Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

Osric stumbled up the back staircase to Hali's apartment, her hand a warm, sturdy presence under his upper arm. "Easy there, big guy," she said. "Almost there. Just a few more steps."

He tried to nod, but the world was a hazy, pulsing thing, and he wasn't entirely sure his head was still attached to his neck. "I told you," he mumbled. "I'm fine."

"Nonsense," she said, and he knew she was upset because there was no playful lilt to her voice, no teasing insult to soften the words. "You got your ass kicked because of me. It's very far from fine."

They reached the top of the stairs, and Hali fumbled for her keys, her hands shaking. Sooty appeared in the doorway, his dark eyes widening with alarm. "What in the hells happened?"

"Later," Hali said. "Help me get him inside."

They half-dragged, half-carried him to the living room, and Hali eased him down onto the threadbare couch. She disappeared into the kitchen, and when she came back, she was carrying a basin of water, a stack of clean cloths, and a small wooden box that Osric recognized as a first aid kit.

She sat on the coffee table in front of him and took his face in her hands, turning it this way and that to assess the damage. "Oh, sweetheart," she said, and there were tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. "You're a mess."

"I've had worse," he said, though even he could hear the weakness in his own voice. "I've dished out worse, too. I'm just sorry we didn't catch them."

She ignored him, and he knew it was pointless to argue. Hali was stubborn to the core, and when she'd made up her mind about something, there was no changing it. "Sooty, lock up the shop and go find the city guard. Tell them it's urgent. Relay as many details as you can. I'll be down once I know Oz is all right."

Sooty hesitated, glancing from Hali to Osric. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

"We'll be fine," Hali said, though she didn't sound entirely convinced. "Just tell the guard what happened, and hopefully this time they'll actually listen."

Sooty nodded, and hurried back down the stairs.

Once he'd gone, Hali turned her attention back to Osric. "Now, let's see about getting you cleaned up."

Osric winced as she began to dab at the gash on his cheek, the stinging pain of the antiseptic a welcome change from the relentless throbbing of his injuries. He closed his eyes and focused on the rhythmic scrape of the cloth against his skin, and the steady flow of his own blood, warm and bright, almost like lava.

"I'm sorry," Hali said, her voice trembling. "I'm trying to be gentle, I promise. But I've never cleaned anyone's wounds that were, um. Well—like this."

Osric mustered a weak laugh. "My blood isn't burning you, is it?"

"It is very . . . warm," Hali conceded. "But I can manage. It's you I'm worried about."

"Please. I'm fine," Osric said, though he wasn't certain he was being truthful. But he couldn't let her see how much he was hurting, how close he'd come to . . .

He pushed the thought from his mind and forced a smile as he opened his eyes. Hali was staring at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. She was trying to be strong, he knew, but there were tears brimming in her eyes, and it made his chest ache.

"I'm all right," he said, reaching up to take her hand. "Thanks to you."

Hali inhaled, and she looked away, her face flushing. "I—It was nothing. I just did what anyone would do."

Osric doubted that very much. In his experience, most people would have run screaming at the first sight of the masks, the weapons, the raw hatred in their attackers' eyes. But Hali . . . Hali had stood her ground, and fought, and if it hadn't been for her, he hated to think what might have happened.

"You were very brave," he said, and he meant it with all his heart.

Hali's cheeks turned an even darker shade of red, and she busied herself with tending to his wounds. "So. Um. About the attack."

"Yes," Osric said. "It seems you were right."

"I was?" Hali's hands stilled, the cloth dropping into her lap. "Oh. Oh, my stars, I was, wasn't I? I mean, not that I wanted to be right, of course, but . . ."

Osric smiled in spite of himself, and he reached up to take the cloth from her. He needed to do something, he realized, to help her focus, to keep her hands from trembling. "You had your suspicions about the Obsidian Circle. It seems this attack confirms them."

Hali nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "But I still don't understand. Why would they be after the grimoire? The one I bought at the auction?"

