Ilain hadn’t taught them how to infuse a gemstone with their magic. How could they ever manage it in this strange, altered state of consciousness?
Then the worries floated away. Deckard’s grip on her was firm and bracing. The Warrior’s magic pulsed inside her like a heartbeat all its own. Without effort, her focus narrowed in, shutting out the rest of the world as her senses sharpened and refined their attention on Deckard alone. The room faded to black, her vision absorbed by her husband.
She saw every detail of his being: the fibers on his coat, the light patches of hair on his hands, the blend of red and brown in his stubble and brows, the seams in his clothes, the ridges on his lips, the lines around his mouth and eyes, and the thin sliver of blue that remained in his ever-deepening green irises.
She heard everything he was: the rhythmic pumping of his heart, the blood flowing through his veins, the brush of his thumb over the fabric of her sleeve, and the steady catch and release of his breath.
She smelled the very atmosphere of his presence: the fresh scent of new clothes, the tallow soap on his skin, the leather of his boots, the hint of perspiration in his grasp, and the intrinsic fragrance of him—warm and natural.
She tasted the essence of him on her tongue: the salt of his sweat, the metallic make of the buttons on his coat, the dry threads that stitched together his clothes, and the faint traces of wine that lingered on his breath.
She felt everything, down to his soul: the weight of the white moonstone on his palm, the tight sleeves that pressed into his arms, the instinctive tension of his muscles, the pressure of the dagger he wore in his right boot, the callouses on his hands, and the heat emanating from his body.
Evylin was alive with adrenaline and desire, fixated wholly on the man before her. She was so caught up in the rapture of everything he was that she nearly missed the black haze materializing around their clasped hands. A swirling, slow dance of glittering onyx crystals gathered to create an iridescent shadow. It grew to an inky mist, undulating like waves.
Deckard’s eyes transformed under her gaze, shifting to a gradient of icy blue, vibrant emerald, and fierce black that faded into the pupils. His gaze turned severe and wild, powerful and passionate. The magic surged, rolling down their arms as he dipped his head toward hers. The onyx twisted and coalesced with rising speed, the unfamiliar fire under her skin spiking with its intensity.
Drifting up, the magic covered their shoulders and heads, running down to their feet. They were wholly encased in the crystalline shards of Deckard’s power. She could feel him trembling and realized suddenly that she was too. The heat of his power seared her flesh, while the cool of her own cut deep to the bone. A gasp escaped them both as the fury of magic swept through them. Their foreheads tipped forward to rest against one another.
At the point of contact, a new feeling overtook them.
Tranquility slowed the frantic beat of Evylin’s heart and evened the exhalations of her lungs. The fight between hot and cold ceased, and a subdued peace now ruled her like a gentle breeze on a summer’s day. She’d never felt so open and alert, so aware and unlimited. Her mind was calm and her body serene.
Deckard’s cheek pressed against Evylin’s temple, the relaxed cadence of his breath tickling her ear. His hand was still on her wrist, and she felt the tingle of his touch through her sleeve. An urge for more goaded her. She wanted to lift her face and kiss him, to release his hand and drop the moonstone so she could enfold him in her embrace. But she was as marble carved into a statue, locked in time and place.
Her mind crystal clear, Evylin watched the room with an almost omniscient gaze. She was strangely detached from the sight of her and Deckard resting together in the storm of their intertwined magic. The moonstones glowed, continuing to shimmer as Ethenn and Brea lifted them away from their upturned palms. In turn, Brea took Deckard’s now-empty hand and turned its palm over to rest on the couple’s clasped hold, and Ethenn did the same for Evylin.
The Warriors stepped between the pillars. They extended their hands over the boxes and crushed the moonstones in their grasp, twin cracks splitting the air. Evylin felt a vague twinge constrict in her chest. Two perfect halves dropped from the Warriors’ hands, landing to rest heavily on the velvet pillows.
The Mages came forward then; Fire, Day, Water, Night, Wind, Time, Terrae, and Space circled the pillars. The Existential Mages lifted their hands first, a halo of color emitting from them: golden yellow, vibrant purple, searing white, and smoky black. The four shards of moonstone rose, glowing from within.
Guided by magic, white and black fragments of moonstone met their opposite, creating two new stones of contrasting color. They flared brighter as the Mages flexed their hands. The contrasting halves fused into one, their cracks disappearing as though they’d never been.
The Elemental Mages raised their hands then. Chunks of metal materialized from Jarrad’s palms, hovering in the air.Ilain sent roaring flames to envelop them, burning them to molten white ore. Together, they formed the metal into shapes around the moonstones. With a flourish, Isla sent a gale to cool it as the Water Mage washed over them with a gentle stream. Still luminous with light, the newly encased moonstones glittered in settings of silver and gold.
A sudden swell of magic surged through the room, strong and overwhelming. Evylin lost her breath as fresh power coursed through her, rattling her bones and sparking in her fingertips. Deckard’s strangled breath told her he’d felt the same power slam into him like a tidal wave.
Profound desire and joy welled up within her, sending her into a delirium. The sensation rocked through her from head to toe and back up in such a violent ricochet of feeling that she lost all sense of where or who she was. Involuntarily, her eyes rolled back, and her vision went black, embracing her in a waking sleep. The feelings raged on—the burgeoning and confounding power filling her to bursting—but her mind had found rest. Oblivion gave her peace, cradling her as the shock of magic reformed her soul around Deckard’s and his around hers. She fell into a void at the fusion of their beings.
Time became meaningless. A century could have elapsed, and it would have seemed to be the blink of an eye. A second might have gone by, and it would have felt like an eon.
