Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

The advertisement was a clever trap, and Osric admired the craftiness of it even as his stomach twisted with worry. There was no mention of the grimoire, of course—just a notice that the Folio & Fancy had recently come into possession of a small handful of rare and valuable tomes that would be available for purchase to discerning collectors. A siren's song to draw in any members of the Obsidian Circle who might be seeking the book.

It was a dangerous game that Hali was playing, but Osric had known from the start that she was not one to back down from a challenge. For all her whimsy and romanticism, there was a core of steel in her, a stubbornness and determination that he couldn't help but admire.

A determination that, in this case, might very well get her killed.

Osric clenched his jaw, the muscles standing out in sharp relief. He had promised to keep her safe, and he intended to honor that promise. But to do so, he needed to know what she was up to, and where the danger lay.

He just prayed he wasn't already too late.

Osric arrived at the Folio & Fancy as the last of the daylight was fading, the shop's windows glowing with lamplight and warmth. He let himself in with the key Hali had pressed into his palm, and was immediately assailed by the scent of old books and fresh scones, and the sight of Hali darting towards him, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Osric, you made it!" She said, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I've gathered all the supplies we'll need for our stakeout, and I've put up the wards like Illyria showed me, and I think it's going to work, I really do, but either way, we'll at least have a nice starlit picnic, won't we?"

Osric's heart ached at the sight of her, all soft and rosy in her lavender cardigan, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looked so small, and yet there was a steely determination in her eyes that made her seem impossibly brave.

"You've done a wonderful job, Hali," he said, and he meant it. The shop was transformed, with stacks of supplies and provisions piled up in the corner. "Now, show me how these wards of yours work."

Hali led him to the front of the shop, where a small wooden box had been placed on the counter. "All right, so these are the warning wards. If someone crosses the threshold of the shop after hours, the bell in this little box will ring, but we'll be far enough away with it that it won't alert the intruders that it's been tripped. It's not too loud, but hopefully it'll be enough to alert us."

She pointed to a few sigils that had been affixed to the inside of the door frame. "And these are the marking wards. Whoever touches the door will be magically ‘marked' with a spell that is easily tracked by this." She held up a device that resembled a compass, though it had a few too many needles and directions to function purely as such.

Osric was impressed by the wards' design, and by Hali's quick grasp of the theory behind them. She was a quick study, his clever little dwarf. He only hoped that they wouldn't need to use them.

As night fell, they climbed up to the rooftop of the bookshop, hauling a basket of supplies up the narrow ladder. The city stretched out around them, a sea of twinkling lights and shadows. Osric's pulse was heavy in his ears, his senses hyper-focused on the sounds of the city, the cool night air, and the warm, spicy scent of Hali's hair as she settled in beside him.

They spread out a thick blanket, and then a stack of cushions, and then an array of snacks and drinks and other provisions. "I hope you like spiced apple cider," Hali said, pouring them each a mug. "And I may have also brought a few of those scones you liked from the bakery around the corner."

"I'm sure they're delicious," Osric said, though he was too distracted by the way the lamplight was dancing in Hali's eyes to really taste them. He was acutely aware of how close she was, the heat of her body, and he had to force himself to focus on the task at hand.

They settled in, the night stretching out before them, and for a while, they sat in companionable silence, sipping their cider and watching the stars. But then Hali let out a little sigh, and scooted closer to him, and before he knew it, she had tucked her feet up onto the blanket and her shoulder was dangerously close to his own.

"Sorry," she said, her voice soft in the darkness. "I just . . . it's a little chilly up here, is all."

Osric's skin felt like it was on fire, but he managed to wrap an arm around her, tugging her close. "No need to apologize."

She smelled like old parchment and lavender, and it was all he could do to keep from burying his face in her hair and breathing her in. He had never felt so keenly aware of another person's presence, of the way she fit so perfectly against him, as if she had been made to be there.

"Osric," she said after a while, with a soft, warm breath. "Will you tell me a story? A story from your past."

Osric frowned, tongue worrying at his teeth. He wasn't used to anyone showing an interest in him, in who he was and where he came from. His whole life, he had been trained to keep to the shadows, to remain unseen. Even with the other Emberforged, his relationships had always been strictly professional, his interactions limited to the mission at hand.

But Hali . . . Hali was different. With her, he felt like he could be himself, not the cold, detached agent of the Forge, but the person he had once been, long ago. And he wanted to share that with her, even if it meant risking his carefully guarded secrets.

