Silence stretches as Valen takes his time examining my face, then my masculine short, cropped hair. I suck in breath between my teeth and set my shoulders. If ambushing me with a fake acquisition was a clever ploy on his end to throw me off, then fuck him and his sneaky games.
The sick ripple of violation harshens my tone. “There’s no way you risked the streets of Havenport to see the shop I openedfour yearsago, or you would’ve done it much earlier. Get to the point. What does your father want?”
His nails drum on the wood, then he huffs a small, seductive laugh. “Fair enough. Visiting is not my only reason. I was given permission to invite you to return to the Astrum Forest. Father would happily host you, of course.”
“Would he? I must’ve missed Vincentius’ previous attempts to reconcile,” I snap.
Anger roils inside me, but under that is a blind, cold fear. There is no reason for Vincentius Bauer the Third, the head of the Bauer family and Preservation Councilor, to call me back after years of silence.
It can only be one thing.
They must know I broke the first rule of magic: weavers must never curse another directly. It is an abhorrent attack on the magic itself—a corruption. And corruption, like all abominations and deviants, must be purged.
The Order has hunted deviants like me since the first Archweaver declared us a flaw in the Tapestry of Magic. Within my soul are two magic threads instead of one. Duals are rare and most perish before they can even cry.
Besides, everyone knows about the Raveng Horror. A five-year-old Dual’s magic spiraled out of control and razed his family home to the ground, his combined magic sources twisting his loved ones within. The Raveng family line ended in that one moment of unforeseen horror.
And then I was born. The first Dual to survive birth since Raveng. My father chose not to purge me. Instead, he watched me grow the way a man watches the smoldering fuse of a bomb, searching for any evidence to prove that I might destroy our family as well.
He was watching for the wrong destruction. Instead of detonating, I thrived, and was even declared a magical prodigy. Then, seven years ago, I used all my power and knowledge to commit the vilest kind of crime a weaver could do: I cursed my brother, my father’s precious son who he named Alasdair, the protector of mankind, to a slow rotting death of madness. After, I fled the Order and I never looked back.
I struggle to keep my breathing even, to keep my eyes from widening or flicking away from Valen’s intense stare. It would be a sign of guilt and I can’t afford that. There’s no way they’ve discovered my curse. I covered my tracks too well. Staying calm and figuring out what the Bauers want is the only way out of this alive, which means I need to play Valen’s fucking game.
If Valen notices my panic, he doesn’t show it. Instead, his gaze peers unflinchingly into my soul, touching the magics there, like I did with the apprentice’s wand. It’s been so long since I’ve been in the presence of a weaver powerful enough to do that. It opens an old wound, one I didn’t know was still there. My hands twitch, the urge to curl them hard to resist.
Valen’s gaze flicks away when he notices my discomfort. My rage spikes, my face heating, and I fight to regain a neutral composure. He answers my question unaffected.
“Of course, he would welcome you back. Father never had anything against you.”
Breathing isn’t calming enough. My traitorous hands curl into fists, nails biting into my palms. My books are still, quiet in the magical static of my growing, unguarded feelings.
Oh fuck, I’m going to lose control.
No. I cannot allow that. In an act of desperation, I turn my head sharply away. Not seeing him helps me breathe, helps me find my composure. The crystals’ soft lights glowing in their glass cases catch my eye and I pause, something clicking into place within my mind. This isn’t the Order discovering my crimes; this is my revenge in action.
Cruelty slithers inside me, my smile changing, my power and confidence unfurling once again. I touch my heart and say in a falsely sympathetic croon, “Oh no, don’t tell me you’re here because of the Archweaver Heir? Is dear Alasdair not the Heir you were hoping for?”
Something cold washes over Valen and a muscle in his jaw flickers. “No, he is not.”
I want to laugh. The mirth builds and builds, trying to escape. Alasdair, my stupid, reckless, untalented half-brother. The Named Heir to the Archweaver, the successor to our father, the future ruler of the Order, must be royally ruining things within the Astrum Forest.
Oh, it’s too good. I giggle, my hand lifting to press to my lips. My magic ripples with it, smothering Valen’s vast presence for one glorious moment. He sucks in breath, tasting and feeling my power, his gaze shifting. The ice melts away, leaving behind a heated, sinful glint.
There are only two ways weavers look upon me and my Dual Threads: disgusted horror or unfiltered veneration. And Valen has always, unflinchingly, been the latter.
The change in him is hypnotic, his appreciation addictive. Memories surface of the two of us, when all he did was look at me with that open wonderment and carnal hunger. Like a moth to a flame, I cross my arms and lean on the counter as well. It brings us too close, but the heady rush of adrenaline is well worth it.
My smile grows. “Well, surprise, surprise. Alasdair continues to be a massive fuck-up. Is your father displeased that he’s not the malleable pawn he hoped for?”
I search Valen’s face.
“What did my dear brother do to piss off Councilor Vincentius so much that he sent his son into the city to seduce an abomination like me back to the Order?” Cruelty harshens my smile. “Does it have to do with your sister?”
Anger flares behind Valen’s eyes and I know I’ve struck gold. Betrothing Valen’s sister, Emilia, to my fuck-up half-brother was by far Vincentius’ worst idea to date. The two were the worst match imaginable.
I arch a brow. “What did he do?”
Valen’s nail scratches at the wood, his gaze dropping to watch. The gold Bauer signet ring on his left middle finger catches the light. “Nothing too horrific, I assure you. He simply can’t marry.” A wry smile replaces the seductive one. “After all,yourdaddy never did.”
