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“Can I try one of Odson’s transformations?” I asked.

Kalcedon rolled slowly up to his knees, sending a chill through me even though his magic still surrounded my body. Distantly I noticed his arousal, and the way his dark hair was mussed by my hands.

His power inched back as he coiled it tight to himself.

“You want to turn into something? Now?” His voice was sharp, his eyes narrowed.

“Not a transformation, then. Something small, even. I could make a light.”

“You’re sounding a little desperate, Meda,” Kalcedon said sharply. “Might want to work on that.”

The lines of his face were stiff; his whole body tense. I’d offended him. Good. There was no sense in feeling guilty—I’d done what I needed to do.

I tried to convince myself of that as he stood from the bed, the mattress shifting as his weight lifted. Kalcedon grabbed the Minor Works of Tarelay Sorrowsworn off the floor.

“You won’t tell Eudoria I borrowed it, will you?” I asked.

“Go to sleep,” he said, and left. The magic went with him, until the room was lifeless as an emptied clam-shell. But I was safe, I told myself. I’d faced a fae temptation and held strong.

Death, my blood whispered. The cold settled back into its home. I had never known a chill like his absence before. I pulled the blanket tight around my body, but there was no cure for me. Nothing to do except wait out the pain and the sick guilt in my stomach, the whispered voice that promised I was wrong about Kalcedon, that he wasn’t a monster, that I didn’t need to push him away.

Kalcedon had kissed me, the small voice begged me to consider, as the ebb of power finally made room for other thoughts. He’d kissed me, and he’d liked it. Didn’t that mean something?

No. Of course not. It was lust. Only lust.

I wouldn’t let myself forget he was, and would always be, a heartless thing. No matter how human he’d learned to behave.

Chapter 7

I was awake before either of them the next day, up as the sun carved its diffuse red path over the horizon. I filled one of the kitchen pots with a hefty scoop of anise seeds, grabbed a cup, and carried it outside to make tea.

Normally I only bothered with the outdoor ovens during the sun season, but Eudoria was a light sleeper, and her rooms were on the ground floor with the kitchen. I set one of my journals on the bench by the oven and gathered materials for the fire.

It took very little power to make a spark. Thankfully, things were dry enough on Nis-Illous that a flicker of fire was enough. I arranged the kindling carefully, knowing I’d have to resort to a striker if I didn’t get a flame from my first casting. At last I drew fire’s short phrasing through the bulky air, carving meaning in shimmering lines. Red bloomed in my tangle of dried Illousian Pine needles. More than I’d gotten last time from the same amount of power; proof I drew it better than before. Shivering, with a bead of sweat licking down my back, I blew on the glow and began to pile twigs into the oven. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t breathe. It didn’t keep the smile from my face.

If Kalcedon had come out just then and fed me a thread of power I probably would have kissed him without thinking twice about it. No matter how dangerous a proposition that was. Since when was I letting myself think about kissing Kalcedon, instead of pushing the thought immediately from my mind?

I added the other half of the branch, ladled water from the well into the pot, and set it over the fire to boil.

“What did you cast?” Eudoria asked. I jerked around to find her standing just a few feet back. She had been reading a letter as she walked outside. Now she folded it and tucked it away.

“I just started the fire,” I grumbled, suddenly embarrassed, because the thing that had drained me of half my strength was nothing to a witch like her. But she only shrugged and settled on the bench beside my supplies.

“Is there enough tea for two?”

“I’ll get another cup.”

I returned moments later with it in hand. I wanted to ask Eudoria if I could have some of her heat, because I still felt cold and tight from the casting. But it was rude to ask, and unlike with Kalcedon, who was not my employer or truly my elder, I didn’t dare pinch a little off. I’d just have to be cold until Kalcedon woke up, or until my body could replenish what I’d taken from it.

Eudoria was still on the bench, her face upturned to the weak morning sun. She turned to me slowly as I set the cup on the bench beside my own.

“Show me this scrying spell of yours,” Eudoria said.

I drew a sharp breath, nearly falling to the other end of the bench.

“I thought you didn’t want to hear anything to do with it.”

Eudoria frowned at me.