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“When we were kids, we’d dare each other to explore the ruins of House Phel,” he explained. “Depending on the time of year—you’ll understand when you let me explain marshes to you—we could explore the cellars. Of course, we found this tunnel.”
“Of course you did,” she replied drily.
“It goes under the lake,” he added, “which, as kids, we thought was really neat.”
“Explains why water is dripping from the ceiling.”
“Only a few drops here and there. The tunnel finishes at a dead end, which I always wondered about.”
“Because why go to the trouble of building a tunnel under a lake that goes nowhere.”
“Exactly.” He grinned at her. “Unless you wanted to hide a secret room at the end of it. We’re water wizards. What better place for our arcanium than under water?”
“A nice, dry tower that’s closer to the moon,” she retorted, but he could tell he’d gotten her interested in the possibility. They were nearing the end, the lantern showing the smooth stones that pinched into a V. Nic eyed it. “Looks like a dead end, all right.”
“There must be a way to open it.”
“Must there?”
“Yes—to get into the arcanium.”
She sighed. “Gabriel, it’s entirely possible that whoever built this tunnel planned for it to go somewhere eventually, but they got tired of it. Maybe they ran out of funding. Or a very practical Lady Phel put her foot down and said that building a tunnel under a lake was asking for trouble.”
“Why was the practical person a woman?” he asked, amused by her, even as he scrutinized the join of the walls.
“Some things you just know.” She shifted in his arms, holding the lantern higher. “Gabriel, my only love, can we go back upstairs now? Seriously, we can do the bonding anywhere. It won’t take long, and then we can move on to more productive pursuits. Drier ones.” Her stomach growled. “Supper would be welcome.”
It would’ve been nice if she’d called him her only love in a less sarcastic tone, but he still liked the sound of it. “I know there must be a way in. We need to do it this way, Nic, I feel it in my bones.”
She sighed. “Well, that’s probably your wizard’s intuition,” she conceded. “So we should heed it. Maybe it’s a door that can be opened with moon magic, since the water part is already handled. You’ll need to draw on my magic, too.” When he frowned at her, she tapped the middle of his forehead with a gentle finger. “Arcanium equals wizard plus familiar. The key to this particular lock likely requires a blend of both.”
Much as he hated it, that made sense. “Can you just give me some?”
She rolled her eyes. “Not somethingIcan actively control, else I’d be a wizard, too. You’re already in physical contact with me—and you drew on it before—just do that.”
“I wasn’t really thinking about it then,” he admitted.
“Exactly, because it’s intuitive. Your magic is always reaching for mine without your conscious control.” She put her finger over his lips. “Don’t apologize. That’s how we’re built. Think about how my magic feels to you—is there any aspect that makes you want to consume it?”
If she only knew.“You feel to me like the best red wine,” he told her hoarsely, holding her gaze, her green eyes catching the candlelight so they seemed to glow. “Infused with roses, warm and spicy. Sometimes I want nothing more than to drink you up.”
Her full lips curved into a smile. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” She cupped the back of his neck and pressed her mouth to his. “Drink of me, Gabriel.”
He couldn’t resist her, not with her magic thickening the air and her lush body so warm in his arms. She opened her mouth to him, full of the flavor that beguiled him, her magic flowing thick and hot as blood, twining with the vines of his moon magic and blossoming there, crimson petals velvet and redolent.
Moon magic twined out of him, the silvery light overwhelming the lone candle’s glow, tendrils finding purchase in the cracks between the stones. A grinding sound filtered into his perceptions.
“Gabriel,” Nic breathed. “Look.”
The tunnel had somehow spiraled open. Beyond it lay the most extraordinary room he’d ever seen.
Stepping inside, he set Nic down on the perfectly dry, gleaming tiles, which spun in a dizzying pattern of silver and myriad shades of blues and greens somehow evoking the swirl of moonlight on water. Stone walls inlaid with silver runes framed sheets of thick glass, the water beyond them deep blue, growing lighter nearer the surface. An enormous round lens of glass—or crystal, given its luminosity—sat in the center of the ceiling, focusing the last golden light of evening on a circle formed by the tiles, an echo of the window above.
Nic whistled low and long. “Impressive. I take it all back. This was worth even wading through freezing water to get to.”
“Did you just say I was right and you were wrong?” he asked, wondering why they were both speaking in hushed, nearly reverent tones.
“Not in so many words,” she replied, flashing a smile.