"I . . . I don't know if I have any stories worth telling," he said at last.

"Everyone has a story," Hali said, her gaze tracing the runic patterns on his arm. "I want to know yours."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and earnest, and something in Osric's chest cracked open. He couldn't bear to see that light in her eyes dim, and so he relented, with a sigh.

"I suppose there is one story I could tell you," he said. "It's from when I was very young, before . . . before everything changed."

Hali made a soft, encouraging noise, and Osric closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. "I was born in one of the most prestigious clanholds among my people, the Emberforged. We lived in the heart of the volcano, and the air was always thick with smoke and ash, and the ground glowed red beneath our feet. My parents were both highly regarded in the clan—my father was a general in our military, and my mother was a high priestess of the fire goddess, one of the most powerful mages in our land."

He paused, the memories a bittersweet taste on his tongue. "I was the youngest of three, and the only one to show any real aptitude for magic. My elder siblings went on to excel in other areas, but I was my mother's apprentice, and I was determined to make her proud."

Osric's voice faltered, and he opened his eyes to see Hali watching him, her expression soft and open. It was a look he wasn't sure he deserved, but he was powerless to turn away from it.

"We were a happy family, once," he said, and the words felt like a confession. "I miss them terribly."

He fell silent. It was a struggle to keep his composure, to keep the pain and anger from his voice. There was so much more to the story, so much he was leaving out, but for now, it was all he could bring himself to say.

Osric's voice was a whisper, but it filled the space between them, heavy with sorrow and regret. "My family . . . we were happy, once. But then . . . something terrible happened."

He didn't need to say what. Hali knew the story all too well, from the hints he had dropped in their conversations, to the way he sometimes woke up in the middle of the night, his face streaked with tears and his fists clenched in the sheets. She knew about the attack, the fire, the loss that had shaped him into the man he was today.

"I'm so sorry, Osric," she said, her voice soft. She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his, and he let her, his calloused skin a rough, comforting contrast to her own. "I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through."

Osric turned his hand over, twining their fingers together, and brought it to his lips. "You don't have to imagine," he said. "You've faced your own share of hardships, and yet you . . . you still manage to see the beauty in the world. You still have hope."

Hali's heart ached at the raw vulnerability in his voice. She knew how hard it had been for him to let his guard down, to share this part of himself with her. And she felt a strange, fierce rush of affection for him, knowing that he trusted her that much.

"I wasn't always like this," she said. "I used to be so angry, so bitter. I wanted to burn the world down, just to make it pay for my pain."

Osric's thumb traced over the back of her hand, a gentle, soothing caress. "What changed?"

Hali smiled, a little sadly. "I suppose I realized that I didn't want my life to be defined by what I had lost. I wanted to find joy, and beauty, and love, wherever I could. And so I made a choice to see the world that way, even when it's hard."

She turned her hand in his, linking their fingers together once more. "And then you came along, and suddenly, it's so much easier to see the good."

Osric caught himself smiling. "I haven't given you much reason to trust me," he said. "But I want to. I want to be the person you see in me."

"Nonsense. One of the things I admire most about you is your unwavering sense of purpose. Your dedication to your metalworking, your research . . . it's truly remarkable."

Osric's throat went dry. How could he tell her that his loyalty to the Forge of Vulkan was the very thing that kept him up at night, that haunted his every step with her? How could he explain that he was trained from a young age to put his duty above all else, even his own happiness? But as he looked into Hali's eyes, he felt a strange, reckless urge to try.

"There is a . . . a story, I suppose," he said slowly, each word a struggle. "One that my people tell, of the First Forging. It is said that in the early days of our kind, when the world was still young, the Emberforged were given a great gift by the fire primordial—what most people would call a goddess, I suppose—a gift that would allow us to shape the very bones of the world, to bring her vision to life."

He paused, weighing his words carefully. "It is only a story, of course. But it is a story that has guided my people for generations. And it is a story that I . . . that I have sworn to see through."

"The goddess came to our people in a vision, a pillar of flame that lit up the night sky. She spoke to our first artisans, and she entrusted them with a sacred quest. He was to journey to the heart of the world, to the great volcano that raged at the center of our land, and there he would find the tools he needed to shape our destiny."

