Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The chef took one look at Arkon and immediately started to put together two large panini stuffed full of the pork he had just finished roasting. Roberto, like the rest of the palace staff, was used to Arkon showing up at all hours. Zarya looked pale and thoughtful beside him. Roberto gave him the food and pressed a bottle of Chianti into his hands.

"Here, take this as well. You both look like you could use it. Make sure Arkon takes proper care of you, ma donna," Roberto said to Zarya.

"Thank you. I will." She smiled so brightly at him that the old man actually looked flustered.

"He’s never looked at me like that," Arkon huffed as they made their way back up to their apartments.

"Try not to be too jealous," Zarya said, opening the door for him. "I’m just glad someone in Venice doesn’t hate me."

"I don’t hate you! I’m even going to share my panino with you," Arkon replied and cleared off a table for them to eat at. Zarya took the bottle of Chianti from him and had a mouthful.

"I’m going to be feeling the slime of Vladek’s memories for days," she grumbled.

"Eat." Arkon pushed one of the panini towards her. "You probably could have gotten the information out of him an easier way."

Zarya grunted. "He made me lose my temper."

"Because he revealed that you’ve been secretly obsessed with me for years?" Arkon asked with a wink. He never knew when to quit when he was ahead, and Vladek’s words had been dancing in his head like tango.

Everyone could see how much you liked it when he attacked us, Zarya. It’s like the only time you were alive.

Zarya picked at a piece of roast pork. "Do I need to remind you that I have seen your wall of my posters? If anyone is obsessed here, it’s you."

"It’s not a secret. Everyone knows I’ve been obsessed with you for years," Arkon replied with a shrug. And they would all tell her the first chance they got too. His friends could be assholes like that.

Zarya smiled around her mouthful of food. "And is the reality disappointing you, Grand Sorcerer? All those pictures and ikons aren’t exactly me." She gestured at herself. Her hair was still wild; her feet were bare again, and there was pork grease on her full lips. The things he would do to that mouth…

"Actually, I like this version better. The saint thing is too hard to compete with. You’re kind of a mess. It brings you down to the level of us mere mortals," Arkon replied. He took the Chianti from her and drank, hoping it would calm him down a bit. Zarya waited until he was done before claiming it back.

"You are hardly a mere mortal," she pointed out. "But you’re just as much of a mess as I am. We don’t care about the conventions of others, even when we bother to understand them. I have spent years trying to be perfect for appearances’ sake, and I’m done with that shit. I hate shoes, Arkon. I hate wearing dresses and having long hair and not being able to swear or dance or fuck. I’m never going to be a saint again."

Oh, the games he wanted to play with that confession. Arkon leaned back in his chair and tried not to say all the things that burned on his tongue. He was sure he had some self-control left somewhere.

"I think you win," he settled on. "There’re parts of being the Grand Sorcerer that I’ve hated, but for the most of it, I did what I’ve wanted."

"You were lucky," she said, staring at her sandwich. "Is it any wonder that the only time I enjoyed myself was when you did magic to vex me?"

Arkon was the king of keeping secrets, but he found there were some that weren’t worth keeping from her. He nudged her calf with the toe of his boot.

"You were the best part of the last few years for me too, Zarya. I would have gone mad with boredom otherwise. One thing I know for certain is that after the war had ended, I would have sought you out too."

The corner of Zarya’s mouth kicked up. "To kill me?"

"No. To do exactly this. Talk about magic. To see how yours worked, if you were willing to show me."

Zarya moved to sit cross-legged on the chair. "Years ago, my mother told me that my wyrd, my destiny, would take me to you. One way or another. She said that it didn’t matter what led to it, that it didn’t matter what side we fought on, that one day we would come face to face."

Arkon hummed. "Maybe you needed to go and fight with Arkadi in order to meet me and stop the war. Your mother never saw who you would stop it with, right?"

Zarya frowned. "No. We assumed it was with the emperor because of our family history. Visions and prophecies aren’t always helpful with specifics."

"One of the reasons I’ve never invested too much in them. Fortune telling has always been too anxiety inducing for me. My life is chaotic enough," Arkon replied. He looked over at the pictures she had stuck to the wall. "Any idea where we can find that big blood mage?"

