Page 22 of Burning Her Beautiful
She lays a hand on parchment, halting my rush. “Varok, why stake position for me? You could have yielded examination by Inscriptorum—proven her doubts wrong through official channels.”
I cover her hand with mine. “The Inscriptorum crushes minds while they search. Your memories, your song—they value nothing except results.” Heat swells in chest. “I will not let them carve you.”
Her eyes shine with surprise, then soften. “Your plan endangers your standing.”
“It endangers the core of what I want.” The words spill, unchecked. Her pupils widen, but she looks away, collecting composure.
“We test tonight,” she says after heartbeat. “Yet sabotage alone may fail. Allow me to sing a different melody—one that resonates less with your runes.”
Hope flares. “You can alter pitch?”
She nods. “Mother taught variants to confuse birds from seed rows.”
“Inspired.” I grin, tension loosening fraction. She mirrors smile—small but luminous.
We spend hours refining new tune, mapping which harmonics bounce harmlessly. Each time her voice glides across notes my heart stutters. I force focus on glyphs.
Sundown paints corridors gold. Chancellor Velyth escorts small delegation—Sarivya, two engineers, three neutral matrons. They gather in test conservatory where last night’s vines sleep dormant. Crystal lamps cast soft light.
I present sealed cuffs bound with iron runes, slip them over my wrists. Magic dampens, pressure like cold water dousing flame. I nod to Iliana.
She steps center stage, shoulders squared. Despite absence of jewellery, she gleams regal. She inhales, glances at me once. Our eyes lock. I incline head.
She begins to hum.
Low, lilting, unlike yesterday’s bold notes. Sound swirls through air, touches vines, then drifts away like breath on glass.For endless heartbeats we wait. Leaves rustle—but only from breeze of ceiling vents. Nothing stirs.
Relief surges. Iliana sustains hum, weaving playful variations. Still vines sleep. Murmurs bloom among watchers: admiration, disappointment. Sarivya’s face pinches.
Iliana’s voice fades. She bows. Delegates scribble. Chancellor Velyth smiles faint, turns to Sarivya. “No uncontrolled power observed.”
Sarivya forces elegance. “Impressive discipline.” But venom still lines her smile.
I unclasp cuffs, feel magic rush back like blood through numb limb. Pride fills chest—pride in her composure, pride in gamble won.
As nobles file out, Sarivya steps near Iliana, seeming to admire her braid. Lips part in whispered compliment but I catch sleight of hand: a pinched bud of nightshade between long nails poised above gown’s shoulder.
I move without thought, seizing Sarivya’s wrist. Chaos crackles under skin, lighting veins red. Gasps echo.
“Sarivya.” My voice drops to predator hush. “You drop something.”
Her eyes widen. I pry fingers open. The bud lies on her palm, innocent yet deadly. Engineers gape. Matrons whisper. Sarivya yanks arm back, fury trembling behind veneer. “You dare accuse?—”
“I dare protect.” I step closer, let glow of runes reflect in her eyes until color drains from her face. “Let us not force Inscriptorum to test you for poison handling.”
She retreats, mask fracturing. Velyth approaches, lifts brow at the bud. “Curious piece of flora.”
Sarivya’s voice trembles, then steadies. “Garden residue on gowns. Nothing sinister.”
“We shall verify.” Velyth signals guards to collect specimen. Sarivya whirls, storms from hall, dignity unraveling.
Delegates disperse, buzz rising like hornets disturbed. Velyth passes me, nods once—approval, caution hard to tell.
Iliana and I remain alone among silent vines. I exhale, tension leaving in shudder. She steps to me, slips fingers under cuff of my sleeve. “You saw her,” she whispers.
“I watch everything near you.” I lift her hand, splay her palm across my chest. Heart hammers under her touch. She closes eyes at rush of pulse.
“You gambled again,” she breathes.
