Page 24 of Sanctuary and Spices (Tales of the Ardent Veil #1)

RONHAR

T he festival’s noise faded to a distant murmur. Jani’s words hung in the air between us: “Then explain.”

My markings flickered with an erratic pulse that matched my heartbeat. Around us, the Jhyra glowed softly, their petals stretching toward Jani as if drawn by the same force that pulled me to her.

“Not here.” I gestured toward a quieter corner of our booth, away from curious onlookers. The vines parted as we passed, creating a natural alcove.

“The containment field failure wasn’t random,” I started, watching her face. “Our energies are... trying to align. But they can’t, not fully, not yet.”

“Because of this mate-bond you mentioned?” She crossed her arms, but her fingers tapped against her sleeve - a nervous habit I’d noticed when she tested new recipes.

“Yes.” I touched one of my markings, tracing its path up my arm. “These aren’t just decoration. They’re conduits for energy, tied to everything we are. Our emotions, our purpose...” I swallowed hard. “Our connections to others.”

A group of festival-goers passed nearby, their chatter drifting over.

“Did you see those plants? They’re practically dancing?—”

“Never seen Jhyra act like that?—”

“Almost like they’re responding to something?—”

Jani’s eyes narrowed. “The plants. They’ve been reaching for us both, haven’t they? Growing faster than normal?”

I nodded. “They sense the partial bond forming. Like the crystals do.” I gestured to where the formations chimed softly. “Everything with Leyline sensitivity responds to it.”

“What exactly is ‘it’?” She stepped closer, and my markings brightened instinctively. “This bond you keep mentioning?”

“For most Devaali, markings stay constant throughout our lives. But sometimes...” I struggled to find the right words. “Sometimes we meet someone whose energy matches ours perfectly. Complements it. When that happens, the markings change. They start responding to that person’s presence.”

“Like they’re doing with me.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” I fought the urge to reach for her. “It’s rare. Most Devaali never experience it. I never thought...” I broke off, remembering countless cycles spent convinced I’d never find this.

“So, what happens now?” Her voice was steady, but her fingers still tapped against her arm.

“The energy between us is trying to settle, but it won’t stabilize until...” I met her eyes. “Until you accept it. Accept me.”

“And if I don’t?”

The question hit like a physical blow. My markings dimmed. “The instability continues. Maybe worsens. The bond doesn’t disappear, but it stays incomplete. Like a wound that won’t heal.”

She looked around at the transformed garden. “Is that what caused the containment field to fail? This... unstable energy?”

“Partly. Our combined resonance is powerful, but uncontrolled. Without the full bond to direct it...” I gestured to the still-glowing crystals. “Things like this happen.”

“So, I have to accept this bond? I don’t get a choice?”

“No.” I stepped back, giving her space. “You always have a choice, Jani. I won’t pressure you. But you deserve to know what’s happening.”

The sounds of the festival seemed very far away. A vine curled around her ankle, as if trying to keep her close. She stared at it for a long moment.

“I need time,” she said finally. “To think about this.”

My heart sank, but I nodded. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

She turned to leave, then paused. “The clothes you lent me...”

“Keep them.” I couldn’t bear the thought of her returning them, like returning a piece of herself.

She nodded once, then walked away. The plants drooped as she passed, their glow dimming. The crystal formations’ song faded to a whisper.

I knelt beside a cluster of Jhyra, their petals already less vibrant without her presence. My hands shook as I adjusted their position, more for something to do than any real need.

“You’re an idiot,” Lyrian said from behind me.

“Not now.”

“You should have told her sooner.”

“I know.” The words came out sharper than intended.

“The bond’s already forming. You can’t stop it now.”

“I know that too.” I straightened, facing him. “But I won’t force her into anything. She deserves better than that.”

Lyrian’s golden skin rippled with something like sympathy. “And if she decides against it?”

“Then I’ll learn to live with an incomplete bond.” The words tasted like ash.

He shook his head. “You’re both already too far gone for that.”

I didn’t answer. What could I say? That he was right? That every moment she was gone felt like missing a limb? That I’d rather live with this ache forever than risk pressuring her?

The crystal formations hummed a discordant note, matching my inner turmoil. I touched one, trying to steady its frequency. It only grew more chaotic.

“The station itself knows,” Lyrian observed. “It’s trying to help stabilize the bond.”

“It can’t.” I pulled my hand back. “Not unless she chooses it.”

He made a frustrated sound. “Your nobility is going to kill you both.”

“Then I’ll die knowing I did right by her.”

The crowds continued to move past our booth, their excited chatter a stark contrast to the hollow feeling in my chest. I caught fragments of conversation:

“—never seen anything like it?—”

“—the way those plants moved?—”

“—almost like magic?—”

Each word was a reminder of what we could be together. Of what I might lose.

A child’s voice cut through the noise: “Look, the flowers are sad!”

I looked down. The Jhyra had closed their petals, retreating into themselves. Like my heart, trying to protect itself from the pain of hope.

“I’ll watch the booth,” Lyrian said quietly. “Go... do whatever you need to do.”

I nodded, grateful for the excuse to escape. But where could I go? Every corner of this station held memories of her now. The kitchen where she first smiled at me. The garden where she fell asleep reading her grandmother’s cookbook. The quiet moments between rushes when she’d brush against me, sending sparks through my markings.

I found myself in the furthest corner of the garden, surrounded by the oldest plants. They reached for me with familiar energy, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would be enough now.

All I could do was wait. And hope.

A Jhrya petal drifted down, landing in my open palm. Its glow had dimmed, matching the hollow ache in my chest.

“Please,” I whispered to the empty air. “Choose me.”