As he spoke, Osric's whole demeanor changed. His voice took on a rhythmic, almost hypnotic cadence, and his eyes glowed with an inner light. Hali seemed to lean in, caught in the pull of his words, of the raw power and magic that crackled around him. Osric's hands moved as he spoke, tracing sigils in the air that matched the ones along his arms.

"The journey was long and perilous, but the artisans were undaunted. They faced down great beasts and treacherous foes, but the fire goddess walked with him, and he was not afraid. At last, they reached the volcano's summit, and there he found the Forge, a mighty cauldron of molten metal, and the Anvil, where they would shape the goddess's gift."

"The goddess's gift," Hali repeated, her voice a hushed whisper.

"The Hammer of Earthblood," Osric said. "Forged from a falling star, and quenched in the goddess's own blood. With it, our kind could summon up the might of the volcanoes, the lava that serves as very blood of the land, and nothing in this world or any other could stand against us."

Osric's eyes met Hali's, and for a moment, the air crackled between them, heavy with unspoken things.

"And did they?" Hali asked. "Did they claim the goddess's gift?"

Osric's expression softened, the fierce light in his eyes dimming. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek, and Hali leaned into his touch, her eyes never leaving his.

"They did," Osric said. "And with it, they forged a new era for our people. An era of strength, and power, and unity. The Emberforged became a force to be reckoned with, our name feared and respected throughout the land. And the Hammer of Earthblood . . . it became a symbol of our people, a reminder of the goddess's gift, and the duty that came with it."

"What duty?" Hali asked, her voice soft.

"To shape the earth and its people wisely, but with strength. To use weapons to end violence, not spread it. To reshape lands and civilizations, cleanse them, rebuild them."

"Sounds a little ominous," Hali said.

Osric smiled. "Well, it is only a legend." Osric's hand fell away from Hali's, the warmth in his eyes fading. "There are other legends, of course. Tales of the Emberforged's battles, and triumphs, and the purpose that we carry in our hearts. But it is a heavy burden, and one that I have struggled with, at times."

Hali watched him for a long moment, the way his shoulders slumped, the weariness that seemed to seep into his very bones. "I like your legends, Osric," she said, her voice a soft murmur. "But I think I like the idea of writing new ones even more."

Osric stilled, and turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

Hali moved closer to him, until she was standing in the circle of his arms. He made no move to embrace her, but he didn't step away, either. She reached out, running her fingers along the runes on his forearm, tracing the ancient symbols. "Legends are all well and good. But I think you're right. It's up to us to write our own, too."

She turned to face him, her eyes meeting his, and her heart thudded in her chest. "And I want to write new ones with you."

Osric's breath quailed in his throat. He knew he should pull away, put a stop to this before it went any further. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not when Hali was looking at him like that, her eyes dark with longing, with a hunger that matched his own.

With a soft, wordless sound, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. She tasted like honey and ale and something indefinably her, and it was all he could do to not devour her, to not let the flames that raged inside him consume them both. He deepened the kiss, tangling one hand in her hair, the other on her waist, and she made a soft, muffled sound of assent, moving even closer to him.

Heat. There was heat, certainly, but there was also a warmth that spread through him, a softness that he was unaccustomed to. He was more used to the searing blaze of his magic, the white-hot fury that drove him in battle. But this . . . this was a different kind of power, one that he was only beginning to understand.

Hali's hands were on his chest, his shoulders, and he shivered at the warmth of her touch. He drank her in, pouring all of his longing, his yearning into it, and he felt her respond in kind. She made a soft, desperate noise in the back of her throat, and it went straight to his heart.

He had never felt like this before, not even in the grip of his most powerful magics. This was a different kind of fire, a different kind of power, and it threatened to consume him whole. It was a fire in his blood, a storm in his soul, and he never wanted it to end.

He never wanted to stop.

Hali's hands moved from his chest to his waist, and Osric stifled a gasp. With trembling fingers, he began to unfasten the laces of his trousers, and he had never known a task so difficult, so urgent. He wanted to be closer to her, he wanted to be inside her, to feel the flames that he knew were burning in her, too.

He shuddered as her fingers slipped beneath the waistband, her skin soft, hot against his. He closed his eyes, his head falling back, and he let out a silent prayer to the fire goddess, a jumble of words that he hoped she would understand. He needed her. He needed this.

He was a man of control, of discipline, but in this moment, he felt like he was coming apart at the seams. He was a vessel, too full of power, of longing, and he was afraid that he might shatter, that he might destroy everything around him. But Hali's touch was a balm, a salve, and he let himself be consumed.

