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More disconcerting, however, was the other feeling. Separate from their bond magic. Not forced upon her at all. There had been moments, since they’d returned from the wilderness, where Ren found herself actually liking Theo. For no reason other than the fact that he was who he was. Those moments came in no discernible pattern. A glance of him reading by lamplight in his study. The subtle way he would redirect conversations back to her interests. Even the way he set his hand on the small of her back whenever they walked into a room, as if he wanted everyone to see her before they saw him. It was all annoyingly charming. And charm was a dangerous thing.
The simple truth was that Theo brought a certain level of unpredictability to the equations in her mind. Unpredictable. That was not an ideal word for someone attempting to execute a plan ten years in the making. Not ideal at all.
Theo waited a few paces away. With a sigh, Ren extended her hand. He accepted, tugging her up to her feet. Ren allowed his arms to curl around her until they were close. Less than a breath away. In the past few months, they’d not been overly romantic. Most of the time, they were called to public appearances and parties, and there’d simply been no room for privacy. Now she allowed it, knowing they were about to be separated for an indeterminable time.
A part of her knew that this was expected. Theo needed to cling to an image of his bonded sweetheart while he was gone. Creating that memory for him now would impact the coming months. Some other part of her, though, simply wanted the taste of his lips. She tugged him down by the collar. It was a clumsy, out-of-practice first kiss. The second was anything but clumsy. Theo shivered, and Ren answered by pressing her body closer to his. A third kiss, a fourth. As they tangled together, Ren felt a sharp spike of something entirely new. Her bond pulsed. Both of them broke away for a moment, gasping. She couldn’t have said if it was pain or pleasure or both. All she knew was that they’d both felt it at the same time. It was like being burned. Like wanting to burn.
Neither one spoke after that. They did not try to kiss each other again either. Instead, they stood there, under the stars, eyes on the shadowed horizon. Ren knew all the tired metaphors about dawns and new days and fresh starts. For once, it felt true. Tomorrow would bring an entirely new world. Theo would leave for Nostra. She would be alone, surrounded by powerful enemies.
Unless she found allies before the circle closed entirely.
4 NEVELYN TIN’VORI
Nevelyn’s exhaustion was twofold.
First, her fingers ached. A bone-deep pain that only faded when she was asleep. In her waking hours, she felt that subtle throb as she worked, practicing patterns or mending cloaks. Her brother insisted that she was pushing herself too hard, but Nevelyn knew their timeline. She knew the level of skill she needed for their plan to work. Nothing short of perfection would do.
Physical pain was one thing, but the frayed nerves from using too much magic felt even worse. She’d taken up the craft of weaving—braiding magic into the threads of garments. It suited her. A quiet and contemplative craft that relied on looking at the larger pattern of things. That was all in her wheelhouse, but actual weaving demanded hour-long spells. Each one was brutally taxing, difficult to sustain, and frustratingly subtle.
The approved artisans of the Weavers Guild could craft weightless cloaks capable of turning away arrows as effectively as plate armor. Nevelyn understood why warriors spent a fortune on such items. Not only because they were useful, but because the supply was limited. Even the simplest boons were immensely difficult. Magic that reduced sweat or lowered anxiety or increased one’s strength. She’d successfully enchanted two items in thirty attempts thus far. Luckily, those had sold for enough to cover the cost of more practice materials and nearly half of their rent. Gods knew they had little enough money.
A floorboard creaked.
Nevelyn had drifted in her thoughts—somewhere between the dreaming and waking worlds—and now her vision of their little flat snapped into focus. She sat at the kitchen table. It was a sad circle of faded wood held upright by uneven legs. There was a bed in the far corner, sectioned off by a partition they’d salvaged from a nearby alleyway. Her brother’s lover and artist—Cath Invernette—sat on the edge of that bed, her foot tapping out a nervous rhythm.
The poor thing.
She’d returned two hours ago. Alone. Dahvid had been approached after his recent victory in the gladiator pits. According to Cath, both guards had worn Darling’s mark. Nevelyn had done her best to calm the girl down—after all, this was their plan—but even she had been unsettled by the suddenness of the invitation. It wasn’t meant to happen this soon. Dahvid needed more time to train. She needed more time to hone her craft. The steps of their plan were moving along at too rapid a pace. Nor did it help that they were nearly out of money.
On the other side of the partition sat Nevelyn’s lonely cot. Even in her current state of exhaustion, it hardly looked inviting. The sheets were harsh and scratchy. Her pillow looked like it was on the verge of unraveling if someone simply tugged the wrong thread. She had slept there for months, but only when she reached points of pure exhaustion, when her body and mind simply shut down from overwork. How long, she thought quietly to herself, could she go on like this?
There was a gentle click.
The lock on the door turned. Cath bolted to her feet. Nevelyn smiled as her brother entered the room. Dahvid offered her a quick wink. Always so confident. Like many of the Tin’Voris who’d come before them. Too confident for his own good.
“And?” Nevelyn asked quietly. “Did you meet him?”
Dahvid ignored her question, gliding across the room to Cath instead. He set a kiss on the girl’s cheek, all while whispering reassurances. The sight brought out yet another ache in Nevelyn. She’d not been touched in what felt like years. There was no time—she told herself, on the loneliest nights—for such frivolities. Maybe one day. After they’d accomplished their revenge.
Her brother turned to her. “Yes. I met Darling. What a frightening creature.”
“I warned you.”
“That you did,” he said. “But all our preparation worked. I’m his newest prizefighter.”
Cath sighed. “Finally, some good news.”
Nevelyn wasn’t certain about that. She asked the question that would determine if the news was actually good, or if it was a fine wine laced with hidden poison. “Where’s your first match?”
Her brother hesitated. She saw the way he shifted so that Cath couldn’t quite see his expression, and she guessed the answer before he said it.
“The Western Pits.”
She shook her head. “That place is brutal, Dahvid. It’s too soon. We must delay.”
“I’m ready. I’ll be fine for the first few fights, at least. He’ll want to display me, Nev. That’s how it works. He needs to build my reputation first. A string of victories. A few easy wins. That’ll buy me some time. At least a few weeks. And then…”
“He’ll set up a title bout,” she finished. “I know how it works. I’m the one who scouted the matches and cataloged the rotations, remember? I know Darling’s whole system. He’ll set you up against one of his best to draw a big crowd. And if he picks the wrong one? At worst, you’ll be killed, Brother. At best, he’ll force you to use some of the tattoos earlier than we’d planned.”
