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I expected to have to put yesterday's clothes, but the king had several outfits brought to my room, and to my surprised, some were even tolerable. I found black slacks and paired them with a cropped green top under a blazer. I quite like the look, though I wouldn't have imagined it myself.
I only had time to dress before I was informed that we were heading back to Magnapolis.
Finally.
Except I am traveling with Zale, in a hovercraft smaller than the duke's, though the interior is more luxurious.
Objectively, I know the ride back to the city is much faster than the travel in my stepfather’s cumbersome craft on the way in. Regardless of the actual speed of the vehicle, the journey feels like it lasts for days on end, with that infuriating kiss replaying at the back of my mind every second, and the fact that Zale’s seated directly opposite me.
The king spends the entire ride paging through the alchemy manual I read before my first class, and I can tell he's not paying attention to a single word.
We've reached the mainland by the time I give in, breaking the intolerable silence. "Why do you even study alchemy? You can use magik!"
His icy eyes don't leave the page. "Why do you?"
I should have expected him to avoid a straight answer.
"It goes both ways, dearie. If you'd like knowledge about me to use as a weapon or a shield, you'll have to share your own weaknesses."
I huff. "It was a simple question."
Only nothing could ever be simple between Zale Devar and me. At least, not after that kiss.
He was, and is, my enemy. That much hasn't changed. From the get-go, he decided to play that part. But though I’m certain he still wants me gone and I'd love nothing more than to thrust my pretty dagger between his shoulder blades, I'd also wager he'd kiss me again before sending me on my way, and I wouldn't mind feeling the rough pressure of his lips before stabbing him to death. He’s ruined a perfectly good enmity, muddling it in shades of desire and confusion.
"I have an innate ability with an element validated by the faculty, as well as a master’s in spell crafting and summoning."
I'd like to say he's boasting, but he sounds matter-of-fact, almost bored.
"To qualify as a Master of the Eldritch Arts, one must be proficient inallforms of magiks, not just sorcery, or summoning, or elemental." He shuts the book and finally drags his icy gaze to mine. "I have no inclination to take metamorphosis, and alchemy was the closest equivalent."
I have a thousand more questions now.
He wants to be a Master of the Eldritch Arts. But why? He is the king of Ravelyn, with more power at his fingertips than most could dream of. Why seek another title?
And yet I suspect in his shoes I'd be the same, striving to learn everything I can, earn as many qualifications as possible.
I understand my own hunger for more, as I once had very little. It makes less sense in his case.
"Your turn. Why alchemy, and not politics, or sciences, or literature?"
I look out the window, breaking eye contact first. He's answered my question, so I ought to be fair and return the favor, but I'm embarrassed. "Well, I can't do magiks, can I?"
"Can't you?" he questions pointedly. "I mean, have you ever attempted to?"
That makes little sense. "Core magiks are innate, right? Shifters turn in their puberty; witches start to release light or shade energy unbidden until they learn what to do with it. People know if they have magiks. I don't."
He leans forward and reaches for my hands, too fast for me to think of withdrawing.
"What are you doing?"
Zale's seeking my eyes, a frown between his delicate brows. I can tell he's calling to some energy by the mist of silver and green flashing in his eyes, and the delicious waves suddenly coursing through me, cloaking me in a comfortable, lulling embrace.
"Take it in, don't reject it."
I couldn't if I wanted to. I feel lighter than ever, the weights and worries on my shoulders shoved aside as the power whispers to me.
"Now direct it. Move it in your mind. It's yours to command as you please."
