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“What is that?”

The question fell from my lips without any active choice to voice it. I was freaked out enough I didn’t even want to tear out my throat for showing the vulnerability.

“The magic of the earth,” Vincent said, nearly as quiet as Callum. “Or, at least, that of the Forest itself. Most are unable to feel it, though they can see the effect it has on the land and the fauna.”

He gestured broadly toward the very alive forest surrounding us.

“You can feel the magic?” Callum asked. The question was a whisper, so quiet I almost didn’t hear him. I doubted anyone else could even with their silence. His touch was firm enough, I barely managed a single nod.

“It…” I swallowed again. I wanted to get all the way out of this place. How long would we be in here? Just the few hours I’d spent on Magefall had been unnerving. More than a day here? I shuddered. Especially as that sense of something being wrong was only growing more intense. My skin crawled with it. “It feels like the… the other place. M-Magefall.”

I grimaced at the sheer panic in my voice, the fractured, shaky words.

Callum tilted his head without breaking eye contact. For an asinine reason I had no urge to examine, the contact soothed me, kept the strange panic from getting any worse. Like the morning he’d been in the tent when I’d woken from the nightmare and held me through the last of the aftershocks. The wisteria grew even more intense, wrapping around me like a second cloak. Almost like an afterthought, he brushed at his knee. Some of the sense of wrong eased away.

“It does feel similar to Magefall,” he said after a minute. “Though I’m not sure most would notice the similarities. Only during the Rite is anyone allowed to step foot on the island.”

His voice wove around me as effectively as his voice. Something inside me, twisted tight and shaking in fear, slowly relaxed. Vanilla gradually overtook the stale oranges, and the breeze faded. He traced my jaw again and then the slashing marks of the translation tattoo. That inner piece relaxed even more, wanting to crawl into the touch and the wisteria scent.

I shoved it down. I’d already been vulnerable enough, needy enough.

Callum let his touch fall away.

Instantly, the suffocating panic returned. My breath caught in my throat. Callum’s frown was even more pronounced now. His touch was feather-light as he cupped my cheek. It was nearly comical how quickly that inner part of me relaxed this time.

He sighed.

“Give me your hand,” he instructed. It had that same command woven through it like the night of the urgul attack.

I was too rattled to try and resist it, especially with everyone still focused on us. I loosened my grip on the sweater and held out my left hand, palm down. He laced his fingers with mine, his callouses scraping along the back of my hand. A blush spread across my cheeks as the orange scent grew stronger, weaving with the vanilla.

Callum moved his horse away a few inches without dropping my hand. He looked at Phillip and nodded once. Heath carefully sheathed his dagger and rolled his shoulders back. Those in the front of the group, Hugh and Joseph and a guard whose name I didn’t know, started forward again, the pace just as fast as before.

24

CALLUM

Amethyst’s need for touch to keep her calm enough to control her magic only increased the farther we traversed through the Zimerus Forest, and it was slowly eroding my self-control and good sense. Every minute spent with her skin against mine was a minute that rooted the intrinsic protective and possessive need for her deeper into me until I was sure there would be no way to truly dig it out. It was foolish in the extreme to continue allowing it to happen. Returning her to her Arizona was going to be difficult enough without this additional intimacy.

Even still, I tried to cherish each slide of her skin against mine, every moment of contact while we journeyed through the ancient forest. Never mind the war that was sure to ignite once the Votarists held Sepra responsible for her illegal participation. Her scent and touch and voice would haunt me for decades, and that felt like a much more difficult challenge to overcome than a war my kingdom was, at least, prepared to handle. Tyrus was married and had a son, so the need for me to marry and have a child was less than it had been a decade ago, but the expectation was still there. I wasn’t sure how I would manage when every time I closed my eyes I would see Amethyst’s black hair and near-transparent eyes.

Now was not the time to ruminate on that, though. The servants were already moving around the moderately-sized clearing, preparing for the final camp we’d need to create in the forest. Tomorrow afternoon, we would finally reach the town of Dawncross. From there, it was less than a half day’s ride to Starguard. Two more days until I handed Amethyst to the Votarists and Sepra was held accountable for their breaking the treaty.

I dropped out of Torin’s saddle, rolling back my shoulders and then pulling my hair from the low ponytail I’d worn for most of the day. Amethyst took my offered hand and then dismounted from Elyssian, her movements more steady every time she did so. Soon, she wouldn’t need my help at all.

The thought bit into me as effectively as the bitter gentian leaves.

She didn’t resist as I laced our fingers together, the movement as natural as breathing now. She leaned into me and breathed deeply. In response, my scent pulsed from me, rich with the calming overtone. Her vanilla wove around us, strong enough I had to bite back a groan. Her cheeks flushed a bright pink. Tegan approached, and I wordlessly handed off Elyssian’s reins. He began the process of untacking the horse while I led Amethyst toward the developing camp.

“This is the last night we’ll be in the forest,” I whispered.

“Thank God,” she muttered.

I couldn’t help but laugh at her obvious relief. Her flush deepened, spreading down her neck and across her collarbones. A moment later, she grimaced.

“What’s wrong?”

She scrunched her nose and then sighed. She traced the translation tattoo almost absentmindedly as she said, “My head hurts.”