Page 25 of This Midsummer Heart
“A story best told over a warm fire, behind the safety of the city wards.” Daegris’s face becomes neutral in an instant, and though he retains his smooth, easy movements as he steps forward to offer me his arm, I can feel the tension radiating from him. “Come, friends. You must be tired and hungry after such a journey—on foot no less.”
His arched brow is aimed at Auberon, but I don’t think Auberon can see it. I take Daegris’s arm, a twist of my mouth conveying that this is a story best told elsewhere, too. This time, without others to hear it.
Little by little, I brighten the natural glow of my magic by peeling back the glamour I used to hide it. It’s a courtesy I am offering to Auberon—one he won’t appreciate. But I do not wish to see him shamed further.
Even if he is…him.
“You’ve held on to your magic here,” I say to Daegris, dropping my voice back to a whisper as we leave the village. The city of Lunevelle isn’t far from this village, which used to be a resting point for the caravans coming into the vast city. The last time I was here, it was harvest time and the merchant vans were backed up to the outskirts of the forest.
I’d never even considered the presence of bandits then.
“Indeed we have,” Daegris answers after some careful thought, “if not in the way we expected. The river always kept the darker side of the wood at bay.”
“Does it still run?” I ask.
“As swift and strong as ever.”
I consider this a moment. “Dark magic has always had a touch of chaos to it. Perhaps, now that the gods have vanished, it will thrive.”
“Ah, Titaine. Always the bearer of good news.”
“Why is it not good news?” I ask, a bit peevishly as I am forced to pause to duck beneath a low-hanging branch. On the other side of it, I return my hands to Daegris’s arm. “If magic is here at all, your people may yet thrive.”
“Do reserve your judgment until we reach the city,” Daegris says, patting my hand.
And that is when I notice: I’ve forgotten to hold on to Auberon. A quick glance behind me assures me he is still with us, and that three of the elven guard are trailing us, the other scouting the path ahead.
Auberon returns my look with a bored expression that means he’s actually annoyed. Why? Because I’m holding on to another elven male’s arm instead of his? Did he really wish to hold my hand that badly?
A horrible thought tightens my throat. Is Auberon developing feelings for me again? Is it because I saved him? Would that I had left him tied to that tree!
There’s only one thing worse than that possibility. What if Auberon has been carrying feelings for me all this time? What if he never stopped loving me?
That would certainly explain some of the actions of his House in the previous five years. The elves we fetes once outsmarted and undercut with both ease and regularity were suddenly so much more ruthless. It was natural, I thought, since we were returning to our status as enemy Houses.
What if all that was simply Auberon’s love for me turned to anger and hate?
I return my attention to the overgrown path. The trees lean inward, as if listening for our secrets, brushing against my shoulders and hair as if trying to coax them out of me. Auberon has longed for revenge since the day I broke our bond. He does not love me. I know this.
Just as I tell myself so, I hear his steps quicken behind me, crunching twigs and acorn caps from last year. Then he is taking my arm from Daegris and holding me back without so much as a by-your-leave, saying “Careful, Titaine.”
I am ready to snap at him that he’s the one who should be careful, since I’m the only one of us still holding onto her magic—but a gout of blue flame erupts where I’d just been standing.
“How—?”
I can’t even finish the sentence. Shock and fear strum through my body, trembling my wings. I can still feel the heat from that flame on my face.
Auberon’s arm curls around my waist then, pulling me closer, and I do nothing to stop him.
“I’d like to know how, too,” Daegris says, after assuring his scouts he’s fine.
“Dark elf,” Auberon answers with a shrug, then guides me back onto the path.
We resume our trek toward Lunevelle, our party moving far more quickly than before. This time, it is not only the scouts whose heads constantly swivel, searching for more danger.
“That wasn’t a will o’ the wisp,” I hiss at Auberon. “That flame would’ve burned us alive.”
“I felt it, too.”
