Page 58

LOVE LIES BLEEDING

A t dawn, they stood in her garden, finally ready.

Her arms ached, and a new bruise bloomed on her elbow.

Manoeuvring unwieldy furniture down a flight of stairs was not a task she cared to repeat anytime soon, even helped by a man with fae strength.

At least her walnut desk now sat in place of the loveseat, which had been summarily shifted to block the (locked) garden gate.

Gisele wanted to delay interruptions for as long as possible.

The desk’s new position was unavoidably comical, as if the love-lies-bleeding had taken up studying.

Its drooping fronds framed Zingiber, sprawled in the desk’s centre.

He was attempting to sunbathe in the pale dawn, indifferent to the work carrying on around him.

Every now and then, he cracked open an eye and asked if it was fish time yet and, on being informed that it was not, closed it to continue with his nap.

Mal had modified the circle—made of gathered stones this time—so that they stood on opposite sides.

Runes of protection had been added around Zingiber, designed to syphon off any excess energy.

She couldn’t help comparing it to their first ritual attempt, all those weeks ago.

She’d been blind to the meaning of the spellwork, then.

Now, she could read it like the pages of a book, although the nuances of Mal’s runic additions remained beyond her.

She could tell they were cleverly invoking various resonances, using rather than fighting the bond between him and Gisele, but not quite pinpoint how. She’d have to ask him, afterwards.

He’s not actually a terrible sorcerer but an accomplished one , she thought wryly. Even with his magic reduced to scraps, he’d found ways to achieve greater magic results. What would he be like in the fullness of his power?

Will he still feel the same way about me?

Will I?

She pushed such doubts aside as they locked eyes. He raised an eyebrow, a pulse of query reaching towards her. Her role was once again to feed him magic to direct into the spell. She nodded, and it began.

The magic flowed so much easier this time. Green-gold power vibrated through her, lacking the jagged, chaotic wrongness she’d felt all her life before. Now that she knew what her magic felt like without Mal’s magic interfering with it, the difference was unmistakable.

Mal built the spell slowly, letting each rune fill with power one by one, testing the construction for flaws.

But the structure held, strong and sure, the magic expanding with every second that passed.

Quiet joy hummed inside her, joint appreciation for the delicate beauty of the spell, the successful modifications they’d made.

Zingiber sat up, ears perked in interest. Slowly, he began to glow, but he didn’t seem especially bothered by the sensation, merely looping his tail around to inspect this new development.

Sensations shivered in the air, out of place in the meadow but familiar nonetheless.

The vanilla of old books, pages turning under golden lamplight.

The bright copper of hot metal, twining in intricate patterns.

Jasmine on the wind—that floral addition that she now recognised as her own magic.

And… a hint of something else. A single note out of place.

Quickly, she checked the components of the circle and felt Mal doing the same.

Everything was as it should be—Mal confirmed her own opinion a moment later, emotions sliding easily between them.

The off-note, whatever it was, was coming from outside the ritual.

A sharp urgency stabbed her. She met Mal’s eyes. Hurry , he said mentally, while still speaking the final spell-control-variables aloud.

An echo of a walnut tree grew in the space around Zingiber, a suggestion of branches and leaves stretching above him.

The cat’s golden glow intensified. Zingiber rolled his shoulders irritably as fine golden droplets began to gather at the tips of his fur, as if he’d been caught in a rain shower.

He shook himself, and the droplets ran together, streaming upwards into the echo-tree.

The streams thickened, pulling energy from the cat faster, all of it gathering into a glowing orb in the heart of the tree’s memory. The orb grew, and the golden streams slowly thinned. Apparently, true names were extracted a bit like syrup from a jar.

The last of the golden energy had almost separated completely from the cat when it happened.

A harsh cry sounded from above. A pale, winged shape descended with a violent thump and a powerful ripple of unfamiliar magic.

A white hawk tore the remaining golden light free of Zingiber’s limp body, blood shocking against the ginger fur.

Before either of them could move, it had swallowed the orb.

No. No.

Foreign magic swamped their carefully constructed ritual circle, filling the air with an incongruous burst of ice and the bitter-sweet of champagne bubbles.

The stones they’d used to form the circle shattered, peppering the garden with fragments.