"I’m still processing Vladek’s memories. I do have an idea of where we can find our first target," Zarya replied. She put down her sandwich. "I feel like a bit of an idiot I didn’t remember it myself. Every autumn Stas Gusev, the empire’s treasurer, has an exclusive party for all of his rich friends. For most of the year they have to be well behaved for the public eye, so it’s a weekend long orgy of every vice the rich assholes can come up with. I was never allowed to attend, but I heard the stories of Stas’s…proclivities."

Arkon grinned. "There isn’t much that would shock me, lupa. It won’t even be the first orgy I’ve crashed uninvited."

Zarya cast her eyes to heaven. "I’m sure. Masks are recommended at the event, which will work in our favor because despite my haircut, I’ve met Stas, and he might recognize me."

"We are in Venice, my dear. Masks are an easy thing to acquire. Where is the party held? We need to work out the logistics of the teleportation spell if we plan on crashing it."

"His estate is in Lebedivka. It’s on the river and surrounded by forest for privacy."

Thirty minutes later Arkon was staring at a map of the Varangian empire, in between sketching out his version of a teleportation spell.

"I’m going to be honest with you, lupa. I’ve never done a spell to travel so far. Zahir can go further than me, but even he has his limitations," Arkon said while looping together the final pieces of his sigil. It was a complex circle with woven lines all around it.

"I only need your base, and then I’ll be able to find a way to boost the range of it. If you need to charge the spell once like your others, to get us there and back, we need to feed it enough power in the first go to keep it active," Zarya replied, leaning over his shoulder to watch him work. She was close enough that he could smell the pine forest scent that lingered around her with a rose soap she’d used that day. Her hand brushed over his shoulder to get a better look and adrenaline rushed through him. He swallowed hard and tried to neaten up the lines of his sketch. Satisfied, he passed the page to her.

"This is the basics of it. It only needs the co-ordinates of where it needs to land. Theoretically, it will take us where we need to go, but I don’t know how to feed it the magic it requires. I’ve asked Zahir before, but djinn magic is too different and it fought against my workings before unraveling altogether," he said, putting his pencil down.

He had already sent out for the other things they would need, specifically masks and costumes. They needed to blend into the crowds, and from what Zarya had told him, it was going to make for an interesting evening. It was partly wishful thinking more than forward planning because there was no guarantee that Zarya would be able to get the spell to work by the following evening. She sat down next to him, stole his pencil, and immediately started sketching.

Arkon watched in awe, unable to help his insatiable curiosity.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Zarya’s brows were pulled into a frown as she concentrated. "I’m translating your spell into runes. From there, I’ll be able to see the weakness in it and mend it."

"Weakness. Ouch," Arkon said, though he wasn’t really offended. He’d never been able to get the teleportation spell working properly. "And what makes you think you’ll be able to succeed where I’ve failed all this time."

"I saw it working in my vision, which means we must figure it out somehow," she replied, looking up just long enough to flash a grin at him. "If you’re bored, sorcerer, you’re welcome to go elsewhere. Let the professional work in peace."

Arkon chuckled softly. "Is that so? I think this professional will stay right where he is. I’ll keep working on a way to sever the connection the blood mages have to whatever they have ingested."

"As long as you do it in silence," Zarya said.

"I’ve already seen you melt a man’s lips together today, so I won’t push my luck," Arkon said. He got out of the chair to move to the couch where he wouldn’t disturb her. "But just so you know, there are far better ways to keep my mouth busy and quiet at the same time."

"Whatever you say, sorcerer," she replied. She didn’t look up from her sketching, but Arkon spotted the way color crept up her throat. If she wanted him to stop flirting with her, Arkon didn’t doubt that she would tell him straight.

Maybe it wasn’t only him that was feeling this indescribable pull between them. He didn’t know if it was their magic, physical attraction, or the bond that had tied them together. He was beginning to worry about what would happen if he did anything further about it.

Arkon took three deep breaths and focused back on the magical problem in front of him. He’d had a hard enough time trying to calm his dick down after Zarya’s display in the prisons. Forbidden fruit or not, he was getting desperate for a taste.