“That is a lot of questions.” Neirin dropped his other hand from my waist, using it to support himself as well. He leaned back slightly and held my gaze.
“I know,” I confessed.
“I do not know why people only speak of women being Alidian.” Neirin frowned. “But I suspect there may be a simple explanation—more Alidian are women than are men. On the rare occasion a male is discovered, Astraea sends to have him collected, even if he comes from one of the cities in the west. Females are much more commonly discovered, and when their magic overtakes them and they become a threat, they are—” His frown deepened.
Handled. Taken care of. Killed.
Sorrow lodged in my throat, but I nodded and redirected the conversation. “What does the Queen have to do with the Alidian?”
“Your questions are becoming difficult to keep up with,” Neirin mock scolded. “Astraea’s messengers are all like Calix. She selects them, offering them the allure of a life in trade for their loyalty. The children are trained by the castle commander in stealth and discipline. Astraea instills them with cunning, and they study among the boys of the guard to learn literature and politics. They are used for their skills and their discretion. Themagic, however, to my knowledge, is not supposed to used by the children. I did not know Astraea was teaching the children to control their abilities. Or it could be that Calix learned on his own. His restraint is impressive.”
Sighing, I scrunched my brows. There were still missing pieces, things that did not add up, but it was altogether too much to absorb at once. A single thought returned to me, turning over in my mind even as it held itself on my tongue.
“If your name is cleared,” I said, hesitating slightly, “do you believe the Queen may let me assist in her cause? I want to help those children, Neirin. I want to do good, as she does.”
“No.” Neirin’s tone was firm. “I will support you in all your endeavors, but for this one. I will not let Astraea poison your heart.” Sitting up straight, he cupped my cheek with one of his palms. “It was not in cruelty that I stated Calix would have been better had I taken his life than bring him under my care.”
“How can you say that?” I drew his hand down, hurt, confused.
Swallowing, Neirin lowered his gaze. A heat trickled from him through the invisible cords of our bond. It was not a warmth this time, though—not affection or desire. It was a fire. Something that burned, that caused pain. It drew me to hesitate as I recalled his admission in the pasture of how he feared losing control to his fox, how his own distress could rile it.
Neirin drew the dark cloth of his cloak over his head and let it fall to the grass beside us.
“Restraint,” he said, “and control. They come at a great price. Whether there is kindness behind Astraea’s lessons, I cannot say. A part of me believes that in her mind, she sees herself as helping those children. In a way, I suspect similar to how she was ‘helped’when she was young.”
“Neirin, what are you saying?” I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“She is like Calix.”
My mouth gaped. I shut it, dismissing each question as it rushed over me before I could voice it. What I needed was for Neirin to finish his explanation, so I remained quiet, still, even as the breeze caught my hair and sent a chill down my spine.
A muscle at his jaw flexed before he crossed his arms and grasped the hem of his shirt. Arms above his head as he withdrew the linen garment, the muscles of his torso bunched, and I swallowed, taking him in. His body was taut, his skin stretched over muscles formed by years of training.Despite the weight of our conversation, the sight of his bare chest distracted me, if only for a moment.
“I’m trying to be serious,” Neirin said as he tossed the top aside.
Reluctantly, I raised my eyes from his waist, where a distinct V shape led to the band of his pants. I found his gaze set on me, one dark, teasing brow raised.
My cheeks heated. “Yes, I know.” Huffing a breath, I regained my composure. “Go on.”
The corners of his lips twitched in the faintest of smiles before fading to a more somber expression. “At the festival, you asked me about my scars. Do you remember?”
I nodded.
Neirin took one of my hands in his. He brought it to the chiseled ridges of his body. The set of his jaw was a firm reminder, and I swallowed, forcing my mind to focus even as the coiling in my belly tugged at my consciousness.
Steadying my breath, I lowered my gaze to where my hands rested on him. The white line of a rough scar traced from his collarbone to beneath his ribs, and another ran above his navel. Other smaller scars left pale lines and uneven ridges. They marked the brutality of his occupation. They spoke of his strength.
“Not those,” Neirin said, his voice soft, vulnerable.
I continued my exploration. As I did, I sobered, desiring to memorize his body so I could know him by touch alone. Closing my eyes, I trailed my index finger from his chest to his navel, then stopped. Brows drawn, I traced up again.
I opened my eyes and studied a faint raised line. The scarring was so subtle it was nearly undetectable. Yet, when I became aware of them, I found them to be everywhere. Like the branching roots of a plant, splitting again and again until the lines dissipated and a new section began.
“The marks of Astraea’s lessons.”
My heart caught, and I shook my head. “I don’t understand—”
“All magic, Evera, is dangerous. The Alidian’s and my own. Magic brings death, pain, and suffering. Astraea has learned how to temper that innate danger. I suspect she is mirroring her own upbringing, but I have no way to be certain.
