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Mace’s hands clench, and I know my words to stoke jealousy landed. “Feet off the desk, now, Viola.” Without a thought, all four legs of the chair are back on the ground, my feet tucked underneath it as I remove them from the desk. The swiftness I responded to his command surprises me, and a satisfied grin stretches across his face.
Mace steeples his hands under his chin, smirking. “Yes, of course, why not learn of magic from my brother? And what did Zeph tell you, Viola?”
I run my fingers through my hair, suddenly nervous at his undivided attention. The realization that I’ve never been alone with him has my fingers moving slowly against my thighs, a soft drumming that allows me to clear my mind.
“He said that I possess a large amount of Winter magic that, with honing, could be very useful for Ytopie.” Mace nods silently, rising from his chair.
As he moves, I realize how different he looks from the fae I saw in the streets today. His limbs possess a quiet strength and are so long that he towers over most. He’s clad in a pair of rigid black linen trousers and an orange button-up shirt that reminds me of the glow of the moon. A few buttons at the top remain undone, giving me a glimpse of the hair that curls on his chest. His sleeves, rolled casually to his elbows, allow for viewing of his warm skin. He is all angles, his features sharp and lethal despite their beauty. He is a picture of masculine strength that makes me gulp when I look at him. My eyes trail his body, eventually reaching his face - which is fixed in a knowing grin. He brushes a lock of floppy black hair from his eye and raises a brow at me.
A flush starts under my collar, and I cough, breaking eye contact. He motions for me to stand, and I feel compelled to listen and rise. “Come, Viola, let’s get some dinner. You seem… hungry.”
We end up at his home, a stand-alone structure almost directly behind the courtyard I met Zeph in last night. It’s well-appointed, with furniture made of dark mahogany wood and olive-green fabric. He has small lights pin pricked throughout the ceiling, obviously not caring about the buzz from the Bliksem grid. Rich tapestries of gold and burnt orange drape a few of the walls. He quickly lights a fire in the golden fireplace, but it doesn’t make the room overly warm. In fact, the room stays at a comfortably cool temperature, and I realize the fire is just for ambiance.
The fact that I have ended up in two Nightroot homes in two nights is not lost on me.
While Mace cooks, he peppers me with questions about life in the Lowlands. While initially, I was uncomfortable, a few glasses of fae wine have done wonders for my nerves. For his part, he is very courteous and careful in his questioning. I have not felt like he was demanding or aggressive.
I tell him about my Father and the talisman he worked on and carried with him all my life. “Where is it now?”
“It’s in my pack back in the room. I’ve carried it every Race since my Ascension year.”
He turns to me, momentarily abandoning the food he’s cooking. “What was that like, getting left on the Summit that year?”
I wince, and I choose to have more wine rather than answer. Noticing how uncomfortable I feel, he apologizes. “I’m sorry, I’m sure that’s such a tough topic for you.” I sit the glass down on the counter in front of me.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just I don’t really know how it feels when I dig deep. My whole life, it was a constant refrain of ‘Get to Ytopie. All that matters is Ytopie.’. So, at the time, it felt obvious that they had chosen to leave me there to increase their chances of winning. Now that I’m here without Max,” I choke on a sob at her name, “I cannot imagine leaving someone I love behind.”
He reaches for my hand but pulls his back at the last minute. “Max seemed like an incredible person. I am so sorry you lost her.”
I manage a weak smile. “She was something else. I think you would have liked her.”
In just an hour, Mace has managed to completely disarm me. I came here tonight expecting to be tense with worry and fear of his motives, but instead, I am met with a man who seems genuinely interested in me as a person.
Against my better judgment, I let myself relax a bit. My eyes are trained on his back as Mace returns to cooking, unable to look away from the movement of his muscles beneath his shirt as he chops vegetables. As he works, we fall into a comfortable silence.
Eventually, he asks about the books Zeph loaned me without looking at me.
“Well, I had read enough about Himureal and the frost magic he was fond of at that point, so I switched to the journal,” I say after recapping what I learned in Himureal’s book.
Damaris Forekeeper was the last known Winter Seasonale, and if his journal is any indication, he was a bit of an asshole. He favored blood magic.
“Forekeeper’s journal has always been an interesting tome.”
I get distracted from my line of thought because I am utterly fascinated with the methods of cooking here in Ytopie. After searing some meat on a stone that Mace heated within the fireplace, he tosses some of the chopped root vegetables on it until they grow brown and savory. He plates the meat and vegetables in front of me and slides a bowl of crisp, fresh greens next to it. My mouth waters at the smell.
Mace turns his back to me, busying himself with cleaning up the mess from cooking. I grow the nerve to ask a question that came to mind while I read Forekeeper’s journal. “Can I ask something?”
He makes a sound of approval and waits for me to continue. “In the Race, I killed a man. I’m assuming you watched, yeah?” He has the nerve to look over his shoulder at me with a sheepish expression. “Well, when I spilled his blood, I saw… All his intentions became immediately clear to me. All his deceptions, his pain. It was all there.”
I watch as Mace’s shoulders tense. I get the distinct feeling he’s making up excuses to not look at me. Just as I start to wonder if he will respond, he does, his voice soft with veneration.
“When I saw what you did to Amio, I was so proud of you. It was cutthroat and brutal, and many others would not have done it - as I’m sure you realized based on Max’s reaction.” My breath catches as he speaks her name.
He continues, unaware of the jolt of emotion that his words caused within me. “I saw the effect it had on you. It opened you up to your own magic. It was necessary to awaken the part of you that saved three lives during the Wendigo battle.”
“But the Witch’s Ladder was responsible for saving us during that fight.”
He gives me a look that could only be described as amusement. “You could easily do magic without that Ladder. All you have to do is set your intentions and know it will come to you.”