"You tell me. You said yourself it didn't hold anything particularly interesting in its spells, but it's clearly important to them, or at very least, they must think it is."

"The code," Hali muttered under her breath, then straightened up. "Sorry. It's just—the way it's marked up, every fifth letter. It feels like it's a code, but for what, I can't possibly imagine. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Not like the code we found in the book."

She traced a finger over the dried blood on his cheek, and Osric sucked in sharply.

"I'm sorry," Hali said. "I know it's probably painful, but I need to clean it so it doesn't get infected."

Osric managed a nod, and braced himself for the sting as she pressed the damp cloth to his skin.

He bit back a curse, the muscles in his jaw working overtime to keep the pain from showing on his face. He'd endured far worse in his training with the Forge, but he didn't want to worry Hali. She was already upset, and he was determined to get them through this night with as little fuss as possible.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Hali asked. "I mean, I know you Emberforged are supposed to have a higher pain tolerance, but that doesn't mean you should have to suffer in silence."

Osric shrugged, the movement awkward with one arm out of commission. "I suppose it's all relative. I've had my share of injuries over the years, but nothing I couldn't handle."

"Nothing you couldn't handle?" Hali repeated, her eyes wide. "What kind of injuries are we talking about here? I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I am rather good at keeping secrets, if I do say so myself."

Osric hesitated. He'd never been one to talk about himself, his past. The life he'd led before he came to the city, before he met Hali, it was a closed book, the pages sealed shut with his blood and his tears. But there was something about the earnest look on her face, the genuine concern in her eyes, that made him want to open that book, just a crack.

"During my apprenticeship, there were . . . accidents," he said carefully. "Mistakes I made, when I was learning to control my powers. I burned myself, badly, more than once."

"Oh, you poor prince," Hali said, voice wavering. "That sounds awful."

"It was a long time ago," Osric said quickly. "I was . . . young, still learning. But it's true, what you said. We Emberforged, we're not invincible. We feel pain. We bleed."

Hali nodded, and her hand found his, the one that wasn't wrapped around his other arm. She laced her fingers through his, and for a moment, he forgot the pain, the weariness that was threatening to drag him down. For a moment, all he could think about was the warmth of her skin, the softness of her touch.

"What was it like? Your apprenticeship, I mean. Learning to control your powers." Hali's voice was a hushed whisper, as if she feared breaking the spell. "I can't even begin to imagine."

Osric hesitated. There were some things he could never tell her, not if he wanted to keep her safe. But there were other things, harmless things, that he could share. And he wanted to share them, he realized, with a sudden, startling clarity. He wanted her to know him, all of him, even the parts that were scarred and broken.

"It was . . . difficult," he said at last. "Lonely, at times. I was the youngest in my cohort, and the only one of my kind. The others, they . . . didn't always understand me. My powers, they were volatile, to say the least."

"I can't imagine anyone not wanting to know you," Hali said. "You're one of the most intelligent, talented people I've ever met. And kind. And brave. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend."

Osric shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "You didn't know me when I was younger. I was . . . not the easiest person to get along with. I thought that because I was different, because I had these powers, that I was somehow better than everyone else. I was arrogant, and cold. And then, realizing I wasn't this girl that everyone treated me as, that only made it even more confusing. I pushed people away, because I thought it would be easier than trying to make them understand."

He took a deep breath, his chest feeling strangely tight.

"It wasn't until much later that I realized . . . I didn't have to be one person or the other, that I didn't have to be who others had shaped me into in their minds. I could be my own self. I could be proud of who I was, of the things that set me apart, without letting them define me completely."

Hali squeezed his hand, and he felt a lump rise in his throat. He'd never said any of this out loud, not to anyone. But with her, it felt . . . safe. It felt like maybe, just maybe, she would understand.

