Page 103 of Queen of the Night
I maneuver onto my knees, determined—it’s the least I can do. “No. Let me.”
He reluctantly allows me to push his arm away, and the skin contact sends my magic into pleasant sparks that I instinctively keep close. Maybe if I release it, it’ll give me away, and I won’t have to tell him the uncomfortable way with words and awkward apologies. A coward’s wish. I keep it wrapped up tight. I intend to do this properly.
I hover my hand over the wound and pull lucent. He tenses up, then sets his jaw and prepares himself for the coming burn that goes hand in hand with usual healing magic—but not so for mine. I watch his expression as he eyes my hand, feeling the lucent as it runs through my body and into his. I can visibly see him relax as the magic works to heal him, soothing and comfortable. He watches with amazement as the skin knits painlesslytogether, the stitches fall uselessly to the stones beneath us, the red streaks reverse, and the swelling and redness fade until only a white scar surrounded by healthy skin is left. Another scar to match the others that are scattered across his body.
I drop my hand and sit back on my heels.
“It didn’t burn.” His voice is controlled, but I see his awe in the way he touches the new scar.
I shrug and smile. “One of my secrets.”
“When are you going to tell me the rest of them?” He looks up at me, where I still kneel beside him, placing my eyes directly in front of his very serious ones. It catches me off guard.
Now. Say it now.
I pick at a loose thread on my trousers and swallow tightly. “That would take a lifetime.”
“I’m here for it.” His voice is deep and a little rough and entirely too convincing.
My breath turns shaky. This is the moment I’m supposed to share it all. My third chance. My lashes flutter in time with my heart beneath his intense focus. My thoughts scatter with the adrenaline of knowing what I’m about to do. How much do I share? Is he meaning that as a friend… or more?
I drop my eyes to get a reprieve from his soul-searching, patient gaze, only to get an eyeful of his impressive chest and almost fall over as I scramble to look elsewhere. Looking elsewhere, meaning searching for a shirt I can toss at him so I can behave properly. I don’t see one nearby, but I manage to make it back to sitting beside him without embarrassing myself too badly. I end up a little closer than before, our legs only a hair’s width from touching.
So much change in so little time has me reeling. I thought I was prepared for this—in my mind I can clearlyseemyselfsharing everything with him. I imagine how it would feel to just say it, to let him take the weight of my secrets in his capable hands and heal my broken places. That is, if he forgives me.
Ikar looks at the new scar on his torso again, and I follow his eyes, which is a mistake because… still no shirt. I’ve never felt less disciplined in my life.
“Thank you for this,” he says.
I nod and look back down at the pesky thread. “It’s me that should be thanking you. And also offering an apology. The things I said on the journey, the way I ran... I didn’t know who to trust.”
“And now?”
I meet his gaze. “I think that’s obvious.”
“Is it?” He offers a frustrated sort of smile before he rests his arms on his knees and turns his attention to Rupi, who hops through the shallow water and wet rock, cleaning her feathers happily.
His comment is a little icy, and I don’t blame him. We both know there are too many secrets between us still—mostly mine. Still, he doesn’t force an answer from me.
I watch Darvy and Rhosse climb steep cliffs beside the waterfall, engaged in some sort of dangerous competition men are drawn to, I suppose. I smile at their bickering, and then Ikar’s bare torso steals my attention again, but this time it’s his mark. I trace the scrolling ribbons that travel down the upper part of his chest and arm with my eyes, and watch how it trails down to his mid back, curling and turning. Most of it is stark black against his skin, but I see small portions at the ends of the scrollings that shine almost white.
“Tell me about it?” I ask, gesturing toward his mark with my chin, feeling vulnerable and unsure. How does he feel about talking about it?
He looks at me for a long moment. I almost begin to apologize for asking at all. We both know it’s my turn to share, and I can’t blame him if he decides to say no.
“What do you want to know?” His expression is guarded as he looks out over the water. He’s so still he could be a gorgeous statue in some rich lady’s courtyard.
“I’ve heard every new heir is born with his part of the mark added on, but I didn’t know it was two colors.”
“Every generation adds to the mark. The first started here.” He shifts to a position where he points to the uppermost part of his collarbone and shoulder so I can better see. “And here is where magic really began suffering.” He points to scrolling parts of the mark that go from lucent to black. “It’s a history of our people and magic, of sorts.”
“And is this your part?” My finger brushes against a few scrolling ends at his mid-back, not yet completely black. His skin is warm to the touch. After a week of icy cold, it draws me more than ever. It’s only when he stiffens and goosebumps spread across his skin that I realize I probably shouldn’t have touched him. My magic runs wild within my veins.I definitely shouldn’t have touched him.
We both freeze, awareness a heady fog between us.
“Yeah, that’s my part,” he finally answers, his voice low and deep.
I pull my hand away and squeeze it between my knees to better keep it off him.
