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Except, Isael had. When she'd woken that morning, she'd been in his arms, and she'd felt quite safe and comfortable, at least until she'd come to her senses.
Attempting to recapture that feeling, she let her neck relax and her head rest against his torso. The rise and fall of his chest had an almost unnatural feel to it, as if she hadn't expected him to breathe in the same manner as mortals.
"Humans believe that all elves possess magic," Isael began. "But that is not the case. Even in the past, when magic was more abundant, tribes always relied on the select few that were born with the gift. In the war, Ishvalier suffered the greatest losses, but there was no house that did not lose a precious bloodline. We've rebounded in the centuries since, but we have few children, fewer still born with any aptitude for magic. Esodir is regarded as one of the most promising of his generation, and his abilities pale in comparison to what my brother and I could do at half his age. The elves are a shadow of what they once were.
"But it is hardly an existential crisis," he said, his tone lifting. "We're adapting well. After the war, in the period we refer to as The Reformation, we've learned to rely less on magic and have steadily been embracing new technologies. We've even built an army, trained to use weapons in lieu of magic. And because of this, there are many who are beginning to view magic users with resentment."
Cera remembered Esodir telling her something similar, though she hadn't understood at the time. Their resentment made more sense now that she knew more of the elven magic, or rather, the lack thereof. It reminded her of Atera and Kyta, where magic wasn't only rare, but actively snuffed out wherever it arose.
"What you may be able to do, it is a very good thing. But also, dangerous. There will be those who will want to control you, and if they can't, they will want to eliminate you. They would rather see magic lost, than live with the knowledge that it might be used against them."
"Is that how they feel about you?"
She looked up at him, her cheek rubbing against the silken fabric of his robes. Isael was looking out over the mountains. His eyes were distant, but his hand had come to rest on the small of her back. His thumb moved in a circular motion, a gesture she supposed he meant to be soothing. It only made her uncomfortable, but in a strange way that was not entirely unpleasant.
"Some," he said. His lips curved. "But they are also terribly afraid of me."
Cera laughed a little. She still didn't understand the true scope of his power, and resting against his chest, hearing his heart beating steadily in her ear, she couldn't help but worry for him.
"What else might I be able to do with life magic?" She was almost afraid to ask, but she wouldn't let fear leave her ignorant.
"I can't say with certainty. All I know comes from old tales and historical texts. They speak of turning deserts into woodlands and reviving the dead, which means they're no different than any other fables. It's impossible to discern fact from fiction."
Cera doubted she'd ever be able to do anything like that. She'd made a little egg hatch and bloomed a few anemic flowers, which were a far cry from turning a desert into a forest. And as for raising the dead, just the thought gave her goosebumps. Though, perhaps it was Isael's thumb doing that.
"There is one thing I know for certain about my grandmother," Isael said. "She died fairly young, hardly two centuries old. But there were few in my house that could not trace their lineage back to her. She bore over forty children, the first of which was my father."
It would have been a great deal of children for anyone, particularly an elf.
"Life magic aids in conception?" she asked.
"I believe so. But you shouldn't concern yourself with that for now."
She cocked her head. "Isn't that why I'm here? I was under the impression that it should be my only concern."
He glanced down at her, blue eyes glinting. "A fair point. Shall I take you to bed now?"
Her mind sputtered, and all she could think to say was, "Tonight would be... I should meditate on the state of my..."
She was spared from humiliating herself further when Isael began to laugh. Not the light chuckles he'd given her before, but something much deeper that transformed his face, making him look rather...boyish.
"Did Maewyn tell you to say that?" He asked, as he began to recover.
Sheepishly, Cera said, "I'm not supposed to say."
"Then I won't press the issue," he said amiably. "You should know, any time something is difficult to accomplish and beyond one's direct control, superstitions arise. The conceiving of children is one such thing. I don't want it to be complicated between us. You shouldn't overthink it."
"Maybe. But if I do have this power, shouldn't I try to use it when we're...together? Perhaps it will be just as simple as what I did with the egg or the flowers."
Isael didn't answer. Leaning against the balcony, he pulled her more closely to him, until the curves of her body were crushed against the harder planes of his. Cera closed her eyes, finding it easy to imagine falling asleep against him, cocooned in his warmth and his masculine scent.
She waited for him to release her, or to tell her it was time to return to her room. Or, heavens forbid, time to retire to his bed. When none of that happened, and he continued to hold her, Cera began to drift more deeply toward sleep. The last things her mind registered were a cool breeze and the sensation of a light touch on the top of her head.
The Former Concubine
Cera stretched upon waking, groaning as her muscles and her gown protested the movement. Rolling onto her stomach, she blindly grasped for the ties hidden in the sides of her gown. She found one and tugged at it until it came loose enough for her to properly yawn.
When she sat up, she found herself in her own bed, which she recognized only by the gold blankets and abundance of pillows. She'd yet to do much sleeping in it.