"It got easier once I began transitioning. I had surgery," he said, voice stronger now, and he nodded toward the crescent scars on his chest. Just like the runes along his arm, they were indentations that glowed with the same molten hue as his blood. "Took elixirs. It was a long, slow process, and it's not one that will ever be a complete—transformation, I suppose. But it was a choice I made, to bring my body more in line with who I am. With the person I want to be."

"It isn't painful?" Hali asked carefully.

Osric shook his head. "Sometimes. But I don't mind them. They're a part of me, a part of my journey, and in a way, they're just as beautiful. Just as hard-won."

Hali's eyes were shining, and she reached up to brush a lock of hair from his face. "They are beautiful," she said, her voice thick. "Just like you."

Osric's breath caught in his chest, and he felt a hot tear slip free, trailing down his cheek. He didn't know what to say, how to respond to that. He'd never felt beautiful, not in his whole life. Powerful, maybe. Skilled. But never beautiful.

"Thank you," he managed at last. "For . . . for listening. For not . . . I don't know. Judging me, I suppose. Not everyone understands."

She hesitated, her thumb tracing a line along his jaw. "It's . . . it's a gift, that you trusted me enough to share that. I know it must not have been easy. But I'm so glad you did."

Osric closed his eyes, and leaned into her touch. He felt . . . light, somehow. Like a weight he'd been carrying for centuries had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt . . . seen, in a way he never had before, and the thought should have terrified him. But it didn't. It felt like coming home.

The air between them crackled with tension, and neither of them made any move to dispel it. Osric's heart was pounding in his chest, and he was a little light-headed from the pain, from the long, exhausting night. But more than anything, he felt a pull, a magnetic tug drawing him toward Hali, and he didn't want to fight it. He didn't think he could.

He reached up, his hand finding the curve of her cheek, and when she didn't pull away, he let his fingers trail through her hair. It was soft, and silky, and it fell away from her face with the lightest touch. She shivered, and he felt it, the tremor that ran through her, and he wished, more than anything, that there was something more he could do to keep her safe.

"Thank you," he said, his voice hushed. "For everything."

"I . . . I?—"

Osric's thumb grazed her lower lip, and he stilled, holding his breath. He was so close, he realized, he could count the freckles scattered across her nose, the gold flecks in her eyes. She smelled like parchment and ink, and something sweet, like honey, and he wanted to drink her in, every drop.

He leaned in, and for a moment, he thought she was leaning in, too. He closed his eyes, and his lips parted, and he was so, so ready to taste her, to lose himself in the sweetness of her mouth.

But at the last moment, he stopped himself.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't put her in danger, not any more than he already had. His path was a dangerous one, a path that would lead straight to the Obsidian Circle and more besides, and he couldn't ask her to follow him down it. He had a duty, a debt to repay, and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't let anything stand in his way.

With a shuddering breath, he forced himself to pull away, to put an arm's length between them. He had no right to feel this way, this pull, this hunger. He was sworn to the Forge, to his duty, and nothing could come before that. Nothing.

He looked away, unable to bear the disappointment he was sure he'd see in her eyes. But when he glanced at her, her expression was unreadable, her eyes dark, and he felt a pang, like a blade to the heart.

"I—I'm sorry. I really need to get back to the forge, and I . . ."

He forced himself to straighten up, to step back from her, and it felt like tearing a part of his own soul away. She looked up at him, her eyes shining, and he wished, more than anything, that he could stay. But he couldn't. He had made a promise, a vow, and he couldn't let anything, not even her, stand in his way.

"Osric." Hali's voice was a whisper. "Please. Promise me you'll be careful."

He closed his eyes, unable to bear the look on her face, the worry, the fear. He wanted to promise her, more than anything. But it was a promise he couldn't keep.

"I'll do my best," he said at last.

"I wish you didn't have to go," she said. "I wish . . ."

She didn't finish the thought, but she didn't have to. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air, a promise, a wish. A future that could never be.

She took a step back, and he felt the loss of her presence like a physical blow. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her back into his arms. But he forced himself to turn away, and he didn't look back.

