Page 94 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

His mind traitorously wouldn’t quit, imagining what it would be like to walk beside her, to share more of their stories and learn what else they had in common. Maybe lie on the grass the way he’d seen other members of the Vanguard do with their partners and just share the same space.

Firstly, Angela wasn’t his partner.

She couldn’t be.

The Accords were clear.

And the Continuum Council would never approve.

Even though the Sworn Exarchs had an amendment that allowed them to bring Angela from the mortal realm, it was still against the Accords for him to be with her.

The Continuum Council traced magickal bloodlines for compatibility, heritage, and lineage. Without a father’s name on her birth certificate, Angela had no documented magickal heritage. And a woman with no provable lineage was everything the Council stood against, on both counts.

And yet his magick had recognized hers before she was even aware she had any.

Awakened ash and alchemy. The words Bellus had murmured as he read from that ancient text echoed in Zarek’s mind, back when his magick had marked her, not even giving him, or her, a choice in the matter. And he hated it. Because he also wanted… her.

He took a sip of coffee, forcing his thoughts back to the present meeting.

“How is Angela this morning?” Martar asked, fiddling with the handle of his coffee cup.

Of course they wanted to talk about her.

“Better,” Zarek replied, his tone cool and controlled.

“Still in her room?”

“No. I showed her the walled garden. She’s taking a day off to be by herself.” The words felt foreign on his tongue. Days off. It had to be a mortal need, although after the rain room, the compulsion, the shield that deflected every test they’d thrown at her, he guessed Angela wasn’t entirely mortal at all. “Magick is new to her; she needs the rest.” Even if she wasn’t resting by sleeping, because she was too scared to sleep.

Zarek took a sip of his bitter black coffee, wiping his mouth, already hearing the questions from their loud thoughts. “Angela is very sorry for what she did. She didn’t know how or why she caused the rain and meant no harm.” Her self-shame and horror for being able to compel people to spill their secrets he’d felt that.

“Has she done this before?” Rocharde asked, reaching for a slice of plum cake.

“Not that she’s aware of. Angela said she’s wished people a good day, that sort of thing—and thought nothing of it. Until yesterday, she had never known it existed. She’s more scared of herself, of causing harm, than anything else. And…” Zarek sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I told her about the truth compulsion. Again, she wasn’t aware she did that either.” He had kept too many secrets, and it was getting harder to keep them from her. What would she say about the Claiming, especially if it might be affecting her beyond sharing each other’s emotions?

“You look tired, brother.” Martar kept toying with his coffee cup’s handle, turning it around and around on the saucer. “Is Angela still getting nightmares?”

“Yes. Last night’s was…” He dropped his elbow on the table and exhaled heavily, while shielding his eyes with his hand. Going to her aid then had not been the time for conversation, like he had with her earlier this morning.

“I may have a theory on that,” Bellus interjected timidly. Enough for Condorr to pause from wolfing down the pile of cake and fruit on his plate.

“Go ahead, Bellus,” Gellar urged, stroking his salt and pepper beard. “We’re all open to ideas.”

“If we can get Angela into a dream state,” Bellus blurted out quickly. “I think it would help her find out what she has, in the way of magick, like Rocharde mentioned before. And I did some research—”

“What? Put her to sleep? Helviti—no.” The dragon in his chest stirred, like liquid lava curling through his veins, causing the staves on his leathers to glow. Cursed staves. “Because of her nightmares, she’s too scared to go to sleep as it is.”

The terror he felt through their connection was horrific. She’d wake gasping, shaking, with no memory of what had frightened her. And how she’d cling to him while her bed and skin were slick with sweat, as her heart pounded against his chest. All he could do was hold her as she willingly soaked up his calming magick until her breath returned to normal.

It was killing her. And watching it was killing him.

“Maybe she’s meant to finish that nightmare.” Rocharde picked up his coffee cup. “I know we mentioned the Sleep Wizard before. That’s what they do.”

“What did you feel in the dream state?” Condorr brushed the crumbs from around his mouth.

“No pain. Not physically, anyway.” Rocharde shifted in his seat, letting his forearms rest on the table on either side of his plate. “My problem was I could never remember how or why I was having the nightmares. But it was the same one. Every time.”

“Did it work?” Martar asked.