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Power’s Price
Despite Verve’s protests, Ivet allowed the newcomers to waltz into the Tipsy Willow like they belonged there. By the time Ivet had them both seated, with a couple of Dannel’s woven blankets around their shoulders and steaming mugs of tea in their hands, Verve decided this was another of those battles that weren’t worth fighting. Even so, she kept both eyes on the newcomers from her place by the door.
Well, that was sort of a lie. Most of her attention was for Alem as he sat with the new mages, bare hands pressed to their wounds while he worked his quiet magic. Verve had only seen him heal a few times, but she couldn’t help her fascination. The nasty cut at Kyon’s bicep scabbed over, then the skin knitted itself back in place. A clean heal; there wouldn’t even be a scar.
The One is life. A memory of Verve’s father and mother, heads bowed as they murmured that Sufani benediction, floated to the surface of her mind, unbidden. The One god loved all life, and so too did the Sufani. Or at least, they strove to. Love was hard to come by when Atal’s followers were hell-bent on hunting your people into extinction.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her family was gone and surely even the One god had no love for an assassin of any sort. It was Atal, Danya’s god, whom Verve served now. Only Atal, who craved order and stability, would accept the path Verve’s life had taken. To walk among the kotahi, the non-Sufani, she’d had to become one of them.
No going back now.
When Alem was done, Kyon studied his arm and gave a low whistle. “Thank you. I’ve heard of dendric mages, but never seen one in action. You’re quite skilled.”
Alem gave him a small smile. “I’m just glad to help. Nori, let me see your cheek.”
Idiot, Verve thought, her gaze never leaving Alem. One day, he’ll heal the wrong person, then he’ll be in a world of trouble. Dendric mages were rare, which meant they were valuable beyond measure. Alem was a fool to use his gifts so openly, and with a smile, no less.
A gorgeous smile, but a foolish one.
Raindrops intermittently pattered against the tavern’s tin roof in a cozy contrast to the warm lantern light within the Willow. Many of the villagers had chosen to ride out the storm in the tavern. To one side, Owen and Lio read a book with Berel, while Dannel softly strummed his gitar. Hadiya and Kinneret played a simple card game.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Verve glanced out the window, but saw nothing beyond the approaching storm. The worst of the rain hadn’t yet arrived, but the world outside was dark and gray, enough like nighttime to make her shiver.
“Verve?”
Her heart kicked up at Alem’s voice, and she glanced over to see him standing close. Ivet now sat with the two new mages, the three of them deep in quiet conversation.
“What’s wrong?” Verve asked.
He gestured to the tavern door. “Can I get your help? I need to prepare some more herbs, and it’ll be quicker with two pairs of hands. If we hurry, we can beat the rain.”
She glanced over at Ivet again. “I shouldn’t leave.”
“Why…? Wait, let me guess…” Alem cocked his head as if in deep thought. “Because those nasty moon-bloods are just waiting for a chance to strike, right? The moment you turn your back, that’s when they’ll let their true colors show.”
“Exactly.” Verve gave him a feral smile. “So glad you see things my way.”
He rubbed his temples. “They’re not evil, Verve. I promise.”
“According to Ivet,” she drawled, “Marea Damaris, not you, will judge friend from foe. Right?”
A flush crept to his neck, but he gave her that easy smile. “I can make my own judgements. Look, will you just help me? Everyone else says my herb mixture stinks.”
“You sure know how to entice a girl.” But Verve’s curiosity—sure, that’s all it was—got the better of her, so she agreed. After casting one last look at Ivet, Verve followed Alem out of the Willow and into the electric air. They darted through the village, dodging raindrops, until they reached Alem’s home: a modest cottage on the far side of Lotis, surrounded by a rickety fence. Alem led her through the front gate and past the neat rows of various plants, many of which Verve recognized as being rare, or at least not local.
As Alem wrestled with the door, Verve’s gaze caught on the mass of vines climbing along a set of trellises that took up much of the garden. Tiny yellow flowers bloomed among the green leaves, and even in the rain, the scent of citrus and honey was overpowering. “What are those?” Verve asked, pointing.
Alem tugged on the ring-shaped door handle, but the wood just bowed outward and remained stubbornly closed. He grunted. “Sodding thing always sticks when it rains… Oh, those are jessamin blossoms. Their nectar makes the most delicious honey — well, it’s not true honey, but it tastes enough like honey, so no one complains. My parents always grew them. I suppose a place doesn’t feel like home unless I can make my own jessamin honey—”
The flow of his words cut off as Verve reached over to help him before they got soaked. Alem went still as she placed her gloved hands next to his, gripped the polished brass handle, and tugged. After a heartbeat, he tugged too, and while the door groaned in protest, it refused to budge.
Thunder rolled again, making the cottage shudder. Verve shot Alem a wry look. “Is this normal, or shall I break a window?”
He gave a helpless laugh and one of those easy, open smiles. “A little worse than normal. Let’s try one more time before we commit property damage.”
She ripped her gaze from his mouth back to the recalcitrant door and braced herself. “On three.”
“One,” Alem said as he slid beside her, the sides of their legs just barely touching. Warmth radiated from him and his breath came a little too short for someone not sprinting.
