15. Malachar

15

MALACHAR

I am deep in the heart of an ancient tome, my eyes tracing the spidery script of a long-dead necromancer, when the soft sound of footsteps breaks my concentration. I glance up, a flicker of annoyance sparking in my chest at the interruption... only to feel it melt away as I behold the figure standing in the doorway.

Kira. My wife, my apprentice, my partner in all things arcane and mundane. She cuts a striking figure in her close-fitting robes of deep plum, her raven hair caught back in a simple braid, her eyes bright with purpose and determination.

"Malachar," she says by way of greeting, striding into the room with a confidence that sends a thrill of pride through me. Gone is the timid, uncertain girl I first brought to the Blanchmire. In her place stands a woman grown, sure of herself and her power.

"Kira," I reply, setting aside my quill and giving her my full attention. "You look like a woman on a mission. What's on your mind?"

She comes to stand before my desk, a sheaf of parchment clutched in one slender hand. "I've been thinking about our duties," she says without preamble, her gaze direct and unwavering. "The tasks that need to be accomplished. I've made a list."

She sets the parchment down on the desk between us, smoothing it flat with a deft brush of her fingers. I glance down at it, noting the neat columns of her handwriting, the carefully organized bullet points and sub-headings. "I'm impressed," I say honestly, looking back up at her with a faint smile. "You've clearly given this a great deal of thought."

Kira nods, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her face at my praise. "I have. And I think it's time we started dividing these responsibilities more evenly between us. I'm your wife now, Malachar, not just your apprentice. I want to shoulder my share of the burden."

I lean back in my chair, considering her words. It's true that, since our wedding, Kira has taken on more and more of the day-to-day running of the castle. She oversees the servants, manages the household accounts, and acts as a liaison with our various allies and vassals. All while continuing her magical studies and training at my side.

It's a heavy load for anyone to bear, let alone one so young and relatively inexperienced. But Kira has risen to the challenge with a grace and competence that never fails to amaze me. She is a true partner, in every sense of the word.

"Very well," I say at last, inclining my head in agreement. "Let us review your list together, and see where we can best divide our efforts."

We spend the next hour going over her notes, discussing each task and responsibility in turn. Kira has thought of everything, from the mundane matters of kitchen inventory and laundry rotation to the more esoteric concerns of ritual observances and artifact maintenance.

But it's when we come to the subject of the castle's defenses that she truly surprises me.

"I've been studying the wards," she says, tapping a finger against a detailed diagram of Blanchmire's magical protections. "The way they're layered and interwoven, the specific intonations and gestures required to maintain them. I think I'm ready to start taking on more responsibility there."

I feel a flicker of unease at her words, an instinctive urge to protect and shelter that wars with my knowledge of her growing skill and power. The wards are no simple matter - they are the result of centuries of arcane craftsmanship, a complex web of spells and sigils that require constant monitoring and upkeep.

But as I gaze into Kira's eyes, seeing the determination and confidence shining there, I know that I cannot coddle her forever. She is my equal now, in every way that matters. If she feels ready to take on this burden, then I must trust in her abilities.

"Alright," I say slowly, reaching out to cover her hand with my own. "We'll start small. I'll show you the basic maintenance rituals, the daily invocations and offerings required to keep the wards stable. You can observe me at first, then begin to take on more of the workload as you grow more comfortable."

Kira's face lights up with a brilliant smile, her fingers squeezing mine in gratitude. "Thank you, Master. I won't let you down."

"I know you won't," I reply softly, marveling at the fierce pride that wells up in my chest at her words. "You never have."

We lapse into a comfortable silence then, our hands still clasped on the desk between us. I find myself studying her face, drinking in the delicate curve of her cheekbone, the lush fullness of her lips. Even now, after all this time, the sight of her still has the power to steal my breath, to make my ancient, jaded heart stutter and skip in my chest.

"I love you," I murmur, the words slipping out unbidden. "More than I ever thought possible."

Kira's eyes soften, a tender smile playing about her mouth. "I love you too," she whispers back, her free hand coming up to cup my cheek. "My heart, my soul, my everything."

I turn my head to press a kiss into her palm, savoring the warmth and softness of her skin against my lips. In moments like these, it's almost possible to forget the darkness that lurks outside our walls, the constant threat of danger and betrayal that comes with the life we've chosen.

A sudden chime sounds from the corner of my study, signaling the arrival of the noon hour. Kira starts slightly, glancing over her shoulder with a rueful laugh.

"Duty calls," she sighs, reluctantly pulling her hand from mine. "I'm supposed to meet with the kitchen staff to go over the menu for the feast next week."

"Go," I tell her, shooing her away with a playful swat to her backside. "I'll join you in the great hall for lunch."

She flashes me a final, brilliant smile, then turns and strides from the room, her robes swishing about her ankles. I watch her go, marveling at the easy grace of her movements, the way she seems to fill the very air around her with light and life.

For a long moment after she's gone, I simply sit there, savoring the lingering warmth of her presence, the echo of her laughter still ringing in my ears. Then, with a soft sigh of contentment, I turn back to my work, pulling the ancient tome towards me once more.

But even as I lose myself in the familiar rhythms of study and translation, my mind keeps drifting back to Kira. To the way her eyes sparkle when she's excited about a new spell, to the soft sighs she makes in her sleep as she curls into my side, to the fierce, unwavering love that shines from her like a beacon in the darkness.

She is my everything.

And how that came to be is something that will ultimately elude me.