Marked For Magic (15 page)

One simple word and he would snap at her, turn like a wounded dragon and stalk to the sanctuary of the workshop. Sometimes even if she banged on the door, he wouldn’t let her in. One night, she’d slept on the top of the stairs.

She smiled, for the morning he found her, slumped at the top of the stairs, he’d kissed her awake and been like a lover all day. Though, of course, she understood it was only because he felt guilty. He’d even made breakfast so she could spend time with her thoughts on the star. That afternoon they walked, hand in hand. The Mage’s magic was a powerful spell that afternoon, but even so, she still ached for more.

He’d told her that once she went to Cassandra, things would be better. But how could they be better when she wouldn’t be with him?

The tower was a cruel place, and he, well he could be cold like… She ran her hand over the warmth of Ice, stroked her cheek against the pony’s thickened winter coat. Thabit could freeze like real winter ice and she would still burn for him. One look, a soft word, or the gentle images he sent to her mind when she grew angry and frustrated, could take her to her knees. Only once had she begged for his body.

Their kisses had grown fiery. His hands on her had not soothed and calmed, but tormented until she longed for him to take all of her. She had clutched him tight and as she pressed herself against him begged. “Just once, please, let it be now.” Even the memory of that afternoon heated her flesh in all the wrong places.

He’d left her alone for two whole days after that. While he meditated in isolation in the workshop, she’d made notes in her book, her pride at her new skill of writing forgotten in her sorrow.

Since then their kisses had been less to her liking. Affectionate he might be, tender, too, but she missed his passion for he gave her none.

Why do I want him so?

Ice nudged her hand and gave a whiffling breath. “Sorry, boy, I was thinking.” She filled the water bucket for the pony, and with her collar pulled tight to her neck against the morning’s chill, she hurried back into the warm kitchen.

The old green robe Thabit wore looked scruffy today, stray strands at the cuffs, another patch on the elbow. She dropped down on a stool opposite him, and her irritation bubbled. Three days she spent sewing him a warm winter robe. Why did he not wear it?
“I wish you’d dress like you should and look what you are.”

“I dress as I wish, I dress as I feel, and today I feel…”
He glanced down at the old robe
.
“Green.”

She could not eat and pushed the porridge bowl away.

“There is still a little honey in the jar, Sparrow.” He nodded toward the shelf.

“No, it will not help, Thabit. I’m not a child to be sweetened with honey anymore.”

His gaze held hers, and the shared memory he had raised softened the harsh ache in her chest. “Next week we celebrate Samhain, and after, I will take you to Cassandra. You’re as ready as I can make you.”

She bowed her head into her hands.

He gently moved her palm so his could lie warm on her cheek. She turned her face to kiss his hand.

“When you return to me here, then, we will find peace.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Yes, you do. You need to so you will become the person you should be. Perhaps, my Sparrow, you will become a dove.”

“No. I’d rather be a barn owl!”

He chuckled quietly, then stilled. “I’ll miss your noise and mutterings.”

The pain inside her swept back with a thump. A physical ache lodged in her chest. “You’ll come to see me?”

“Yes, once a week if I can, and you can talk to me whenever you wish, you know that.”

They had practiced for days so they could talk clearly in thought. In the beginning, they laughed so much. He complained she yelled too loud, and she’d told him he whispered too quiet, but finally they got it right.

She discovered a drawback to their exchanges when she sat and read to him one evening. The image in his mind, of them naked together in the bed she hadn’t yet shared with him, fired a heat in her body so she tingled and ached to feel his touch. She almost slid to her knees to ask him to make their union physical there and then. But she fought her longing and kept the words inside ever since he had denied her the first time she’d begged. He had stomped off up the stairs and locked the door to the workshop to keep her out. Perhaps, Thabit sensed the control she used, for he, too, never again dwelt on them making love. She sighed.

“Come, my Sparrow, eat. I cannot send you to Cassandra as though you have wasted away over the summer.” He pushed the bowl toward her.

