“But am I allowed to leave this place? Travel the immortal lands without guard or chaperone?” I clench my jaw.Power beyond measure. What good is it if I can’t get my family back? I came here wanting answers, but I feel more lost than ever. How many years will it take to earn enough power to find them? He doesn’t answer and I scoff. “So, I can’t leave.Probably ever.” My lip curls. “As I thought … a prisoner.”
“Even if you had permission from my father to leave these lands, you would find the elves are not so generous and the seraphs less than holy.” Draven folds his arms, fingers curling. His tone turns casually dismissive, a challenge weaved within as if my ignorance is bottomless. “A few years of learning to wield what’s called to you, so you’re not a danger to yourself or others, isn’t a large ask considering the exchange in magic.”
“If I could snap my fingers and have my family back at the cost of burning these cards and all their power, I would.”
“Whatever you say, Wraith.” Hands in his pockets, his nose twitches, face curling to a snarl. “Youaskedto be here, if I recall.”
I stand up, growling, “I wanted to find my family, not be stuck here with some entitled asshole who’s half pigeon.”
“Two avian jokes in one evening. Real clever.” He rolls his eyes until he notices me marching to my room. I’m done with him and his attitude toward me.
Shadows swarm around the door, slamming it closed before I can reach it. I turn to face him, ready to start shouting, but he’s closer than I thought, and I careen back into the wall.
“Ow! You idiot!” I shove him in the chest, and despite finding nothing but hard muscle, he winces, the Death card glowingand hovering at his side. We learned about its power today—he uses it to transport through shadows and manipulate them to grab things, so I snatch at the card. If I can imbue my energy on his deck, I can stop him—
I gasp, the card morphing from gold to red, burning my hand as if I’ve grabbed a hot poker. Death’s skeletal face brands my palm, bubbling my skin.
Draven yanks the card back and grasps my bloodied hand, turning it over. “What were you thinking?” He groans, “Everyone knows not to touch someone else’s cards in the middle of a spell!”
“It’s only my second day here, asshole!” I roar back.
He flings my door open, marching me through the room and to the bathroom. Within seconds, we’re inside, and he shoves my hand under running water. It cools the burn, but the card imprint is seared into my skin.
“Great, now I get to live with this forever.”
He huffs, but his tone is calmer when he says, “Well, you can say you’ve brushed hands with death quite literally. It’ll be quite an icebreaker.”
His eyes flick over me, checking my reaction. It was … almost funny. But my hand still hurts like hells, my scowl becoming more of a grimace.
His glare softens with each moment as he spills his cards out across the bathroom counter, searching them. “Where is it? Here.”
He summons the Empress, and the pain begins to subside slowly. He cups my hand, his other keeping the card held as close as he can to my palm without soaking it. I glance at him, his shoulder pressed into mine, dark brows furrowed together as he concentrates, some of his silken black hair nearly tickling my shoulder. His clothes are better than the standard-issuegarments the other changelings and I wear, finer than any druid’s, embroidered with symbols of his family’s empire in shining onyx thread raised across the dark tunic. Draven smells like spiced rum and sandalwood, and when he bends closer, his hair brushes my arm, smelling of vetiver. It makes me want to lean in.
“There. I think … I mean, the rest should fade in time.” He releases me as though I’m made up of fire, and I lurch away from him, cradling my hand with the other. A skull’s still visible on the heel of my palm. The rest of the imprint has thankfully dulled.
“Shouldn’t you be better at this, Princeling?”
His heated gaze edges to violet once more. “I think the words you’re searching for arethank you.”
I flex my hand. At least it no longer scalds. “Thank you for burning me.”
“That’s not—” He cuts himself short, mouth pinching as he shakes his head, raking a hand through his long hair. An angry smile slashes against his lips, and his eyes roll to the ceiling. Draven’s tone drips with matched sarcasm. “Try not to touch any more active Arcana. Or the sparkly part of a lit torch. Or, you know … stick your hand inside a dragon’s mouth.”
“Got it,” I snip right back, walking back toward my bedroom, the only other door leading to his own. Before leaving, I turn back, his words rankling the fire within me. He looks very human, gathering all the tarot cards up. Hedidjust help me, I suppose. I clench my teeth but manage to grit, “Thanks.”
His gaze cuts to mine, a softness in them now. “You’re welcome.”
“Are you going to have to let them reenergize?”
“Yes. I probably shouldn’t have healed you, but I thought making you walk to the healer’s ward would leave things ratherpermanent.” He says it casually, as if understanding healing and touching Arcana cards while in use is something one learned as a child.
I suddenly hate how behind I am in this world.
He chuckles, and I shoot him a glare. “Sorry, just … I don’t get you. Stuck between all these things you want. Unlikely to give yourself any of it.”
“That’s because you’re a man.” My growl has his eyes flaring, charging red. I step into my room and hiss back, “Stay the fuck out of my head.”
His face drops as I slam the door on him, locking it for the night. My shoulders slump. That wasn’t as satisfying as I wanted it to be. I cross over to the built-in window seat, curl against the glass, and stare off at the volcano. It’s dangerously close, the lava burbling at its top and bleeding down its sides casting an orange glow that cascades through the window and the stained glass around the panes in a symphony of color. It feels as if the magma could reach us, yet the magic of this place holds it at bay.