Gisele threw up her hands to protect her eyes, wincing as chips of rock hit her arms. The bed of love-lies-bleeding went up in flames, turning to ash in seconds.

The hawk had the same edge of unnatural brightness she’d seen in each of Mal’s name-vessels. Wait. The hawk was glowing. The glow expanded into the familiar light of transformation, and when it had faded, a fae man stood on the desk, painfully vivid with stolen magic and triumph.

If Prince Avern had been handsome before, now he was terrifyingly glorious, his eyes two intense chips of glacier ice, his blond hair glittering with sparks of Mal’s magic. He smiled, his attention wholly on Mal.

It had all happened so fast. Zingiber! She couldn’t see him past Avern. Her chest was too tight to breathe as she took a shocked, stumbling step towards him.

Avern spoke before either she or Mal could take more than that single step. “By your name, this geas I lay: you will not use your magic against me. You will obey me. You will be bound to no other interests.”

Mal’s back arched, as if an invisible hand had reached out and dug its claws into him.

The bond was suddenly hot, a thick vibrating cord so potent that it was practically visible—no, it was visible.

It snaked between her and Mal, an intricately woven golden rope made of light.

She hadn’t expected the bane of her life to be beautiful, she thought, rather hysterically.

Avern frowned. “No, that won’t do.” He made an abrupt slicing gesture.

Pain slashed through her, all-consuming, and she was dead; she had to be dead because no one could feel like this and live. Her heart tore from her chest. She screamed and was distantly aware that someone else did too, before the agony overwhelmed every thought.

Then, just as shockingly, the pain was gone, leaving only the needle-sharpness of ice in every limb.

She was folded awkwardly on the ground, her whole body still trembling. Smoke burned her nostrils, and she coughed, painfully, around an aching absence. Mal. She couldn’t feel him anymore, hadn’t realised how used to feeling him she’d become.

Mal. She got shakily to her feet, each breath stinging her raw throat. Deep cracks segmented the ground; the breaking sensation hadn’t been only metaphorical.

“Mal,” she croaked.

He was curled on the ground, shivering, his ears pressed flat. Ash clung to his red curls. At the sound of her voice, he lifted his head.

Her heart nearly stopped; his eyes were no longer mismatched. The same shocked realisation echoed in Mal’s expression as he took in her face, and she had a brief, trivial curiosity as to what she looked like with two blue eyes.

“Are you all right?” Mal asked her, ignoring Avern.

This seemed to irritate the prince as nothing else. He leapt lightly down from the desk, unsettlingly untouched by the ruin around him. “Never mind her. She is no longer relevant. You may thank me for the unbinding.”

Zingiber? Mal mouthed.

She shook her head; she could catch only a glimpse of the cat’s bloodied fur, lying on the desk behind Avern. She couldn’t tell whether he was still breathing. The intense tightness in her chest increased, growing colder, as if icicles were settling there.

“For goodness’ sake, no need for this melodrama. Get up,” Avern directed.

Mal rose, snarling with anger and making no attempt to hide his teeth, which were long and pointed. His claws were out too, flashing gold. His beautiful clothes were streaked with dirt, and his eyes glowed with rage. He looked feral.

“What have you done?” Mal growled.

Even Avern seemed taken aback. “Only what you have forced me to do! None of this should have been necessary!” A glimpse of desperation, quickly folded back beneath the sleek control.

Avern took a conciliatory step towards Mal, palms spread.

Mal took a corresponding step back. “I know this isn’t the reunion we’d hoped for?—”

“ We’d hoped for? I had hoped for none!” Mal’s tail lashed. “You have no right to my name or powers.”

Something softened in Avern’s expression. “I know, but I nonetheless need them. Of course you’re upset—I understand—but you’ll see why this was necessary when we return home.”

“DarkSun is not my home!”

The two men were so intent on each other, Avern advancing as Mal retreated, that neither of them noticed Gisele slowly working her way closer to Zingiber. Or…Mal was studiously not noticing her, which meant that he had. She knew it even without being able to feel him anymore.

“You are a lion pretending to be a housecat! You are not a mere homemaker to rot away in obscure domesticity,” Avern was saying fiercely. “You are meant for greater things. I can give you that. You’ll see.”

“No,” Mal said in a hard tone. “That’s your dream, not mine. I don’t want that, and I don’t want you.”