She grasped his hand and squeezed it tight. He picked up her other, turned it palm up, and kissed the place where the now deeply etched mark lay. His lips were dry on her skin, and she wanted so much more. “Thabit?”

“No, not a word. We don’t need to say any more.” He let her hand go, and with one last gentle caress, he stroked her cheek before he moved away from the table and went up to the workshop.

She bowed her head to the polished wood of the table, and she prayed for peace.

* * * *

The morning after Samhain bit crisp and cold. A sun, golden and rosy, graced the morning sky, but offered little warmth, and nothing could penetrate the gloom this day cast on him. They had talked of it, but now the day dawned, not a part of him wanted to take Nin to the castle.

Over the weeks, her presence had become both torture and necessity. Black despair consumed him at the constant nag of desire. No level of meditation seemed to calm it, and he would not take her for a cure. The vision of her naked, the morning after the slavers tried to take her, still haunted his dreams.

Her breasts, pale, rounded, and ruby-tipped delighted his eyes, the dip of her waist and her soft, silky hip fitted beneath his hand so well. The dark golden curls at the apex of her thighs had beckoned him to twine them through his fingers.

She had stood steady, unflinching, allowing him to see all of her. A harsher torment than any judgment of Hades could invent, his need to touch her had stolen any vestige of peace.

He had become angry with her often over the summer, simply because in honor, he could not have her, not yet. How she had put up with his gloom and rages, he did not know.

She had grown in her control and power with magic, and as a pupil had been mostly diligent. The one day when his patience had snapped taught her a lot, but he still felt bad about it. To teach her, he should be understanding and generous, and that day he had been neither. Her skills and knowledge had grown fast as the season changed.

He dragged on the burgundy robes and tightened the belt. Sorrow flowed in a dark, chill river through him.

All this was his fault. She would go to Cassandra, admittedly her rightful place because he had arranged it.
The whole tangle is impossible.

He dragged on his boots. Today he must part with her, if only for a time. When she returned, she would be his Sparrow no more, but perhaps as a dove or, he laughed, barn owl, he would love her just the same. She would remain his one desire, and he would love her through the passing seasons until the time the gods gave them ended. He walked down the stairs.

Nin, wearing the tight-laced red gown, sat in the kitchen, her concentration on the hearth. As always, the fire burned too bright, too high. The flames flickered blue and orange. They had quarreled over this several times during the summer. She’d even put the fire out completely once in temper, and had been too furious to relight it. He refused to do it for her, and that night they nearly came to blows. She had hissed and spat at him, and unable to deal with her, he stormed up to the workshop and refused to allow her in.

He’d been a monster.

He put his hand on her shoulder. She glanced up, and without a word, his sorrow magnified a thousand times. He closed his eyes to accept this lesson in humility. “You have to go.”

“I know it.”

“You will come back to me?”

“You are my life.”

There were no more words, and he could not trust himself to touch her again. He fetched her gray cloak, wrapped it around her, and donned his own. Black and gray, good colors for this morning. “Come, we need to go now, and at least, Sparrow, there is no rain today.”

She flashed him a small smile.

He helped her up onto the pony, attached the leather satchel to the saddle, and they took the road down to Lord Farel’s castle.

One hand on the reins, he walked beside the pony, and Nin’s soft hand lay warm over his. Each step seemed to wash more of the color from the morning. Soon, low, gray clouds covered the sun, and the day matched his mood.

The creamy walls of the castle appeared through the trees, and he glanced up at her. Today, she did not sigh in surprise at the view. He stilled the pony, and now so close to the journey’s end, could not take another step until he held her.

She trembled and shook against him when he helped her down from the saddle. He wiped her tears away with his thumbs while he inhaled the sweet fragrance of her flesh close to his.

“Please, Sparrow, do not weep. Don’t.” He crushed her to him, enveloped her in his cloak while she choked back sobs.

He tightened his arms about her. She leaned against him, the soft contours of her body familiar and all he needed. He urged her chin up with his fingertip. Her sorrowful eyes were dark pools, and the lips he longed for trembled like the rest of her. He had to kiss her, to imprint himself on her mind. The memory of her mouth on his, a sweetness to temper the long, lonely days they would be apart.

