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The party is raging around us, a cacophony of laughter clashing with the suffocating guilt that pulls me deep into the depths of my despair.
Large hands wrap around my shoulders and raise me from my seat. They turn me towards the door, and I barely hear a hiss of admonishment thrown towards Loris.
One of the hands falls to my lower back as I am steered from the banquet hall. “Call your shadows, Viola,” the owner of the hands murmurs in my ringing ears. The voice has a vague familiarity, but my brain is too muddled to place it.
But I still set my intentions as best as possible, thinking of my shadow-snake and hoping beyond all hope he can come and soothe this out-of-control feeling that is eating me alive. In moments, he’s there, wrapped around my arm in a soothing embrace.
The door in front of me is kicked open by my escort, and I find myself in the pavilion behind the Palace. It is serene and green, with couples partnered off in quiet embraces. I move to stop, the fresh air stinging my face, and the hand becomes firmer. “Not yet, just a little further.”
We’re across the courtyard by the time my head clears enough for me to recognize the door being opened in front of me.
Chapter 41
Mace
StupidfuckingBliksem.
I didn’t think much of it when I spotted Loris with Viola at first. But as I watched her body language slowly change, I moved closer to hear their conversation. He all but blamed the death of her best friend on her. That guilt she did not need to carry was thrust upon her by someone who had no business speaking to her. And to what? Convince Viola she is a God?
“I don’t want to be here, Mace,” she snarls at me, albeit weakly. I ignore her venom and steer her to my table, pushing her into a seat. She slumps down, resting her head on the cool stone of the tabletop.
I busy myself making her a warm mug of tea, sliding it into her hands once it’s ready. I gently push the cup to her mouth, urging her to sip. She does. “Good girl, it’ll help,” I murmur.
Pulling a chair beside her, I sink down and quietly speak to her. “You’re not to blame for her death, Viola.”
My heart may break when she looks into my eyes, the visceral pain she’s feeling strong enough to knock the wind from my chest.
Her eyes, normally favoring a stormy gray shade, now remind me of hoarfrost and are wet with tears. I reach and gently brush the salty water from her face. To my surprise, she doesn’t flinch.
“Blood magic is tricky. Very few fae have ever wielded it. Most who attempted to have disastrous effects.” All magic when fresh is tricky. I recall my own disastrous first attempt at wielding storm magic and how I brought a lightning bolt directly onto my mother’s garden.
To be fair, she was an awful gardener. It wasn’t much of a loss.
“I didn’t ask to be like this.” Her voice, barely over a whisper, is broken. The strength that I have admired in her is buried by grief.
I gather her hands in mine and squeeze them. “I know. You’ve been given the burden that someone who shared blood with you long ago chose. Anyone would be angry at that.”
She sniffles, raising her head to meet her eyes with mine. “I would think most would feel blessed to have such a strong magic within.”
“Magic can be a blessing, but I have found it’s more often a curse. There is so much pressure put on those with great magic.”
We stay there in comfortable silence for several beats, her eyes burning holes into my own and my mind flashing back to the last time I had her here, her mouth on my own. I know she still holds anger towards me for not being forthcoming about Link, but for now, I cherish any moment I get to have with her.
“Thank you for getting me out of there, Mace.”
I run my hand along the back of my neck, allowing myself another quick glance at her before I look away. “You’re welcome. To be fair, I did the other women a favor by removing you. You far outshone them all.”
She is a vision in black, a kaleidoscope of all the magic she possesses swirling around her. Her dress shows off every bit of her figure in all its glory. I have never seen anything like it before. The choker around her throat shows off her long, slender neck, and my eyes linger on the collarbones she is so fond of tapping her fingers against.
She looks down at her lap, smoothing the skirts with her hands. “Zeph had it made for me,” she whispers.
I fight my eyes from rolling to the back of my head. Of course, he did.
“What happened to Link, Mace?”
I should have known as soon as she mentioned Zeph that this question was next. “I’ll need a drink for this. Care to join me?” She nods her agreement, and I grab a jug of mead from the back of a cool cabinet.
Sitting down two full mugs on the sofa table, I motion for her to join me, and just as she did last time she was here, she complies. As she moves, I catch glimpses of her skin beneath the dress, barely concealed by the shadow of the organza. I find myself hard-pressed not to stare.
