He wouldn’t entertain her ghost one bit.
While he was at it, he should probably shove Ezer inside the castle, too.
Then he remembered the way she’d looked in the bathing chambers, just days ago...and he left the part of the castle that held her cracked open.
Just a tiny bit.
With a sigh, Arawn picked up his coffee mug and downed it, wishing it were winterwine instead. Perhaps that would take the sting away from him. Perhaps that would be strong enough to make him forgeteverythingentirely.
He followed the winged scout with hiseyes, past the wall of frosted windows and the swirling snow to the Sawteeth Mountains far beyond. The shadowstorm crackled and churned, dark as night over the peaks, despite the dawning of a new day.
The doors of the castle in his mind blew open, and the intrusive thoughts hit him again. But this time they were of Ezer alone.
What if she dies in there?
What if the Acolyte takes her? What if he turns her into one of his monsters, what if--
His heartbeat hastened.
He suddenly felt the need to stand up. To flip this table.
To get on the back of a war eagle and flywithher across the Expanse, flywithher into that shadowstorm so he could protect her, keep her safe from sharing Soraya’s fate.
Gods, he was a ruined man.
He was ruined the second he’d given Ezer that cursed speaking stone and felt her voice slide into his mind like a promise. He was ruined when he entered the bathing chambers...and found her there...waiting for him in the darkness.
She was a test. A challenge.
A devil in disguise, sent from the gods, to see if he would give in to her.
If he ignored his feelings, if he pushed them away until he stifled them to death...maybe his magic would come back.
Maybe that was the key to proving his loyalty to the Five.
He’d thought it for days now.
So why, when Ezer was near...
Why did she make himburn?
He hadn’t felt his magic sizzle to life in ages. Not since the accident. Not since Soraya.
But lately, he swore the temperature in his veins has risen when she was near. He swore he could conjure more than just a candle’s flame, so long as Ezer pushed his buttons hard enough.
So long as she made him seethe with equal parts wanting and rage.
“Perhaps we attack from the western flank,” said the Watermage Master, a woman with eyes as crystal blue as the springtime sky.
Arawn was about to suggest something when heyelpedinstead.
Because the stone in his pocket suddenly warmed.
Gods.
He jolted upright, knocking his kneecap on the underside of the table.
“Just a cramp,” he muttered an apology beneath his breath, then pretended to sip from his empty mug to hide the expression he wore on his face.