He traced his lips over hers, butterfly soft, until her sobs turned to sighs.

Much better.

She clung to him and moaned as he used his tongue to caress hers. She grabbed his shoulders and pressed closer.

He groaned. Desire swelled his erection, and his blood pounded when she moved her hands from his shoulders to slide them down to his belt, pulling him tight against her body. Her heat blazed against his groin, so he ached for more than he had the right to take.

Her rapid breaths, punctuated by those soft little moans of need, stole any shreds of reality from the day. Nothing but her, and the power of his craving for her, filled his mind. When he could bear it no longer and fearful if they continued they would be on the ground together, loving despite the rain now falling, he removed his mouth from her sweet lips.

He laid her head against his chest. “My heart beats for you, only you, eternally you.”

She caught his hand and raised it to her breast.

Lightning shot through him at the swift rhythm beneath the soft flesh.

“Thabit, my life blood is yours, my heart is yours, for all the years there might be.”

He took her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Soon, Sparrow. We will be together again, soon.”

To lift her up onto the pony was the hardest task he had faced in his life, and her hand in his, they made their way to the castle.

They left Ice with a young lad at the stable. Thabit carried her satchel in one hand and clasped her hand with the other. Fingers interlaced, they walked toward the tall entrance. Never had she wanted one of their walks to last longer. She would walk for the rest of her life if only to have him beside her.

The tall towers of the castle seemed to cast a dark shadow. Iron grills on the windows like those on a prison appeared like they’d keep her caged. Of course, it was not so as she would be free to leave whenever she wished.

But, if she left too soon, would he still think her unlearned? What if she stayed too long and he changed his mind about wanting her at all?

The memory of their kiss today would last for the rest of her life.

They entered the huge hall. Massive logs in a central hearth gave off heat, and charcoal braziers stood to warm the corners of the room. Rollo sat at his ease and played chess with one of the soldiers. He waved to her with a grin. Other members of the guard troop lounged or drank and sat at the wide-spread benches and tables.

Cassandra stood with a welcoming smile when they walked up to the dais. On an equally massive throne, close to the lady’s heavily carved chair, sat a man, who Nin had not seen on her last visit. His hair gleamed fair, unlike the raven dark Lady Cassandra, but the heavily decorated blue robes were the match of hers.

Thabit bowed. “My Lord Farel.”

She dropped into a curtsey.

Lord Farel inclined his head, rose from his seat, and strode down from the dais. “I need to speak with you, Mage, it is urgent. I would have sent for you, but Cassandra assured me you would be here today. Come, we have much to discuss.”

Thabit nodded, handed her the satchel, and with one light fingertip touch to her face, he turned to walk away.

His stride swift and purposeful, he followed Lord Farel and did not look back to her once. She shivered, icy cold like the onset of a fever, for now he’d gone.

She closed her eyes from the heat and light in the hall, and certain her words remained silent and private, repeated her oath.
I will learn twice as fast as they imagine I can, to be back with him as soon as possible, and once I am, I’ll never leave his side again.

Cassandra slipped an arm around her. “Nin, you have been much in my thoughts. I hope the season past was not too painful to bear.”

“No, my lady, mostly not.” A huge weight of sadness crushed her chest.

“Come, I’ll take you to Tab and Cecile. They have awaited you anxiously. Today, you can spend with them. We won’t begin work until tomorrow, and what we do, will be dependent on the outcome of my brother’s meeting with the Mage.

“I am afraid my brother will have to shoulder a heavy responsibility and can play soldier no more.” Cassandra smiled down at her as she led her out of the hall.

Candles flickered in the sconces on the walls. Tiny wafts of air gave rippling life to the figures in the tapestries decking the passages. Gratitude flooded through her, for not once as they walked did Cassandra mention Thabit. If the lady had done so, the tears would have flowed, and she would have begged on her knees to go home.