Page 90 of Cry of the Firebird

"In my defense, you were naked and sprawled out on my floor."

"Aren't you lucky? Now, turn around so I can check this cut," Yvan said, and she choked down a laugh. He lightly brushed herhair back over her shoulder and leaned in to inspect the damage just above her ear.

"It doesn't seem to be very deep," he said, his breath tickling her neck. "The firebird can heal it if you like."

"I would appreciate it. I'm meant to be learning magic and seeing if the Twins know about controlling gates. I can't do that with a blazing headache. Though I'll be surprised if I still have teachers after that introduction."

"You will, don't be so dramatic. Now, hold still." Yvan placed two fingers on the wound, and a warm charge of power flowed into her. "Good as new."

"That's amazing," Anya said, touching the healed place.

"The firebird doesn't like to see you in pain. I'm not keen on it either."

Anya turned and hugged him tightly. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

Yvan asked, "What else is wrong?"

Anya's sense of dread from earlier in the day washed back over her. She and Cerise had gone for a walk to try and alleviate the nausea her nightmares had left her with. Now her inability to control her magic had brought that feeling back to claw at her.

"I feel like something's coming for me. A darkness is closing in, and I won't be able to stop it when it arrives. I'm afraid that I'll be forced to watch you all die because of me," Anya admitted.

"Battles are coming, but that's no reason for you to fall into despair," Yvan said gently. "What we do with this time now is we train, we learn, we make our plans so when the battle comes, we are ready for it. No sides in a war are without losses, but you can't shoulder the burden of seeing that as your fault. You didn't ask for any of this. The ones who stand beside you are the ones who love you. You would die for the ones you love, so don't expect any less of us."

"What am I going to do? I'm not a hero," Anya said against him.

"You are going to go and wash the tears from your face and the blood from your hair. You're going to get your runes and your drum, and you're going to go to the Twins and get some training. That's the only way you will feel more in control. Make yourself too busy with learning to think of anything else. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Prince Yvan," Anya chimed and kissed his cheek. "Whatever would I do without you to give me such good advice?"

Yvan smiled her favorite smile, the rare one he only ever seemed to show her. "I don't know, be really irresponsible and get into lots of trouble? Go on, you had best get moving."

No one was in the hallway when Anya hurried upstairs to her room. She went into the bathroom and looked at the fright that was her bloody hair. She stuck her head over the bath and turned on the taps.

"Do you need some help?" Trajan asked, and Anya yelped in surprise. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you."

"You are far too quiet for your own good." Anya looked up at him through a tangled curtain of bloody hair.

"Let me help," he said and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

"You will get blood and water all over you."

"It doesn't matter, Anya," he said firmly and knelt beside her. "I feel useless enough to help you as it is. At least I can do this."

Anya didn't argue with him as he began to pour the warm water over her hair.

"You don't need to worry about the cut. The firebird healed it," she mumbled.

"It's good that Yvan is here to come to the rescue and carry you away," he said with a touch of coolness.

"I could've burned you alive if you had tried to touch me. Just because I didn't burn the bed the other night, doesn't meanmy magic won't change and hurt you. Don't be jealous that Yvan stepped in. He was the only one who could help."

"I'm not jealous of Yvan," Trajan said and then laughed. "Okay, maybe I am a little. It's definitely a new emotion."

"Don't be. You know that Yvan and I aren't like that," Anya said as she tried to relax enough for him to finish cleaning the blood from her hair.

Trajan was slowly and methodically massaging conditioner in and detangling the strands as he went. Anya had never had her hair washed by someone else before, the act strangely intimate. The fact that he was touching her so casually made heat blossom in her chest.

Trajan gently dried her hair, and she peaked at him through her wet strands. He was wearing finely tailored navy pinstripe pants, with a pale blue shirt rolled to his elbows and slightly damp.

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