Why her?
Those strange yellow eyes met his own, unblinking. Intelligent. Something unspoken moved behind those starlit orbs with a knowing too far to name.
A ripple of unease passed through Rune. Its very existence was … impossible.
Alora frowned, her brow pinched as she glanced down at the purring creature she called Nexus. The little beast licked her thumb, purring. “Is he dangerous?”
“Not to you.” Rune turned away as they continued.
The Vareth would never hurt its master. Trying to separate them would be…unwise. The creature would turn on him before allowing that bond to break. Rune could feel the possessiveness in its aura, mirroring his own.
A dangerous symmetry.
The shadows stirred, restless, answering his mood. He had not forgotten that Alora had found his Gate again on her own, even with his consciousness woven into the roots of the mountain. He had not sensed her there until she needed him.
And for a split second, the Gate had stirred and she read the inscription in perfect articulation.
Another paradox.
Because it should once Alora accepted him, and at the moment, he was terribly failing at that.
The gods were always bound by so many laws.
But perhaps the same rules didn’t apply to him…
If the old magic stirred again, then fate had already begun to turn its wheel. And Rune was no longer certain which side of it he stood upon.
They descended through the lower halls, and the hot air grew cooler as the darkness thinned into smoke. On the next turn, dim light entered the tunnel as they neared the training grounds.
“Alora,” Rune called, his voice carrying with their steps in the quiet tunnel. “What kind of fae was Salvia? Seelie or Unseelie?”
Because her mortal father had no magic in his veins, yet Alora did. Something she must have inherited from her mother.
Alora frowned at the probing question, her mouth pursing. He was inquiring if her mother was dark or light fae. “She was Seelie kind, a flower Nymph. Why do you ask?”
Rune’s brow furrowed. Nymphs were forest creatures who survived on sunlight and morning dew. Their magic tended to be gentle like the breeze over meadows or the current of a creek. But he suspected Alora held magic far more powerful than that.
Powerful enough to bond with a Vareth.
“I was curious,” Rune said offhandedly. “My Harbingers tell me you have already received weapon training in the Midlands. They hardly had much to teach you.”
A small smile touched her lips. “Lady Zinnia assured my lessons reached beyond poise and dance. I was trained in strategy, both on the field and at the table. A proper lady, she said, must know how to pour tea and how to slit a vein with equal grace.”
Rune chuckled. “Then I shall be heedful of you at teatime.”
The tunnel brought them at last into a closed courtyard located at the mountain’s heart. A vast, circular shaft open to a patch of sky. Above, the sun was no more than a smear of pale gold filtered through the high mist.
The ring on Rune’s finger pulsed faintly as he passed the stone awning, his boots shifting over black sand to the round platform chiseled from stone. The light filtered harmlessly through the shaft, falling over him without pain. He flexed his fingers absently, the hum of magic steady against his skin.
When he turned back, Alora had halted at the threshold, staring at him wide-eyed. “I thought…you couldn’t step out into the sun.”
“Indirect sunlight is bearable, so long as I wear Bloodstone.” Rune lifted his hand for her to see his signet ring.
At the center, was embedded a red gem shimmering like a dew of blood.
“What is Bloodstone?” she asked warily.
“A gift from another time. Mage forged ore that provides a fortunate shield against the rays.”
