Page 121 of A Storm in Every Heart
But that doesn’t feel like it makes perfect sense either. If we’d bonded decades ago, surely I wouldn’t have been able to carry on living my life ever since. I know that women tend to feel the bond second, but I’ve never heard of something like this where a bond started and was left incomplete for decades.
“How the hell could this happen?” I wonder out loud, meaning the question more to myself than to Kastian.
Kastian shakes his head, looking frustrated. “I’ve been asking myself the same fucking thing for years. So, about six months ago I decided to do something about it. I decided to find her—whoever she is—at least to know if she’s still alive.”
My throat feels dry, and I run my tongue nervously over my lips. “So what did you do?”
“I went looking for an oracle.”
My eyebrows raise even higher, as if they might disappear into my hairline. “I don’t remember you ever taking a long trip away from the estate.”
“I didn’t.” He runs a nervous hand over his neck again, his agitation obviously building. “As I’m sure you know, premonition isn’t an ability that naturally occurs among Fae. Human sorceresses sometimes have psychic abilities, and there are other monsters that claim to have it, but it wasn’t as if I could just walk into the local tavern and find someone to help. Aureliatold me about another sorceress she knew who might have a strong enough psychic talent to help.”
“You told Aurelia about this?” I ask, momentarily distracted. “I didn’t realize you were soclose.”
There must be something bitter in my voice because his eyes flash, and for a moment he looks almost pleased before his contrite expression returns. “We’re not, but she asked me about it directly. I don’t know how she knew; I assumed it was part of her magic.”
“Hmm,” I hum, my lips tight. “Alright, so what happened?”
“The other sorceress lives near the border of Vernallis and Thermia and was willing to talk to me. She has psychic abilities, but they're very specific. She only practices premonitions through art.”
My brow furrows. “I don’t understand.”
“She goes into a trance and inks her visions on a person’s skin, then wakes up and doesn’t remember exactly what she saw. I agreed to do it. At this point, what would one more tattoo matter?” he raises his arms, both entirely covered in ink from wrist to shoulder, and shrugs.
“But I don’t understand,” I say again, my frustration rising. “This doesn’t explain anything. I’m not your soul bond. I can’t be—this is insane.”
“I know you’re not,” he says, shaking his head. “But the day before I saw the ink oracle we’d had an argument.”
“We what?” I demand, incredulous.
“We’d had an argument,” he repeats. “I poured half the lake on you, remember?”
I blink, startled. I remember exactly what he’s talking about, which is saying something since Kastian and I seem to find ourselves sniping at each other at least twice a week.
Except, that day was different.
I remember him coming to my room to apologize—something he’d never done before. It made me uneasy, as I was all too aware that I could never simply exist peacefully with him. I could never call a truce and be friends with Kastian, because if I let my guard down for even a second something catastrophic could happen.
Something likethis, for example.
Something like standing alone with him on a darkening riverbank, terrified that this conversation is careening toward the edge of something neither of us can walk back from.
“How did that fight change your tattoo?” I ask, my throat dry and my voice wavering.
Kastian’s gaze flicks down at the river. He picks up a pebble off the ground and flips it from thumb to forefinger before tossing it into the water. For a moment we both watch the ripples before they disappear into the flowing stream.
His jaw flexes, and he sucks in a deep breath before continuing. “Part of the process was that I was supposed to think about the bond while she worked, but instead I kept thinking about the argument we’d had. It was the last thing on my mind before the trance, and the whole thing spiraled from there. By the time she was done and I realized what happened… it was too late to fix it.”
I gape at him, horrified. “You’re telling me that you went through an arcane tattoo ritual designed to reveal the love of your life, and now you’re stuck with… that?” I gesture at the portrait. “Because you were mad at me?”
He huffs a bleak laugh. “In my defense, you’re extremely distracting when you’re angry.”
I don’t laugh. I’m too overwhelmed to pretend.
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with this information. The urge to run courses through me, yet I’m rooted to the spot, unable to move. I stare at the portrait again, tracing the lines of itwith my eyes. It isn’t just my face—it’s a memory. A whole scene, in astonishing detail: my eyes narrowed, jaw set, and lips curved into a slightly mocking smile. At first glance, I almost look angry, but the longer I look, the more details emerge. I look…sad. There’s so much longing in my eyes it’s almost painful.
“Why didn’t you just get it removed?” I ask, finally.
