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“Likely the Iblis wizard is too low level to do it. Besides, who would steal her? And if she ran, where would she go? No one’s going to take in a dried-up familiar, especially if her house is willing to keep her.”
“Your world is a harsh place,” he commented.
“It’s your world now, too,” she reminded him. “And now you understand why you need to bond me,” she added.
“No.” He said nothing more, just the firm negation.
Fine, then.“Have it your way,” she gritted through her teeth. “But the next time a wizard asks you why you haven’t bonded me, say that you’re waiting to do it in the House Phel arcanium, in the tradition of your family. Don’t elaborate. Be mysterious.”
His dark expression cleared with relief. “They’ll believe that?”
“Yes. That’s why Jan assumed you were a traditionalist,” she explained. “It’s a little odd, but wizards capitalize on being odd.”
They’d reached the inn, the interior lobby warmly comforting after the brisk weather and nasty encounter with the Iblis wizard. Nic would’ve gone through much worse to be rid of the collar, though, so she counted it a good outing. The innkeeper greeted them cheerfully, saying that he’d had the broken glass cleaned up as requested. Gabriel thanked him and ordered a second bottle of wine, tipping him generously.
“But I don’t necessarily need an arcanium to execute this bonding,” Gabriel said in a reluctant tone once they were in the privacy of their room. “Is that correct?”
“Correct. It’s a power thing. An arcanium helps if you’re a low- or mid-level wizard. But with your power and mine, we can do it right now.” Nic shed the lovely cloak reluctantly. It outshone even the one she’d left in Elal, perfectly configured to be both deliciously warm and comfortably light. “Or in the morning, when you’re rested.”
“No,” Gabriel decided, still sounding stubborn and snarly. “I like the idea of the traditional ceremony in the House Phel arcanium. Someday,” he added, “if you’re willing.”
“Gabriel Phel,” she said, tempted to stomp her foot—or kick him. “I’m willing now. Just get it over with and then there won’t be any questions.”
“No, you’re clearlynotwilling, so stop lying about it!” he fired back at her. “Didn’t we agree not to lie to each other?”
Taken aback by his vehemence, she shrugged that off. She wasn’t lying, exactly. There were many shades of willingness—and she was as willing as she’d ever be.
He took a breath. “I can handle questions. I’m going to take a bath if you’re sure you don’t want to go first?”
“No. You seriously need a nap,” she bit out, then relented. “And if you go first, I can linger in the tub as long as I like.”
Abruptly, he grinned, changing moods in a blink. “Aha! You’re not as selfless as you pretend to be.”
She couldn’t help smiling back. “Not in the least. You should know by now that I’m exceptionally high maintenance. Acquire an expensive familiar and you can expect to keep paying, you know.”
“I can live with that,” he said quietly, going over to the many packages he’d brought back from his shopping and scouting spree. Opening one, he grunted in satisfaction and handed her a silk case. “It might not be the exact stuff you like,” he said awkwardly, “but it was the most expensive they had. And the saleswoman said it’s a complete kit. With a crème, too, for your skin.” He rubbed his own neck in demonstration, his gaze going to the bruises on her collarbones. “The other packages are all for you, too.”
He hesitated, some thought making him awkward still, then he shrugged and went into the bathing chamber, closing the door behind him.
Nic checked the contents of the kit: high-end House Aratron cosmetics, hair balms, and lotions. Even a bottled grooming imp from her own house. She sighed in pure delight. Apparently, she hadn’t needed to tell Gabriel she liked her luxuries. Going through the other packages, she felt like it was her natal day. Two lovely gowns, plus two more sets of clothes suitable for riding. A warm robe to go over the old nightgown Missus Ryma had given her.
Also, three books, brand new from the House Calliope presses, one of them by her favorite author—how Gabriel had guessed, she didn’t know—and a set of embroidery silks, linens, and needles.
The man didn’t miss a trick.What about the care and feeding of familiars?A burst of emotion made her heart actually throb in her chest. She was doomed.
Pouring him a generous glass of wine, she knocked on the bathing room door, going in when he called for her to enter, though he sounded wary. He watched her approach with something close to apprehension, surrounded in rising steam, his muscled arms braced on the sides of the large soaking tub. He’d dunked his head, so his silver hair looked darker, the black streak less startling, and water beaded on his impressive chest.
She handed him the wine, heroically keeping her eyes on his and not peeking any lower, tempting though it was.You’ve seen it all before, she reminded herself, but understood for the first time why Gabriel didn’t find that to be a valid argument, either. “Thank you,” she said, keeping it sincere and simple. Otherwise, she might start babbling.
He raised a single brow. “For?”
She held up the book by her favorite author. “How did you know?”
“Vale told me.” He said it very seriously, but his lips quirked. “I heard you telling him that you wished you had a book to read while you soaked in your hot bath.”
Ah, of course he’d heard that. The amazing part was that he’d listened. “Vale didn’t tell you Lady Stewart is my favorite novelist.”
“How can you be sure?” He sipped the wine, watching her over the rim with darkly amused eyes.