He bit down on his lower lip, the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth, and he did his best to stifle the cry that threatened to escape him. He didn't want to draw attention to them, didn't want to risk being discovered. But it was getting harder, and harder to hold back, as Hali's fingers worked their magic, coaxing the flames within him higher and higher.

Hali's fingers danced over Osric's clit, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through him. He bit softly into her shoulder, stifling his cries as his runes flickered brighter, their glow casting an amber hue across their entwined bodies. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the moment.

Hali's voice was a low murmur in his ear, her words punctuated by wry comments that only served to heighten his arousal. Her fingers moved with a practiced rhythm, each stroke pushing him closer and closer to the edge. Heat stoked brighter and brighter within him, a fire that promised to incinerate him.

Osric's body was a live wire, every nerve ending alight with sensation. Hali's fingers worked inside him, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through him. His walls clenched around her fingers, his body trembling as he fought to hold back his release.

But it was a losing battle. With a final, shuddering gasp, Osric came, his body convulsing as the pleasure washed over him. His walls throbbed around Hali's fingers, his body searing hot to the touch. Heat radiated off of him, a testament to the intensity of his release.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Osric slumped against Hali, his body spent and his mind deliciously blank. Distantly, he felt her fingers slipping out of him, her touch gentle as she traced patterns on his skin. He let out a contented sigh, his eyes fluttering closed as he reveled in the afterglow.

In that moment, Osric felt truly alive. He felt connected, not just to Hali, but to the world around him. He felt the fire within him, not as a destructive force, but as a source of life and warmth. And he knew, with a certainty that went beyond words, that he would do anything to protect this feeling, to protect the woman who had given it to him.

Hali's fingers continued to trace patterns on his skin, her touch a comforting presence as he drifted in the afterglow. Her heart beat against his, steady and strong, matching the rhythm of his own. And he knew, in that moment, that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Elation and guilt warred within Osric as he kissed her, his hands moving to her waist, pulling her close. Her warmth was intoxicating, and he wanted to lose himself in her, in this feeling, this softness that he had never known. But the guilt gnawed at him, too, the knowledge of the secrets he was keeping from her, the duty that called to him, even now.

He forced himself to pull away, his forehead resting against hers. "Hali, I . . ."

But he didn't know what to say. How could he explain the dangerous path he was walking, the enemies he was making, all in the name of his duty to the Forge of Vulkan?

He couldn't. And so he said nothing, his throat working soundlessly, as he threaded his fingers through her hair, committing this moment to memory.

"Osric," Hali said, her voice a soft, sleepy murmur. "I . . ."

She didn't have to say it. He could see it in the depths of her eyes, the way she was still reaching for him, still yearning. It made his heart ache, a pain that was almost too much to bear. But he forced a smile, a real one this time, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

He was still smiling when the magical ward they had set around the bookshop flared to life.

They both jolted back, the moment shattered, and Osric's hand went to the hilt of his dagger. The runes along the floor and walls blazed with an otherworldly light, and a high, piercing alarm echoed in the air. "The wards," Osric said, his heart racing. "It's the wards. Someone's trying to get in."

Osric's heart was pounding in his ears, but his training kicked in, cool and efficient. He snatched up his satchel of tools and supplies, while Hali grabbed the grimoire and the other books they'd been examining, carefully tucking them under her arm. They moved to the trapdoor in the corner of the attic, and Osric pried it open, the hinges groaning with age. He gestured for Hali to go first, then followed her, pulling the door mostly closed behind him.

The rooftops of Luminara stretched out before them, the city's lanterns casting pools of gold in the darkness. Osric scanned the streets below, but there was no sign of the intruders. He turned to Hali and held a finger to his lips, then pointed towards the rooftops to their left.

Hali nodded, her eyes bright in the darkness, and they set off, their footsteps silent as they wove between the chimneys and dormer windows. They'd only gone a few blocks when Osric caught a faint shimmer out of the corner of his eye. He grabbed Hali's arm, yanking her into the shelter of a nearby parapet, and pointed.

It was the magical sigil he'd etched into the cobblestones of the street below the bookshop, a soft, steady glow. Someone was crossing the line of the alarm ward.

Hali's eyes widened, and she nodded, her face pressed close to his. They held each other's gaze for a heartbeat, a shared understanding passing between them. Then they were off, racing across the rooftops, following the trail of the intruders through the night.