Brittle, page 29
Verve sat up, but she at once grew lightheaded and had to return her head to the pillow. So much for her plan to steal the knife and replace it with a duplicate. She cursed herself for not trying to feed calmer emotions into the feather, but none could be found inside her at the moment. All she was made of was tight knots of panic and bubbling rage.
Fenn’s racing heart announced his return more loudly than the creaking floorboards. “Nightfall is a few hours away.” He approached her slowly, and she was startled to see he was no longer disguising his magic. “Might I remain with you ’til then? ’Til I deliver the letters, that is?” His eyes were so dark, Verve would think he was angry if she didn’t know better.
Her own heart leapt, but she attributed it to the new plan that she had begun to cobble together. “All right.”
Fenn was out of place in the small, fancy room. He was the wilds, the untamed moors. In his eyes she saw raw power that was barely contained and could spill out at any moment, but she was not as afraid as she knew she should be. He moved to sit on the seat by the vanity table, but Verve found her courage and said, “You don’t have to sit that far away.”
Oh, he liked that implied invitation, the glowing of his skin told her that. He prowled toward her, his movements lithe and slow.
She had known since yesterday that he had quickly fallen in love with her, but why was he openly showing her his desire? He had kept that to himself, curse him, until after the binding had taken place. He’s trying to take your mind off your troubles, Verve realized. She could have laughed, but instead a low whimper escaped her lips as he sank onto the bed next to her. They were inches apart. Verve could reach out and take the knife, but she was distracted by his sudden closeness as he lay down beside her, not touching still but looking very much like he wanted to.
Her face blossomed with a heat that was also creeping in her belly. “What are you doing?” Verve had meant to keep her tone cold, but instead it came out a weak whisper.
“You may turn me away if you please. But you are my wife, and it would not be wholly inappropriate for us to be together.” He reached for her face, but instead of taking hold of it, he ensnared a lock of her hair and coiled it loosely around his fingers.
Verve swallowed; her bones turned to jelly. This would be the perfect opportunity to snatch the blade. Her heart picked up its pace not at the thought of her deception but at the way his eyes drifted from hers to her lips and then to the swell of her breasts. “All right.”
His eyes returned to hers and his glow intensified. “It’s all right to touch you?”
She nodded, and at once found herself being gathered into Fenn’s embrace. With her back pressed against him, it was impossible not to notice the firm, muscular plain of his chest. Even through his clothing he was obviously powerful.
He draped his left arm over her and let it rest on her collarbone. The other arm he moved beneath her, and his right hand found her stomach. His touch sent a jolt through her. “If you wish me to stop or release you, tell me and I will.” With that said, he buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply.
Soon, her thoughts became incoherent, her plans jumbled. His touch was everything in the circle of his arms. Verve waited to feel trapped, for her heart to race for a different reason. That moment never came.
Fenn was gentle yet persistent in his attentions, kissing her neck, stroking the hollow of her throat, and then nipping her ear. It was apparent he was holding back, reading her and acting on every bit of new information her body gave him.
Her skin prickled beneath his eager hands, his power washing through her in hot waves, weaving itself into her bones, making her even more his. Suddenly, she felt the inequity of the situation and squirmed.
He froze and opened his arms, allowing her freedom. Instead, she turned around to face him and placed her hands on his chest. They lay like this for some time, him watching her, her eyes exploring him.
At length, he dipped his head down to hers, and their lips met. He drew her closer with a moan, shifting his weight so she was beneath him.
Verve’s wandering right hand brushed his stomach and traveled in search of his hip, but instead connected with something cold and leathery. A jolt went through her arm and she heard a voice in her mind say, “At last!”
As one in a dream, her hand closed around the leather-wrapped pommel of the knife. The leather melted beneath her touch. At once her palm grew unbearably cold, now touching the hilt of the blade.
Fenn shifted his weight again, apparently unaware of what was happening. “Is this all right, my love?” He kissed her throat again and again, but she could not respond, could not move.
Cold had taken over her entire body. Could he not feel how very frigid her skin had become? Then, white lightning flashed behind her closed eyelids and lit her whole body on fire.
With a shout, Fenn was thrown off the bed and against the wall, and Verve shook mightily with a seizure, the blade still in her hand. She could see through her closed eyelids, through the walls and into the distance. A storm was raging in Letorheas. She saw into that realm as clearly as she saw Fenn lying motionless on the floor.
A scream formed on her lips, one that only came out as a whimper.
“You desire not power, so power you shall have,” said the cold voice. “She wades ’neath shallow shores….”
There was no water, yet Verve was drowning in power. It pulled her under and pushed all the air out of her burning lungs.
“Child of flame….”
Power filled her soul, though she fought helplessly against its burn.
“Of blade and bone….”
Power wove itself into her bones and rippled through her skin.
“The once-brittle child, O she of middling ground.”
In her hand, the Cunning Blade broke into a million pieces; the metal now was nothing but silver dust. Slowly, the pain ebbed and the burning sensation subsided. A ringing sound filled her ears, as though there had been some great, loud explosion that her hearing was attempting to recover from.
