Page 11 of The Spark that Ignites
Emmery scoffed. “Sparky?”
“Sure, seems fitting.” He gestured to the golden flames and Emmery glowered, but it only coaxed a smile. “Lighten up. Nicknames are endearing.”
She could only balk at his sheer audacity.
He hesitated, perhaps waiting for her to offer him a seat. Emmery did no such thing. Despite his actions last night, her stomach fluttered with apprehension as he studied her.
Shifting his collar, notably a different shirt than the torn, blood soaked one, he flashed the twin scar to hers. “You went a bit cockeyed when you saw this. Want to know what it is?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not daft. I know it’s the mark of the Damned.” Only those with magic had them, though she’d never actually spoken to another Damned One before. Both her mother and sister were human and Fionn never shared if he had magic. After what they went through, it would’ve been illogical for him to keep it hidden. “The only time I saw anyone with the scars it was from afar. Usually during their execution. It didn’texactly leave an opportunity to ask questions. But I’m wondering why someone like you is here. It’s not exactly safe.”
He shrugged. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I don’tchooseto be here. I’m here because I have nowhere else to go.”
“Which is why you came to the tavern.”
“Which is why I followed your stupid message and nearly got myself killed.” Her cheeks flamed. “Did you consider simply knocking on my door and speaking to me at the inn?”
“I tried but couldn’t wait around all day.” Amusement danced in his eyes. “Hey, you made it out alive, didn’t you?”
Barelyshe wanted to snap, but Emmery bit back her snarky comments. He’d saved her, after putting her in that danger of course, but he had let her escape from those guards. She supposed that was something. Emmery frowned, recalling the concealing smog. “The smoke. Back in the alley. That was you, wasn’t it?”
The corner of the man’s mouth curved up. “Clever girl.”
She ignored his condescending tone. “How?”
“I can manipulate air particles.” The man examined his fingernails through his gloves like he could see the magic within them, and he said it so matter-of-factly, she had to blink several times to process it. “Smoke, mist, wind, you name it. A blessing from the majestic Kahlia herself.”
She rubbed her hand against the familiar throb in the grooved skin under her tunic. “The scars—what do they mean? After the war, all books of the Damned were burned. Talk of magic was forbidden. The King ensured it.”
Pulling down the other side of his collar, he revealed another scar over his heart. Like the other, it was no bigger than her fist, but this one resembled a six-pointed star, the tines warped and twisted. Emmery’s thumb traced her identical scar as her heart thundered.
“This is the mark of the Fallen. We call it azvezda.” He gestured to the other scar of intertwined circles. “This is the mark of the Hollow or acavae. The scars mean you’re one of us.Kenna. Born of fire. You’ve been chosen.”
She rubbed her temples, not sure if her head pounded from her welt or the overwhelming information. “Chosen forwhatexactly?”
“You’ve been chosen by the gods to bear the burden of magic. Or the blessing, depending on which god chose you.” Flexing his fingers, he examined his gloved hand again. “In our case, we’ve been chosen by both. Lucky us.” Sarcasm dripped in his tone.
Emmery studied the wooden floorboards pulling the threads of history from the far recesses of her mind. The feud began long before the war but why she was born on this side of the gate to a human mother remained a mystery. When Emmery was young, she hadn’t questioned it but as she grew and her magic pressed under her flesh, it became difficult to hide. From the first moment a spark leapt from her fingertips, her mother urged her to keep it secret. So, she smothered it down.
Chosen? Blessing? Gods, no, it was a life sentence. A curse.
The man meandered toward the table, his hand outstretched toward the chair. “May I?”
She released a jagged breath. “Can I at least know your name first?”
His shoulder stiffened, unease flickering across his face, but he performed a tight bow. “Vesper Merikh of Ellynne. At your service.” He settled into the chair, his long, toned legs bumping the low table. He didn’t ask her name, and she didn’t offer.
The man’s pale eyes swallowed her whole as Emmery studied him. He looked between his twentieth and thirtieth year like herself. For her, over a century had passed and still no spots aged her skin; no laugh lines wrinkled her eyes or mouth. Likely because she never laughed. But time moved without her,slipping like sand between her fingers as if life couldn’t touch her and she merely trudged through the days, neither here nor there. She merely ... existed.
“How old are you, Vesper?” she asked, readying for a smart-ass remark.
He raised a brow, stress creasing the lines of his face, possibly from the use of his name. “How old do you think I am?”
“I don’t look my age. I’m assuming you don’t either.” She thought back to the barkeeper and his concern for her, likely because of her young appearance. Her petite stature didn’t help.
“One hundred twelve.” He relished her shocked expression. “But I know I don’t look a day over twenty. You don’t have to tell me.”