He couldn't. If he looked back, he was afraid he'd never be able to leave.

The streets of Luminara were still cloaked in darkness, the only light the pale glow of the moon and the distant flicker of the city's wards. Osric stood outside the bookshop, the cool night air a harsh contrast to the warmth that had enveloped him inside. He felt raw, exposed, the scars on his chest and face still throbbing, a painful reminder of everything that had passed between them. He should go, he knew. He should go back to the forge, to his training, to the mission that had brought him here. He had no business feeling this way, this torn, this . . .

He let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping. No, he knew he couldn't go back, not yet. He needed time to think, to clear his head. He needed to be sure that he could trust himself, that he wouldn't do anything foolish, like put Hali in danger. He needed to be sure that he could still carry out his mission, even with the distraction of her, her smile, her laughter, her impossibly kind heart.

With a heavy heart, he turned away from the bookshop, and he started to walk.

He didn't know where he was going, not really. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, following a path he'd taken many times before, with Hali at his side. He walked through the winding streets of Luminara, the city slowly coming to life around him, the first hints of dawn painting the sky.

Before he knew it, he had reached the Groves, a park-like area on the edge of the city, a wild, untamed stretch of land that the citizens of Luminara had preserved as a reminder of the world that had once been. The air was cool and bracing, the only sounds the rustle of the trees and the distant cry of a wild creature. It was beautiful, and lonely, and for now, he let himself pretend that he was somewhere else, that he was a different person, with a different life.

He sank down onto a stone bench, the cool air of the grove wrapping around him. He was so tired, bone-deep tired, in a way that had nothing to do with the long night he'd just endured. It was a weariness of the soul, a heaviness that he couldn't cast off. He felt . . . lost, adrift, and he didn't know how to find his way back.

He thought of Hali, of the look in her eyes, the gentleness and stubbornness she wielded in equal measure. He'd never met anyone like her. She was a force of nature, an unstoppable tide, and he was just a pebble, a tiny, insignificant thing, easily washed away. He wanted to be more, for her. He wanted to be strong, and brave, the kind of person she thought he was.

But he wasn't. He was a killer, a soldier, a weapon, honed and shaped by the Forge of Vulkan. He had a duty, a mission, and nothing, not even the pull of Hali's gravity, could change that.

He closed his eyes, and he let his head fall back against the stone.

Osric tried to focus on his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, the hushed nighttime stillness of the Groves. He tried to let his thoughts drift by, like leaves on a stream. He tried to clear his mind, to find that stillness, that quiet place at his core.

But the more he tried to push thoughts of Hali away, the more they seemed to fill his mind. Her laughter, like a song. Her eyes, warm and kind. The way she'd looked at him, as if he was something more, something better than he was.

He reached up, his fingers tracing the ember runes that marked him as an outcast, a weapon, a tool. He had always carried them with a sense of pride, of duty. But now, he felt only a hollowness, a loss. He was adrift, the moorings that had held him in place for so long suddenly gone.

What was he, if not a weapon? If not a soldier, a hunter, a killer? What was his purpose, if not to carry out the mission that the Forge had given him?

He closed his eyes, and he tried to remember that sense of duty, that fire that had always burned so bright within him. But all he saw was Hali's face, and the flame guttered, and died.

He didn't know how long he sat there, lost in the tangle of his thoughts. He didn't know what he was going to do, how he was going to reconcile this new, impossible pull. He only knew that he couldn't go back to the way things had been, before he'd met Hali. He couldn't go back to the cold, lonely path he'd been walking.

He was so lost in thought that he almost didn't hear the footsteps approaching, the soft crunch of leaves underfoot. He tensed, his hand going to the hilt of his dagger, before he recognized the figure emerging from the darkness.

"Agnith," Osric said, his voice low.

"Osric." Agnith stepped closer, his face grim in the moonlight. "We have a problem."

Osric's heart leaped in his chest, and he forced himself to his feet, to stand at attention. "I concur."