Verve groaned and sat up, her eyes going at once to Fenn, who was returning to consciousness. “What happened?” he said, his voice shaky. Then he looked at Verve and squinted. His face paled. Whatever he saw made him shoot to his feet and throw up his hands in defense.
“Fenn, what are you doing?” she said, trying to laugh. Her voice filled the room, echoed off the walls, though she had barely whispered. She swallowed when he drew power into his hands. “You’re acting like you don’t know me.” There, she sounded more like herself.
He hesitated, then awareness dawned on him and he let his hands drop. “You touched the blade.” His tone was harsh.
Verve flinched.
“And it accepted you.”
She leapt out of bed and nearly skidded into the window before stopping herself. “Fenn, it was an accident. I didn’t mean— Well, I wanted to, but I didn’t—”
“You could have killed yourself!” he shouted. “That blade has only one master and if you had not been chosen, it would have destroyed you just for touching it.”
Her own temper rose to meet his. “Maybe if you had told me that, I would have avoided it entirely.” Sparks flew from her accusing finger, which she drew back and stuck in her mouth. It was what she imagined sucking on lit gunpowder might be like. She sniffed, smelling the tang of burned sugar. So, her residual burst had changed.
Fenn closed his eyes and shook his head. “Would you have avoided it, though?”
“Of course,” Verve snarled, and the whole room vibrated with her rage.
Apparently fascinated, Fenn looked at her again, his head cocked to the side. This did nothing more than make Verve’s fury intensify, so he quickly raised his hands. “All right. Verve, please, calm down.”
The way Fenn looked at her, like she was some wild, dangerous creature he desired to tame, made her bolt. She ran past him, down the stairs, out the door. Never before had she shown such speed, but Verve was too frightened to marvel at it. Soon she reached the protective boundaries Fenn had set up, and it was only then that she paused and thought through her actions.
That was all the time her husband needed to sneak up and cast a magical rope around her, effectively thwarting any chance of fleeing farther. “No, don’t struggle, my love. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Much to Verve’s relief, Fenn no longer looked angry, just amused and some other emotion he strove to hide. The indignity of being lassoed like some wayward calf made Verve growl.
Fenn smiled softly and planted his feet. “I’m sorry I yelled,” he offered, reeling her toward him. He swore. “Goodness, but you’re beautiful. And strong, brave….” His voice broke around the words, his eyes dark with desire.
Verve huffed, an impatient noise that she hoped masked her alarm. “What’s changed?” He’d always looked at her with longing, something she’d just recognized for what it was. This was different, new. The way Fenn looked at her was beyond desirous. It turned her bones to fire, and the very blood in her veins seemed to sing. Gone were her fears and uncertainty. Whatever this new intensity was about, Verve hoped it wouldn’t end.
“Like a moth to the flame,” he said, closing the gap between them. “Verve, love, I’m yours. You can stop now.” Even after the words had left him, Fenn pressed his lips to her throat, just as she wished he would.
Verve’s eyes fluttered closed and she imagined the many things she would like him to do to her just there beneath the stars.
Fenn’s deep, erotic chuckle broke the daze, and Verve was surprised to find herself with her right palm facing him, her thumb bent in toward her little finger. A stream of golden light flowed down from her fingertips and into Fenn’s chest, which had lit up like the midday sun.
Horrified, she let her hand drop, and with it, the unintentional spell broke. “W-what just happened?”
Thankfully, Fenn didn’t seem any the worse for wear. “Why don’t we go inside and discuss things.” He held out a hand and she took it after a moment of hesitation.
Evening was upon them, and the sky was overcast, obfuscating what remained of the day’s light. Insects keened and glowworms glistened. The air was thick with the unfulfilled promise of rain as they walked in silence back toward the house.
Power thrummed in Verve’s chest, sang in her veins, making her feel like a loaded gun waiting to go off. Every sound grew louder and louder, her ears pricking and her head throbbing with the songs of birds she knew only sang in the morning hours. Voices belonging to people she could not see laughed and shouted in her ears. Verve looked around for the sources, expecting to see herself and Fenn surrounded, but her eyes picked up nothing in the near distance but trees and shrubs and the house. Unbidden, her gaze homed in on the house and it was all she could see, then it homed in even farther to a single plank of painted wood, whose color was fading.
“Is everything all right?” Fenn asked, his voice sending a shock through her body.
Verve blinked and she no longer saw the house but through it, to the forest and fields beyond. There was a fox stalking its prey, waiting for the right moment to tear into the rabbit with its sharp canine teeth.
“You’re shaking.”
At once the world went topsy-turvy and she was swept into Fenn’s arms. She kept her eyes firmly shut, wary of what else she might see. Before she knew it, she was back on the bed in the guest room, and a fire had been lit in the grate. She could see the flames dancing pink from behind her eyelids.
The mattress dipped beneath Fenn’s weight next to her, and his cool fingers stroked through her hair. “Are you tired?”
She turned her head toward his voice. In her mind’s eye she could see him looking down at her, his brow puckered with concern. “I saw too much,” was all she could think to say.
