“Teach me how to make my illusion better?”
A long pause, then finally, “I can try. Here’s lesson one. Take my hand.”
He wasn’t dropping his illusion. He wanted her to try and find out where he was. She looked at changes in the moss, footprints from where he stepped that his illusion couldn’t completely reach. Staring at where his voice had originated from, she slowly imagined his face, a good head taller than her. His sharp eyes and sharper cheekbones. She imagined his broad shoulders, filling in the thought down his arm and to where his hand would be.
Eira slowly lifted her arm. She reached…and grabbed the open air. Olivin said nothing at her failure, avoiding giving away his location.
They didn’t have time for this, the words burned her tongue. But her determination kept them from slipping out. She could do this. Shewould.
She tried a different approach. Eira reached out with her magic. Her senses were instantly overwhelmed by all the power used to make the space they were standing in. But she set her jaw and persisted. The shift all had a similar hum to it and there was one thing out of place—a revolving pulse. Almost like a lighthouse beacon at the end of a long night.
She lifted her hand once more and, this time, her fingers closed around his. Olivin blinked into existence and surprise relaxed her magic.
“You found me,” he whispered.
“It wasn’t that hard,” she replied, equally soft.
Olivin pulled her toward him. They were a breath apart. “Stay close to me. It’s easier the more of you that touches me.”
A warmth blossomed in her that she quickly pushed her magic toward, freezing it before it could start. “I will.”
“If I need to, may I put my arm around your waist?”
“You may.” More magic. More internal ice. He wasn’t breaking through to her.
“Good. If I have to pull you close, I will.”
“I’ll follow your lead.”
“Oh?” He cocked his head to the side, looking more curious than arrogant. Yet Eira still felt as though she was being sized up. “Have you finally come to trust me?”
“I always trusted you.”
“Don’t lie to me, Eira,” he said gently but firmly. “I never blamed you for your skepticism of me. I had the same for you. But, now, after it all, do you trust me?”
Eira hadn’t thought about it much. She hadn’t wanted to. “Trust is a dangerous thing.”
“It is.” His fingers tightened slightly around hers. “But I took you as someone who likes danger.”
“Only when it’s the type of danger I can handle.”
“I’m flattered you think you can’t handle me. Though I think in reality it’d be much the opposite.”
“We should go,” Eira reminded him.
“We should.”
As Olivin led her, fingers intwined, Eira stole a breath. Despite her best efforts, her chest was hot. She ached, deep within—an ache that had been dormant before Cullen. Now it had been awoken and it begged to be heeded.
Olivin was handsome, there was no denying that. And his attention was not entirely unwanted… But her heart was still elsewhere, even when she knew it shouldn’t be. Even when she didn’t want it to be. Perhaps he could help nurse that pain by focusing on her body, rather than her heart?
The untoward thoughts scattered the moment they crossed underneath the archway. The semicircle of knights was still there, along with the attendant. It was easy enough to step around them and off to the side. Deneya no doubt had told the knights what to do, making it so they could sneak away.
Eira worked to remember the path that had been laid out on the table, but it wasn’t necessary. Olivin executed it flawlessly. Before they knew it, they stood at the base of the coliseum by a door, guarded by two knights and an attendant.
No, not guarded by two knights… Deneya’s features came into clarity as they approached. The Head Specter was in her knightly garb again. They stepped into the light being cast by the torches flanking the door and could hear what was being said.
“There haven’t been any other issues?” Deneya asked.
