12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The House of Stone will be the conduit between the anchor and the creatures that have been touched with power. They will feed the world beyond the Immortals.

~Kasan the Lifegiver, A History of Magic and Dragons

I feel worn down—more worn down than I have in years. Maybe that's why I overslept this morning. Every day for the past three weeks, we've walked from dawn until nearly dusk. Then I hunt and we train with sticks around the fire until I can't take the pain anymore. After Cole's asleep, I sneak off to practice magic. I've had so few hours of sleep, and the wear and tear on my body is getting to me at this point.

The sun is already high in the sky when my eyes finally open. I look around and notice Cole's things are packed up, but he's nowhere to be seen. My mouth is dry, my body aches, and I have a headache from where Cole hit me last night while we were training.

I run my hand over the spot on my temple where I'd expect there to be a serious bruise, but it's barely even tender. The only proof of the injury that had ended our sparring practice is the sticky blood that's soaked so much of my hair.

I stand up and start packing my things. Where could Cole be? He hasn't started walking since his things are still here. The longer I've been around him, the more I question whether anything could hurt him, so his absence isn't worrying.

I look down at my own pile of things and shrug. If Cole isn't here, then I ought to walk down to the stream to get some of the blood out of my hair. I won't enjoy walking for an entire day with half my hair stuck to the side of my head.

The farther we've walked away from Blackgrove, the more the world around us has changed. No longer are we surrounded by thick forests like the ones I grew up with. Now, things are rockier, and there are fewer trees. The clearings have become far more common, and at night I've had to walk further away from camp so that my magical scent doesn't wake Cole up.

In the distance, the Ethereal Spine is visible, the mountain range that Draenyth is a part of. The capital city of the Fae is built around Skycrest, the highest mountain in Nyth. We can't see that particular mountain yet, but we're no longer a world away from Draenyth. It's only taken three weeks of steady walking.

I go down the hill to the thick bushes following the stream where we filled our cook pot last night, and I hear something splashing. Without thinking, I immediately silence my movements, sneaking through the bushes to see what's in the river. It could be a bear or an elk. The latter wouldn't matter, but I'd prefer not to be surprised by a bear.

As I push a branch out of the way, I realize that a bear would have been far less surprising than what I see.

Cole is standing waist deep in the stream, his clothes left on the bank. I instinctively know that I should look away. I should wait for him to come back to the camp before I wash my hair. But I can't seem to turn from the view.

His body is beautiful. Every inch of it is covered in tight muscles from an immortal life full of physical training. That body was built for killing. He stretches and flows and moves, and the water runs over those sharp curves. I can't look away.

Especially when he turns away from me, and I realize the burn scars I'd noticed on his shoulder are so much more extensive than I'd thought. Bright red, they stand out in the morning sun. Running from his shoulders down to the middle of his back, I can't believe how terrible the wound must have been to leave something like that. I know he's from the House of Flames, so it would make sense for him to occasionally burn himself while learning, but this? This had to have nearly killed him.

And yet, even though they're scars, they fit him. The tight white lines through the red looks almost like a sunburst across his shoulder. It's a terrible mark that couldn't be more stunning.

It's like he hears me thinking about him because he whirls around to face the bushes I'm hiding in. "Wyrdling…" he growls.

Now I've done it. Embarrassment is not an emotion I've ever been familiar with, but today, it's the only thing present. "Yes?" I say, barely more than a whisper, as I stand up, turning to face away from him at the same time.

"Why are you watching me bathe? I thought we had an unspoken understanding."

Quick. I need an answer that doesn't sound stupid. "My head's sticky." Wow. Now that's a very special kind of terrible.

There's a pause, and I can hear Cole slowly splashing his way toward the bank. The image of his muscles pulling him through the clear water and getting his pants on is nearly as embarrassing as what I'd watched.

"Your head is sticky? That has to be the worst lie I've ever heard, and I've lived for almost eight hundred years." My face is as red as the burn across his back from the blood rushing to my cheeks.

"I'm done here," he says after a moment. "You probably want to wash more than your head, though. We're going to meet a few friends of mine in the next few days. If we don't make much progress today, I'm not worried."

He walks past me, his shirt still off and his pants wet, and I can't stop staring at him.

This is not the morning I'd expected.

I stand under an ancient oak tree quite a distance away from Cole, who's fast asleep, and I slip the ring off my finger. It's like I've uncorked the storm inside me. The feeling is almost natural at this point, yet I know it's still very dangerous. It's like unsheathing a knife when you still have no idea how to use it.

I need to practice. If I don't become stronger, I'm going to end up dying or at least failing. The world I'm in has no room for weakness, and while Cole is keeping me safe right now, I can't expect him to forever.

I take a deep breath and start trying to push the power out of my hands again. The shadows flow, but just like every night, they're barely flickers that appear and die in moments. Something is holding them back. I know it. Just like I'd known that I should have been able to do magic when I was sparring with Cole.

Anger starts to build, and I can feel that storm moving inside me faster. When I try to force it to turn into shadows, there's even more resistance than when I was calm and collected. Shadows barely appear, a single flicker, and then several moments of nothing before the next wells up in my palm for a half-second before disappearing.

