I do what I’ve tried a thousand times before, concentrating on finding my power and hoping that the joining magic will somehow trigger what’s never surfaced inside of me.
Next thing I know, magic—glittery gold magic, trickles from where we’re standing and circles the tree. The green leaves shiver, and my heart lodges in my throat.
Oh my gosh, am I doing that?
Small round bulbs swell from the branches. At first they’re green, the color of unripened fruit. But as they grow, they shift, becoming yellow, then peach, until finally they deepen to plum.
Glee, absolute riotous joy, rocks through me. We’ve done it!
I turn and grin at Feylin. He’s already watching me, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“What the…what’s happening?” someone yells behind us.
My gaze slams back to the tree. The magic’s stopped flowing into it, but the fruit’s still transforming.
Now the purple flesh’s withering, dying. My eyes widen and fear tears at my spine.
No no no no no no no!
I expect the fruit to fall, to shrivel and drop to the ground. But that’s not what happens. Next thing I know?—
Whoosh!
Flames erupt and engulf the tree. They incinerate it in seconds, leaving nothing more than a smoking husk. The acrid scent of charred wood fills the air as brittle branches crash to the ground and explode into dust. People wail about a terrible omen.
All I can do is watch as my lack of magic destroys the fae earth ceremony.
I turn to apologize to Feylin and suck air at the sight of him. Ebony mist leaks from his shoulders. It crawls along the grass toward me, ready to coil around my legs and drag me to the underworld, or whatever Hell is to the fae.
But that’s not the worst of it.
The raging blaze reflects in his eyes, and those eyes brim with betrayal that’s directed straight at me.
18
Ican’t sleep. It doesn’t help that I’m lying on another pile of clothes. Yes, I’d planned to tell Feylin the truth about that after the ceremony. But you know howthatwent. He looked so mad I basically ran away so that I wouldn’t have to face him. And unfortunately my pallet isn’t any more comfortable now than it was last night.
Worse, every time my eyes close, I see the burning tree, hear people yelling about a bad omen and watch betrayal become etched onto Feylin’s face.
His eyes were smoldering, and not with lust.
Giving up on getting some sleep, I push off my blanket dresses and exit the room. Maybe, just maybe I can find the kitchen (given I can reach it without running into an invisible wall) and warm up some milk.
I pad quietly down the stairs and head toward the belly of the house. So far so good. No walls and no Feylin.
It’s when I pass an open door that I hear, “I want to talk to you.”
My spine becomes a steel rod of fear. I slowly back up and look into the room.
Feylin slumps on a chair that’s facing me. His forearm drapes over the arm of it, and he’s loosely clutching a tumbler of amber liquid. A fire roars to the left of him, casting orange light on his shirtless physique.
Okay, he’s not completely shirtless. He’s wearing a silk robe that’s open, and what look like soft jammy pants.
He downs the contents of the glass tumbler and places it on the table beside him with a thud.
He leans forward and every muscle in his chest ripples.
He rises and it’s confirmed—there are muscles on muscles. His pecs are perfect, his abs—I can’t even count them, he’s got so many.