His frown intensified. “How do you mean?” When she was silent, he touched her arm. “Verve, you absorbed an enormous amount of power. It’s all right to feel overwhelmed.” He stroked her face, and she leaned into his palm.
Her eyes snapped open and she saw two images simultaneously: Fenn giving her an encouraging smile and her own almost-black eyes set in a face of writhing silver. Shaking, Verve lifted a hand to her cheek. It felt no different. It must be a hallucination, the image of herself she was seeing. She shook her head. “What do I look like? Am I very different?”
Fenn stilled. “Yes, but you’ll learn to control how much of your power others can see.” He kissed her brow.
Verve’s teeth chattered, though she wasn’t cold. She yawned, though she wasn’t tired. Energy pulsed beneath her skin. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could tear the entire house down with a flick of her finger, and the thought made her tremble.
“Will you be all right if I leave for a moment? I have some herbs that might help you.”
As he started to pull away, Verve’s hand shot out and grabbed him around his wrist. “Don’t leave.”
“I’ll only be a moment,” he said, his voice rough with pain.
Verve loosened her grip on him, and he sighed in apparent relief. “What would the herbs do?”
Fenn tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “They’ll help you relax and rest.” Gently, he extricated himself from her grasp, and she let him go. Normally, he moved with a quiet gait, his movements too soft to hear. Now, with her change in hearing, he sounded as though he were marching and the floorboards beneath him were about to collapse.
He returned a moment later with some bitter-smelling plants and a kettle he had no doubt taken from the kitchen below. With a steady hand he poured steaming water into a mug and added the herbs after first bruising them between his fingers to release more of their fragrance.
“Fenn?”
His head snapped up as he stirred the contents of the mug. “Hmm?”
The words stuck in her throat for a moment, but they needed saying, though she knew they would hurt him. “I was going to take the blade from you at some point, even though this time was more an accident.” He opened his mouth but she rushed on, her words pouring out one after the other in a torrent. “I took the feathers to make a decoy blade, which I was hoping to swap out with the real thing.”
Fenn nodded. “I know.”
She sank back onto the pillow, her body weak with relief. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to be. I know you’d do anything for your family, and that’s admirable.” His countenance told Verve that Fenn felt he had said something he wished he hadn’t. He cleared his throat and stared down at the brew he was making. “Tomorrow we’ll test your new abilities and I’ll try to help you control them.”
Verve wanted to groan and insist against it, as she had never asked for any of this. She knew, however, that she needed to learn.
Fenn rose and approached her with the mug, which he placed in her hands. “I could add some sugar to take the edge off the bitterness, if you would like.”
She shook her head and sniffed the infusion. Lavender and valerian root were the only familiar scents. The others were woody, earthy, and bitter. “Thanks.”
“It’s hot, so be careful.”
Instead of listening, she downed the hot drink in four large gulps. She could tell that the liquid was boiling hot, but it did not burn or hurt going down her throat. At once her muscles relaxed and sleep tugged at her eyes.
Her husband leaned down and kissed her brow. “If I’m gone when you wake, stay where you are, all right?”
The words tugged her eyes back open, but not for long. “Where are you going?” she said, her words running one into another.
Fenn settled down next to her. “Shh. I’m not going anywhere right now. Just rest.” He took her wrist between his calloused fingers and stroked her pulse with his thumb.
In the silence that followed, Verve tried to rouse herself, but the herbs in her system had a different plan. Her breathing slowed. Her blood pumped sluggishly through her veins. And she fell into a deep, terror-filled sleep.
Chapter Seventeen
Verve’s dream began with a flash of blue light. Her eyes followed a man, tall in stature and lithe in movement, into a dimly lit room that, once better illuminated, revealed turmoil. The bed hangings had been torn off a four-poster bed, and the bed itself was unmade. Clothes and books were thrown here and there on the floor, as though their master had either been looking for something or had fallen into a fit of rage.
The man turned around, and Verve sucked in a shallow breath. Dacre’s hair was rumpled, his eyes underlined with dark circles like bruises, and his scowl could have curdled milk. Disdainfully he surveyed the mess around him. “No-good servants.” He snapped his fingers and the contents of the room swirled around, relocating themselves on shelves, in the wardrobe, and on his desk.
Face contorting, he kicked at the rug at the foot of his bed, which responded by furling and rolling aside. There was the sound of footsteps, followed by the beating of a racing heart, a pause, and then a quick rapping on the door.
Dacre laughed darkly. “If you’re here to apologize again, Tubsman, you have chosen a bad moment.”
“I’ve brought news, milord.”
That made Dacre still, his face smoothing out. “Of what quality?” He raised his hand and the door flew open, admitting the quivering transporter, a livid silver slash running down from his swollen left eye, across his nose and cheek, and then down to his jaw.
“Since she got away—”
“Because you failed to get to her in time. But yes, go on.”
Tubsman swallowed. “There have been a few sightings.”
“Yes, I’m well aware. And all of them lead to nothing. What I want to know is why the tracking spell is faulty.” He leveled a look at his man.