I'm only getting more and more angry as I struggle. How am I supposed to practice magic if it doesn't work regardless of how much effort I put in? Something is wrong. I've been working myself to exhaustion every night for almost three weeks, and it's not getting any easier.

I try to calm down and remember Vesta's teachings. She would have known how to do this, and she was trying to prepare me. What hidden lessons did she teach me that I didn't understand?

From my first memory until the day I turned seventeen, she was with me constantly, as much a guard as a tutor. Those sharp eyes that seemed to take in everything were always on me. I remember knowing that she was watching, even while I spent time with my father. I might not have known where she was, but I knew she was there.

We spent so much time together, more than I've spent with anyone else, and yet, I can't remember nearly enough about what she taught me. She didn't explain how to do magic, though. Well, not anything beyond how to keep my emotions in check… something I've failed at continuously since I left Blackgrove.

There's a connection between emotions and my magic because the only time I've really used it successfully was when I was furious at Hazel. Now, no matter how angry I get, it's like the shadows refuse to appear.

I stare at my hand, focusing on the flickers of darkness, and only find more disappointment. I need to figure this out now. I know I'm running out of time, and I'm getting desperate. It's probably time for my next lesson.

The process almost feels like a routine at this point. I close my eyes and imagine the Shade. The personification of shadow magic, he literally exudes shadows constantly. Strangely enough, when I imagine him, my stomach twists a little. Not because I'm afraid of him. No, this is something else entirely.

"Shade, I need your help with shadow magic." I say the words as I envision the Fae. I can feel the words become magic as I say them. It's the same feeling as creating the tiny flickers of shadows in my hand.

Moments pass, and just like every time, I worry he won't come. My heart races as the seconds pass silently. What do I do if he doesn't? Is there any other way to learn how to do this?

Then he's here, and I feel like I can breathe easier. He'll be able to help me, but there's more to it than that. When I stared at Cole in the river today, I'd been unable to turn away. I'd been drawn to his naked body, and I feel the same when I look at the Shade. I can't explain what the feeling is.

"You called," he says in that soft but reverberating voice of his.

I turn around and look at him for a moment. He's never changed—not the way he stands or walks or talks. Each of the three times I've called him, he's looked exactly the same, but he feels different this time.

"Something is keeping me from using shadow magic. I can feel the power inside me trying to escape, but every time I try to create shadows like you explained, I have to work so hard to make them appear. I feel like I'm shoving a piece of wood through a hole that's too small for it. If I push hard enough, it goes through, but if I only had a bigger hole, it'd be so much easier."

The Shade doesn't respond as he steps closer to me. The cloak around him sways in the breeze, and I would swear that he's smiling under the hood. "You have a lot of anger inside you," he says slowly. "Anger and shadows do not work well together. You have to…"

For the first time, he pauses, almost hesitating. I wait for him to finish. "Maeve Arden, I can show you how to use shadow magic, but you will need to trust me. Will you do that?"

A question that no one should answer with a "yes". I know that everything he does is an effort to gain debts he'll use for his own purposes. He doesn't care about me or anyone else. The Shade is not someone I can trust.

But when I look into those shadows, I feel like I can trust him completely—even more than Vesta or Hazel. There's no way to explain it.

"Yes," I whisper.

He nods. "Then close your eyes, Maeve. Don't open them until I tell you. Do exactly as I say, and nothing else, or there will be… consequences ." The way he says that last word sends a tingle running down my spine. I don't even want to know what he means by consequences.

My heart is racing as I swallow hard, but I close my eyes, regardless. "Hold out one hand, palm up," he says. "Just as you have been, push the shadows out of it. Feel your power flowing through your hand and becoming shadows. Focus on that as much as possible."

I do as he says, and the resistance is still there. "I'm going to touch you," he whispers, his breath hot on my neck. "Don't open your eyes."

I should be terrified, but I'm not. My racing heart is from excitement. The knot in my stomach is because I want to know what it's like for him to touch me.

Then I feel him, and it's like nothing I've ever experienced. My mind tries to comprehend what he's doing, but it doesn't make sense. Like a warm summer wind whispering over my body, I can feel his heat, but not his actual touch. He starts at my neck and drifts down to my collarbone.

My tunic shifts, and the scent of salt and cedar flows over me at the same time that something slides across my skin between my tunic and my breasts. Down my tunic, and it slips under my pants, caressing my body in ways that I couldn't have imagined previously. I should want to take a step back, to stop the Shade from making me feel this way. I've spent my life away from nearly everyone, and the thought of another person touching my hand makes me nervous. Yet, when the Shade touches the most intimate parts of my body like this, I can't imagine pulling away from him.

The warmth that blows across my skin sets my body throbbing as my mind questions what it would feel like if it were more than this. What if it were his hands instead of whatever this magical sensation is. Those black-tinted nails caressing my stomach… my breasts… between my legs. Inside me, the storm that has raged for days changes . It becomes something different. Instead of the angry feeling of lightning stuck in a bottle, it becomes a throbbing that begins between my legs and steadily radiates outward.

