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She looks up at me, eyes half-lidded with sleep, and smiles, stroking her hand down my face. We fall asleep like that, whispering promises into each other's ears for when we finally get out of this Godly mess.
Chapter 36
Mace
"Take control of it," Avidor all but sneers, eyes narrowed at me. "You say you have control of my magic, so take it from me."
Floating in the air between us, controlled by his Geomancy magic, is a large flail that Avidor constructed from trace minerals in the dirt beneath our feet. It whips out at me again, and I dodge, narrowly avoiding being hit in the side with it. I've been trying to get control of it for at least ten minutes, but I can't focus long enough to set my intentions before he tries to hit me with it again.
"I'm not like you," I pant, dodging another strike. "I have to set my intentions. I cannot just think magic into existence."
"Another reason why your dirty magic is weak," he spits. "Another reason why you are unworthy to carry the echo of my power."
This refrain had been going on all morning, his insults growing less and less veiled until they became crystal clear.
Avidor does not like me.
He does not respect me.
And he certainly does not think I am good enough to be withViola.
I thought I was imagining that his interest in her had a sexual edge, but when Viola shared with me the things he'd said to her, my suspicions were confirmed. I'm not surprised he feels a draw to her—Himureal did as well, even if his was more familial. What I am surprised about is how blatant he's been. He has not hesitated to remind me that he will be here longer than I.
I hadn't really considered how Viola was going to outlive me until he continued to hammer me with the fact. Fae live a long time, but now that she has a full complement of Godly magic, she has become immortal.
A fact that he has gleefully reminded her of every time he sees her.
Avidor's flail clips my arm, ripping the flesh open and soaking my white shirt with bright red blood. The pain fires up my magic, and with the lightest of intentions, I take control of the flail and throw the God's magic back in his face. He dodges it, but his bare feet nearly slip on the damp grass.
"Finally! I was beginning to think you were worthless," he says, dismantling the flail and sending the minerals back to the earth.
Before he can continue to insult me, Viola appears through the keep, having left the confines of Rainworth to join us in our spar. She looks every bit the leader I always knew she could be. Her white hair is pulled back in a leather tie, resting high on her head, with the ends lying in a sleek column that tickles the tops of her shoulders. Her chest is wrapped in a tight black fabricthat somehow acts as both a chest wrap and a shirt but leaves her shoulders and arms bare, a strip of her lower belly visible above the snug black trousers she's wearing. Her heavy boots stomp down the pathway to the green space we've been practicing in.
Maybe we can skip the spar and lock ourselves in our home because she looks delicious right now, and I'm tired of dealing with Avidor.
As soon as Viola approaches, Avidor's entire demeanor changes, and his face breaks with a warm smile that screams of Influence and deceit.
Is that what I looked like when I was trying to win over the Lowlands?
No wonder they all distrusted me.
I have no doubt Viola sees through his rouse when she bypasses him and moves to my side, hands on top of my arm, turning it around to view it from all angles. She leans down and, without asking me, licks some of the blood from the wound. I never mind when she reads my blood since I have nothing to hide from her, but I do feel strange that Avidor is witnessing. It's not necessarily intimate, but it does make her momentarily vulnerable, and I do not want him to see her that way. He looks on curiously, eyes narrowed at where her hands touch my flesh.
She's gotten much better at withstanding the effects and barely wavers on her feet now. After just a few moments, her eyes clear, and she beams up at me, her broad smile warming every part of me that had tensed up during my spar with the Harvest Lord.
There's no telling what she saw. I have given up directing my thoughts and instead let her explore whatever my blood wants to tell her. Most of the time, she doesn't share with me, but it has never once been something that has given her pause. As soon as she comes out of the bloodlust, there is pure affection in her eyes every time.
"Let me take care of this for you," she mutters, running her finger over the cut. It knits underneath her touch, her newly acquired Healing magic working into my flesh and leaving me as good as new. "It's incredible how different Healing magic feels from the others," she remarks as Shadow materializes from who knows where and climbs up her body to rest around her neck.
"Most of the magic you use has been in the context of a battle," I say, wrapping my arm around her waist and tugging her into my side. "Healing is literally the opposite of that. Do you not like it?"
"Not that I dislike it, but if I'm honest, it doesn't feel like me. It's too soft."
"Well, this is sweet," Avidor says, his voice dripping in faux sincerity. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Shadowweaver?"
"Zeph told me you two were sparring. I wanted to join in." She extracts herself from my hold and faces Avidor fully, crossing her arms over her chest. Shadow picks his head up and flicks his tongue out at the God.
Is the snake annoyed with him? I knew I liked that creepy thing.
