Page 45 of Minor Works of Meda

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. He didn’t answer.

What I wouldn’t give, to wind time back around its spindle and return to those days in the tower, where the threads between us were rivalry and longing, with no hint of grief.

Kalcedon didn’t resist as I buried my face between his shoulder blades and breathed him in, the hot burn of magic, the smell of ocean and sage. My palm rested over his heart, where it pounded in his chest. His shirt was a good texture, soft and smooth. And his power crackled around me, calling every inch of my body to life, as painful as life could be.

“Tell me why you’re tired,” I whispered into his back, the words muffled as my lips grazed his back.

“Even my own mother didn’t want me. Everyone looks at me and sees something rotten. Even you. But Eudoria never did. She’s the only one who never did.”

And she’s gone.

I shut my eyes and squeezed him as hard as I could. Kalcedon didn’t react. He was as immovable as stone. Still I gathered him. Still I pulled him tight. And then I whispered a truth that had been so obvious to me I’d never realized it needed to be said out loud.

“You’re wrong. I’ve always liked you.”

The room stilled; the burn of magic froze. A breath. I felt him shift, just barely, as the whole room waited.

“...Don’t say that if it isn’t true,” he whispered.

“It’s true. Even when I thought you were heartless, I liked you all the same. I don’t think you’re rotten at all. Just mean.”

I braced myself for one of Kalcedon’s familiar retorts, for him to call me a name or tell me I was a liar, but he didn’t say a word. Instead, in a moment so slow I thought time had listened to my wishes and come undone, Kalcedon turned in my arms. He turned until my cheek was cradled to his chest, to the pulse of his life. His arms enveloped me. His lips pressed down to the crown of my head, and rested there.

“I thought I was the reason you left.”

I pulled my head back to look up at him, into his dark, hungry eyes. Into his pain and longing.

“What? No. Of course not.”

His eyes searched mine, hunting for truth. I looked away on instinct, shifting my gaze to his full lips instead.

“I’ve always wanted to go to the Temple,” I reminded him. “I never said you couldn’t come.”

“But did you have to leave so soon? Without even a word?”

“I couldn’t be there. Not right after losing her.”

He nodded.

“Fine,” Kalcedon whispered.

The suffocating pain in his power loosened thorn by thorn. If the agony wasn’t gone, it was at least no longer the whole of him. Now the blaze of power enveloping me was an exquisite burn I wished I knew how to return.

“Fine?” I echoed. Kalcedon’s lips curled in a weak smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was a smile nonetheless. His hand trailed low on my back, a burn of power pooling in me that made my mind stutter. I pushed against him. His breath warmed my cheek.

I found myself wondering if it would be wrong to kiss him, as shattered as he’d been. Just to feel him a little closer.

“Fine,” He breathed. “If you must live at the Temple, I’ll—”

A thud. His power spasmed as he jerked against me, a strangled breath stealing his words. In startled confusion I pushed myself up.

An arrow pierced him like a needle to a pincushion. Its pale, feathered stalk jutted from his shoulder to point straight to the window, proof of origin.

An arrow? Those people downstairs, they’d been convinced… so someone had found which room was ours, taken a shot through the window… with a gasp of fury I grabbed his magic, spun my hands, and slammed a barb of power towards the window.

Chapter 21

“No!” Kalcedon grunted, and lurched into me, knocking me off course. The spell hit just beside the window, pulverizing a hole the size of my fist in the thick earthen wall instead of hitting Kalcedon’s attacker. Dust puffed into the air. The whole room shuddered, but held.

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