"You've had basic instruction." His hands clenched at his sides. The urge to physically remove her to somewhere safe was becoming increasingly difficult to resist. "Field repairs aren't controlled practice in a safe environment. The magic is chaotic. Unpredictable. Lethal."
She needed to understand. Needed to grasp that this wasn't a training exercise where he could halt proceedings if matters went awry.
"And you need someone with ward affinity." She crossed her arms, matching his intensity. "Which I have. You've said so yourself."
She's right. Damn her, she's right.
The repair would proceed faster with her abilities: half the time, perhaps less. Ward-work required attunement she possessed naturally, instincts that took others years to develop.
But the complications...
He couldn't protect her and perform the work at the same time. If the magic destabilized while she was working, if the feedback caught her unprepared...
The memory rose, unwelcome. A talented ward-keeper, screaming as magical backlash tore through her mind. He'd held her, unable to stop the cascade destroying her from within.
His shadows lashed out, striking the wall with enough force to crack stone. The impact echoed through the room.
She didn't even flinch.
"How many people die if the cascade spreads unchecked?" she asked quietly.
Souls would be lost. His people would suffer. The territories of other courts could be compromised. All because he couldn't manage field repairs alone while keeping one mortal woman from harm.
One mortal's safety had begun to outweigh strategic advantage.
He started pacing, agitation making stillness impossible—logic fighting with the desperate need to keep her safe.
Take her: the work proceeds faster, but she remains vulnerable to magical backlash.
Leave her: he works alone in unstable magic, with a higher probability of cascade spreading.
No good options. Only degrees of catastrophic risk.
The rational decision was obvious. Take her because the repair required two people, and she was the only one available with the requisite skills.
The irrational part, the part that wanted to secure her within the palace and handle the danger alone, was the complication.
"You don't understand what you're volunteering for." He turned on her, allowing her to see the full weight of his intensity. "Do you understand what happens when ward-magic goes catastrophically wrong?"
"Tell me."
Always so direct. Never retreating from difficult truths.
It should irritate him. It was becoming one of the things he?—
No. Don't complete that thought.
"Active ward-locks tear people apart from the inside." He moved closer, voice dropping to that rough whisper that came when control became physical effort. "The magical feedback stops hearts, drives minds to madness, makes reality unstable. I've held ward-keepers while they screamed, watched their minds fragment into pieces that couldn't be reassembled."
He was close enough now to see her pulse jumping at her throat, to smell warmth and ink and that bright citrus note that clung to her skin.
His hands clenched at his sides.
"I've seen people cease to exist in ways that make death appear merciful."
He needed her to understand, needed her afraid enough to stay safe.
She was quiet for a moment, and he saw uncertainty flicker across her expression. Good. Fear was appropriate.
