Chapter 9

Nine

Lorik was watching me, lounging against one of the largest river trees on my property. His broad back was to the trunk, and he had one knee brought up, his bad arm resting against it. Similar in position to how I'd found him in the Black Veil three nights ago.

"Stop," I said, though I was trying to hide my smile as I dumped the bedding into the basin.

"Stop what?" he asked innocently. He'd chosen that tree to relax against because it was closest to the washing tub I had outside—a wide, hollowed-out tree trunk that I believed had been struck by lightning once. It was a perfect depth to let bedding soak in.

After Lorik's infection had passed, the sheets and the coverlet needed a desperate wash. But the afternoon was fading, the sun already beginning to lower in the sky, so I wanted to take advantage before the night chill set in.

"Stop looking at me," I replied. "Stop smiling."

He grinned in response.

"I like looking at you," he told me. "Why does it bother you?"

"Because…because…" I trailed off, uncertain how to respond. It sounded ridiculous, even to my own ears. But how could I tell him that every time he looked at me, I felt consumed? How could I tell him that he made me nervous, shy, and elated all at once?

"Because you're not used to it," he murmured. "You live out here, alone. My beautiful little witch in the woods. You need to be appreciated. You need to be touched. I think you need to be loved."

I stopped mixing the soapy water in the trunk to look at him in surprise.

He smirked. "You need a lover, Marion."

"Are you volunteering for the job?" I asked, flustered but quirking a brow with more confidence than I felt.

I'd meant it as a tease, but Lorik said, "Yes."

The word was soft in its seriousness.

"Humans can be so strange about sex," he added. "Even if they grew up on Allavar."

"And I would argue that Allavari are even more strange about it. Private," I told him, looking back down at the basin. "Don't you think? You're part Allavari, aren't you?"

"Once," he replied, his tone breezy.

"You always say things like that," I pointed out. "Things that never make sense and are only meant to confuse."

"Maybe I want to keep you guessing," he said. "Keep the mystery alive."

"Oh, it's well and alive, Lorik Ravael."

"Maybe I'm boring. Maybe I'm quite dull to be around when I'm not suffering from a botched poisoning."

A poisoning you won't tell me much about,I thought silently.

"I want to know what you look like unleashed."

Unable to keep the small gasp from escaping, I darted my gaze up at him again.

"Maybe that's the once Kylorr in me though," he added. "So yes, I think you don't like when I look at you like this…because I'm looking at you in a very particular way, Marion. I always have, haven't I?"

A memory from the market rose. Of Lorik leaning against the wall of the local apothecary shop, arms crossed over his chest. I'd caught him looking at me, but instead of being embarrassed, he'd tilted his chin up, that familiar sinful, flirtatious smile spreading across his lips. I'd been too shocked, too flustered, too excited that I'd looked away quickly.

Had that been an invitation?

Of course it'd been, you daft fool, I thought. But what had I done? I'd avoided his gaze, sold the last of my potions, packed up my supplies, and fled back to the Black Veil. Because it was familiar. It was safe.

Ever since Aysia, I'd never wanted to be in love. Love made a fool out of anyone it touched. It addled your brain; it was addicting like a drug.

More often than not, it left you brokenhearted. Or…dead.

"Tell me a secret, little witch," he murmured in the sudden quiet. I couldn't hear the birds or the wind or the scampering of Peek as he tried to catch a ground critter.

"You frighten me," I told him.

He grinned again, but this time his teeth seemed sharper and his eyes gleamed in the lowering sunlight. With his sharp, proud features, he looked every bit the arrogant Allavari noble. Allavari were snobbish about bloodlines. I wondered about his…because he wasn't a commoner—that was for certain.

"It's probably best that I do," he answered.

A lengthy silence passed after those words. I didn't understand him. One moment he was telling me he wanted to see me unleashed…the next it felt like he was trying to warn me away.

The soapy water was icy in the basin, and I squeezed my fists together to get the blood flowing before I needed to start scrubbing the sheets.