It's not the frantic energy that's been making me grit my teeth at every annoyance. No, this is a heady feeling that throbs in time to my racing heartbeat. I don't know why, but a soft moan escapes my lips. The wind becomes more solid, and the sensations become even more intense.

"Maeve, create shadows," he whispers into my ear. "Feel them flow over your skin just like mine are doing. They're hot and heavy and sticky. They cling to your skin like dew at dawn."

Instead of trying to force my power through my palm, I allow it to flow , the throbbing drum inside me giving it strength instead of impeding it. I can feel my shadows moving over my arm, coiling around me like a snake. They're so similar to the Shade's. Like he'd said, they're thick and almost misty. Wet and sticky, they want to stay on me, holding tight to me rather than flowing into the air like a cloud would.

Then the Shade touches me. His nails run over my neck and into the hair at the nape of my neck. I sink into his touch, my entire body wanting to feel him. His fingers tighten in my hair, and that throbbing inside me quickens.

"Open your eyes, Maeve," he whispers. "Your mother was no Wyrdling." Then his hand moves away from my neck, and he steps back. Shadows rise into the air around me. Covering all the ground in the clearing in that inky blackness and wreathing my limbs in it, I make the Shade's cloak look like the sun.

"How?" I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper. The shadows climb everything they can reach. The trees. Me. The Shade. Everything in the clearing below my knees is hidden in blackness. I'm nearly as hidden from the world as the Fae under the Shade's cloak. This… this is not what I'd expected.

"That throbbing inside you is what feeds the shadows. Not anger, Maeve. Anger will choke your shadows to death. You need to feel desire in order to use shadow magic. Or its opposite, revulsion." He pauses for a moment, his head cocked ever so slightly to the side.

"Magic is controlled by emotions. This is why Immortals are taught to keep theirs tightly leashed at all times. Tightly leashed does not mean non-existent, though. It means controlled. Used and focused. Do you understand?"

I nod, not entirely sure that I'll be able to make myself feel this way whenever I need to. "I think so."

"Do not try to use revulsion. It's a dangerous emotion even when you're trained, and it results in far more accidents than desire. The negative sides of each House's magic are far more dangerous."

Again, I nod to him. I want to say that it all makes sense, but I'm having a hard time keeping my mind on what he's saying when I can't stop thinking about the way he made me feel only a few moments ago. Even though the shadows filling my small piece of the world are incredible, my body has no interest in them. The only thing it wants is for the Shade to touch me again, to press those hands against my skin.

I know that won't happen. I try to focus on the shadows, on the reason I called him here. The reason that I'm going to owe him another unbreakable debt.

The shadows have faded, but the throbbing of the drum inside me is still just as loud as it was when I first opened my eyes. How am I supposed to fight like this? How am I supposed to train like this?

I've spent my life shunned. Untouched, unloved, and certainly unkissed. I don't think I've ever felt like this… except when Cole held me. Or when he taught me to fight.

Or when the Shade held my hand as he marked me.

"Thank you," I whisper.

This time, it's him who nods, and when he puts his hand out, I know what he expects me to do. I place my hand in his, palm upturned.

When he presses his nail against my skin, I sigh. I know the pain that's going to come, and I welcome it. I don't even grimace as he leaves his mark on my skin, but when he tries to pull away, I stop him, my hand going to his wrist. This time, he doesn't pull away.

"Why do you do this?" I ask. "Why do you make these deals?"

I've felt him through those shadows under his hood, and I can tell his expression. Even though I have no proof that I'm right, I know I am. Just like I know when there is a wolf on the other side of a clearing or when there's a rabbit in a bush. I know that this question has turned his expression somber and morose when he's been far more lighthearted this evening.

He hesitates. There's nothing compelling him to answer me and nothing compelling him to tell the truth. I'm no one to him. I'm just a stupid Wyrdling who can't use her magic.

"Because someone has to, and I'm the only one who can, but I can't do it all. Goodnight, Maeve Arden."

I pull my hand away, and this time, it's me that cocks my head and frowns. The Shade doesn't offer any further explanation, though, and simply steps forward. The shadows swallow him up.

He leaves me all alone again. I look down at my hand and feel the drumming in my chest, no longer nearly as strong, but still there. "I have to desire," I whisper.

When I put my hand out this time, I feel the shadows appear, and they flow like water from a spring. Just as seductive as before, it whispers over my skin and pools at my feet. Liquid shadows that hide the very ground below them.

Underneath the awe of doing actual magic, the drum still pounds in my chest, and I can't stop thinking of the way it felt to have the Shade's magic moving over my skin and under my tunic. Down my pants… I can't imagine how it would feel to have his hands there.

The shadows fade, and I slide my mother's ring back on my finger, but then I look down at the third mark on my wrist. Three debts owed to a Fae I don't know at all. Three times that he'll have complete control over my actions.

The last of the shadows disappear, and I smile. I'm not just a stupid human anymore. Soon enough, I'll have skills that will let me survive in this new world, and then I will heal Hazel. Everything has a price, and I'm willing to pay this one.