“I’ve always wished I could visit Ilma. I’ve never seen the sea, never seen giant trees or waterfalls. But you know, with the current situation, that is of course out of the question. Maybe one day I would journey to Sijar instead. I hear it’s green and beautiful there—full of life. But for now, I’ll stay here.”
“Yes, the Land of my goddess Sylva is indeed beautiful, as is the Land of my god…Silch is quite magnificent, you know.”
“I’m not sure if a girl from Ramel can handle that much cold.” My lips flickered.
“There arewaysto keep you warm.” For a second, I imagined how that could be achieved. How I could lie sprawled before him between soft furry blankets, in a bedchamber made from icy walls and a frosted ceiling. Warmth coursed through my belly. I blamed the wine. But at least it gave me the courage to change the dangerous subject.
“Enough about me. Tell me something about you.”
“What do you want to know?” Aegir asked, resting his elbow on the back of his chair while sipping on his wine.
“Mmm…tell me something like…what kind of animal are you?” He almost choked on his wine. I almost chuckled.
“Excuse me?”
“No, I meant, when you shift, what kind of Fae animal are you?”
“Oh, I…I do not have the ability to shift.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” A pause, then, “It seems that I, too, started with the wrong first question.”
I smiled at his laugh. Then he told me, “Most Demi-Fae cannot shift. Only those who come from a very strong line of shifters do. And you shouldn’t feel sorry. I don’t. Boreas blessed me with other gifts, you know. Gifts that I am very grateful for.”
“What kind of gifts?” I asked curiously.
“This. Locks and barriers,” he said, gesturing to the walls and ceiling, “and another one. One that I was sworn to never reveal.” He leaned forward. “This one.” He grabbed my wrist and moved my arm towards his mouth. His full, light brown lips were soft, just as soft as I had imagined they would be, softer perhaps, and he pressed them against my arm, right on top of my most recent bruise. And with his little kiss, the mark wasgone. The pain wasgone. What lingered was the familiarity of it.
I recognised that sensation of ethereal calm—his power being emitted and absorbed within my skin. It was him, then—the reason my cycle pain had disappeared shortly after leaving his room. It also explained why his palms were silken and free from calluses.
I searched his eyes, my own flickering. He—he was not only made to fight and destroy everything, he was also made to protect and to heal. My pulse quickened, and I was sure he could feel its throbs as he kissed away another bruise somewhere close to my wrist. He let go of my hand and looked at my face. First in my eyes—he came so very close, I noticed that his own irises, green, had an outer golden-brown rim, similar to the colour of his skin.Absolutely striking. Then he looked at my right cheek, the one with the little crack, and made to lean forward.
Ireallywanted to know what it would feel like, a gentle press with his tender mouth on the skin of my face, but I found myself lifting my hand. I gently pressed two fingertips against his lips.
“Don’t,” I said softly. “He’ll wonder how it vanished.” My hand joined the other on my lap. “He’ll start asking questions, and he will tell King Belzari. He and the king, they are strangely close. He saved his son’s life once, the eldest, the heir.”
“Still, thatdoes notgive him the right to treat you like that.” His eyes were no longer soft. White mist formed along his lips; the crisp tendrils cooled my lungs.
“I know that. I do everything on the hush around him. Because what can I do? I am not strong or powerful. And besides, whoever tried to report him ended up without a job, or perhaps worse than that.”
“Do not make the mistake of underestimating yourself. By all means, allow others to do so for you, but don’t ever do that to yourself.”
“I am not underestimating myself; it is the truth.”
“It is notthe truth for me,” he all but barked. I broke his stare. Silence.
He brushed my hand, a gesture that made me look at him. “Cordelia, I promise you, just tell me one word—oneword—and I will remove him from your life completely, king’s friend or not.”
“No,” I said, my hand instinctively going to my necklace.What would Selmira think of me? What would my mother think of me?Defying Amfir like that.
“All right,” he replied, his voice a low, reluctant rasp. His face told me that he’d rather I answered differently, but to take one’s life. That was the biggest sin of all, according to Amfir, and Aegir spoke of it as if he was merely encouraging me to let him dispose of my rubbish, soul untainted.
The small voice in the back of my head reminded me that there was no bigger army in Lyrantheia than that of King Belzari.
No—my answer was final.
“What’s that?” he asked. “Did you also make it yourself?”
“What? The necklace?”