"Here," he murmured. "Allow me."

I frowned, watching as he maneuvered himself toward me, all languid grace for someone so tall and large. When he reached the basin, he spread his palm across the surface of the water.

"What are you…?" I trailed off, my lips parting when I saw steam rise from the surface and an unseen current underwater jostle the fabric. "Lorik! Save your energy. This doesn't matter."

"It's a small thing," he replied, taking back his hand though the sheets continued to move in the basin. "Now your hands won't be cold."

And I realized it was a small thing for him. I'd…I'd never seen…

It had hardly phased him.

"You wouldn't let me wash the sheets. You nearly took my head off when I asked," he rasped, meeting my eyes. "At least allow me to warm the water for you and lessen the work."

"I've never seen anyone channel their magic so quickly," I commented, my hands hovering above the water as I knelt beside the hollow trunk. "That kind of magic is…"

Lorik leveled me a careful look. "The Allavari have lost their way. They've forgotten."

"Forgotten what?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Forgotten that magic is as natural as the air we breathe," he told me. "This land is special, every layer of it. It's alive. Even you have magic, Marion. It's grown in you since you were born on Allavar. You pull it up from the ground you stand on, you fill your lungs with it in the sunlight, and you feel it drift over your skin like a silk sheet when you sleep."

My lips parted. "I'm human. I don't have magic. Not like the Allavari. I certainly can't do"—I gestured to the basin—"that."

"But you can keep all five species of glowflies successfully and befriend a braydus. Those are magical creatures, and they recognize that magic in you. Have you ever thought it strange that they allow you so close?"

"There are people in the Healers' Guild who keep glowflies," I pointed out. "And I'm certainly not the first to have a braydus as a companion."

Right?

Lorik went quiet as he studied me. Finally, he said, "Think what you wish, Marion. You say I can channel magic better than anyone you've seen? That's because I understand that magic is an extension of myself, that it is rooted as deeply in me as I am in it. I understand there is balance in it. I don't fight that. That's something the Above world has also forgotten."

The Above world?

"Taking without reciprocation only depletes magic. It needs to be refueled. Did you know that your cottage, your land has more magic than I've felt in the Black Veil? Than I've ever felt in Rolara?"

"Is that really true?"

He inclined his head. "Because you've allowed magic to bloom here—the glowflies being a large part of that. You tend to them, they produce for you. A symbiotic relationship. And you don't expect more than they can give. A beautiful balance. You've done well here, Marion."

That compliment was perhaps more flattering than any I'd heard from him. Even beyond the warmth I'd felt when he'd called me beautiful.

"Thank you," I said softly. "That means a lot."

His lips curled in a gentle smile. "There's nothing to thank me for. It's merely the truth."

The sheets were still swirling in the basin, the water so hot it was practically simmering. I wondered how much effort that had taken him, when he should've been channeling every last scrap of energy into resting and healing. He was much better than he'd been yesterday, obviously. But I didn't want him to take another sudden turn.

I was just about to ask him when he wanted to feed next, the question perched on the edge of my tongue, when his head snapped toward the Black Veil, his pointed ears twitching, the muscles in his chest bunching.

"What is it?" I asked, slight trepidation in my tone. "A Sever?"

"Too early for the veil to lift," he murmured, his tone distracted. "But someone is nearing. I can feel them."

Lorik stood in a graceful rise, silent despite his bulk. His wings unfurled, stretching in the late sun. I stayed kneeling at the basin, eyeing the property line, where the protection spell had been placed. But now…doubt had begun to creep in my mind. Was Lorik right? Was the spell even real? Or was it Peek? The protection spell certainly hadn't helped against the thieves…only the Severs.

We heard a pair of men approach my cottage, and with dread and bitterness building in my gut, I realized who it was.

Veras.

The Allavari crime lord parading himself around as a noble.

Veras, who my sister had fallen in love with. The head-over-heels, insane kind of love, where nothing else had mattered to her except him.

Veras, who'd ultimately gotten Aysia killed.