Norah glances at me, then quickly away. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted. She’s breathing faster than she should be.
I swallow hard as the urge to kiss her pushes at me from the inside, making my chest tight to the point of aching.
The trees thin ahead, the path widening toward Maeve’s cottage. I focus on that—on the promise of answers, of control. Not on the way Norah’s hips sway when she walks. Not on the way her scent, something sweet and wild like honeysuckle, wraps around me with every gust of wind.
The mark pulses again.
I grit my teeth.
I will fix this. I will. I have to.
Maeve’s cottage looms in front of us, smoke curling from the chimney like a lazy finger beckoning. The thatched roof sags in places, the stone walls moss-streaked and ancient. I knock twice, a sharp rap of my knuckles against the wood.
The door opens, and Maeve leans against the frame, arms crossed, her sharp eyes flicking between us. A small, curious smile curls her thin mouth. “Oh, dear. Look at the state of you two. What have you done?”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. I exhale roughly. “I made a mistake. We activated something… at the site.”
Maeve’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Something?”
Norah steps forward, her voice steady despite…well, everything. “I think it was a Vaelthir bonding altar.”
The air seems to go very still. God, it sounds even worse said out loud.
Maeve’s eyes widen, just for a second, before she pushes off the door frame with a sharp laugh. “Well. Come in, come in, and wipe your feet.” She steps aside, gesturing us in with a sweep ofher arm. The cottage smells of dried herbs and old paper, the fire in the hearth crackling warmly.
I duck under the lintel, Norah close behind. Maeve turns to face us, her expression unreadable. “Sit. Both of you.” She points to a pair of mismatched chairs by the fire. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
I heft the book still in my hand. “It might be easier to just show you,” I say and flip to the page with the ritual we just did, the leather spine creaking softly. The ink is faded, the script cramped and archaic, but the illustration is unmistakable—a pair of hands clasped together in front of an altar identical to the one I found, light spiraling between them. I push the book across the table toward Maeve, my wrist tingling.
She doesn’t touch it at first. Just leans in, her sharp eyes scanning the lines. The fire pops in the hearth, the only sound in the cottage besides the ragged edge of my breathing. I sink down into the chair beside Norah, and she shifts, her knee brushing mine. I don’t pull away, even though I should.
Maeve’s fingers hover over the page. Then, slowly, she drags one nail along the text, tracing the words. Her eyebrows lift. “You said these words? Held hands on the altar?”
Norah and I nod in unison.
“And did markings appear when you’d finished the ritual?”
Norah and I both wordlessly show her our wrists with the matching swirling ink.
Maeve huffs out a breath, then closes the book firmly. She sits down in a chair facing us, folding her arms. “Then I suppose congratulations are in order, because you’re officially magically bound to each other for all eternity.”
I feel like I’ve just had the wind knocked out of me. My pulse roars in my ears.
Bound. Eternity.
The mark on my wrist throbs, hotter than before.
Norah leans forward, her voice quiet. “You mean bound as in… connected?”
Maeve’s laugh is dry, humorless. “No, my dear. I mean married. By every law both magical and mundane in this land.”
The room tilts. Married. To Norah. My student. I accidentally married my student.
Fuck. Me.
“How do we undo it?” The words tear out of me, rough and desperate. I glance at Norah, assuming she’ll be nodding. But no. Her mouth hangs open, her chest rising too fast, too shallow. And for a split second, beneath the shock, I swear I see something else. Something like hurt.
Surely not. Surely she couldn’t want this.
