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Chapter19
The Storyteller
His touch unlockeda fire that consumed me, head to foot. As though a hook dug into my chest and tethered me to him, there was a sudden peace amidst the fear.
Incoherent words filtered through my head. Silas closed his eyes. A tune, soft and lovely, quiet enough I was certain only I could hear it, built in the back of his throat. His song. My words. This wasn’t the same magic as Riot Ode.
“I’m thinking something,” I said. “But I don’t understand it.”
His lips flicked in a cautious smile. “You have the words.”
Chest to chest, I embraced the warmth of his skin, the leather and musk scent of his clothes, I found a bit of peace in the chaos, and let the words build in my mind before a string of words formed in my head. A song of unseen paths of fate crossing, of broken hearts restored.
“I don’t have parchment and ink,” I whispered.
“Does she need it?” Oviss said, head cocked to one side. “A bond burns fiercer than ink.”
“A bond burns the tales of fate.” Forbi beamed and gestured between me and Silas.
“She has not accepted the bond,” Silas said. He looked away for a few breaths. “There are still hesitations that remain.”
I wanted the ground to swallow me up. Was I so obvious? Did the crippling fear of fate bleed through so clearly? “I don’t even know how.”
Silas rubbed the back of his neck. “You will feel it down to your soul. A burn, a connection.”
I felt it, the boil in my veins, the longing, the need. But a cloud of fear, of hesitation, of doubt was there like a villainous poison keeping me one step away. I wanted to shout at him, that despite the fear and hesitation, with each passing moment, my mind, my heart, seemed to seek his touch and presence. But Oviss clicked her tongue and removed a crinkled piece of parchment and battered quill from the old satchel.
“Old ways then, royal her.”
Ashamed, I took hold of her quill and parchment. With a pinched expression, Danna offered up a small vial of ink.
I blinked to Silas. He was a formidable shadow that brought a strange kind of comfort to my soul. A delight to behold and fear in the same breath. I studied his sharp jaw, a near-straight nose but for the slightest bump that hinted it might’ve been broken once before. A dark coat of stubble covered his stern chin, and the hint of scars and terror on the other half added a bit of mystery.
I’d always loved a good mystery.
“Write the words, Little Rose. They will still use your seidr.” He said softly. “Don’t force what is not there.”
A crack of guilt, of a strange kind of anguish, fractured through my chest.
I was denying him with every sliver of doubt; I was denying the sacrifice he’d offered by standing by, watching lifetimes come and go as he sang his song, as he aided me along the way. All while he remained lost in the darkness.
For weeks my seidr had left me wanting and empty.
Now, beside him, words flowed through my thoughts. But more than that, it was as if they dripped through my blood. Liquid fire filled me, head to foot, and I could not imagine keeping the words inside, as though each syllable pounded against my ribcage in a frenzy.
A shudder danced down my spine as I wrote each symbol, and Silas’s low, sorrowful voice followed.
Gods. I nearly groaned in a twisted pleasure as the burn of seidr bled from my fingertips, his voice, and into the words on the parchment.
Heat seemed to seep through every pour, a radiant calm wrapped around my small corner of the room. A complete song of fate.
I schooled my gaze on the new words. Short, but I had the sense they’d be powerful.
A song of blood keeps life for the one you love.
Trust and let it be, in this a tale of land and sea.
The final words baffled me, but I couldn’t recall when a tale didn’t. They were vague, but this one brought hope. As if some part of me could sense the peace it would bring to the intended—the Sun Prince.
