Page 11 of To Sway a Prince (Tempting Thieves)

11

A PARTICULAR BARGAIN

T he healing runes illuminated what was within Ramiel's chest. His very heart was wrapped in tight knotted threads that had coiled around it like a constrictor. The golden light from my runes only highlighted the starkness of these poisonous threads. They were like the omenfang. Probably from one of his attacks or connected in some way.

Broken ribs and femur aside, this is what would kill him. My heart clenched in sympathetic pain. "I'm so sorry," I whispered.

He shook his head weakly. "'ll pass."

Until one day it wouldn't.

I didn't know precisely what this magic was, but I had seen similar curses more times than I wanted. This was a curse with a particular trigger. Each time it was triggered, it drew in tighter. Eventually his heart would cease beating altogether, and then his spirit would be severed from his body. Probably trapped in some liminal space until the end of time.

A door several feet away opened, then shut. A roughly human form appeared at the corner, little more than mist and shadow. It held a chest and a large volume. Its feet stuck to the floor, struggling to hold together any form of cohesion and rising and falling in height. "T-take," Caein said with great effort.

I gently shifted Ramiel, wadding the rug up to serve as a makeshift cushion for his head, and hurried over. The Nolche lurched, his rough approximation of hands shaking. Glasses rattled within the chest. They weighed more than I expected, but as soon as I had hold of them, Caein vanished with a gasp of relief. "Open to the black ribbon. Use the vials to trace the runes over his heart."

Hugging the book and chest close, I returned to Ramiel. Though his breaths were a little steadier, that blue tinge in his lips and fingertips remained, his eyes glassy. I swallowed hard as I opened the lid. "That thing was pure evil." Inside were about a dozen vials of thick but colorful liquid, somewhere between the consistency of ink and paint.

"Yes," Ramiel said weakly. His head dropped back against the rug again, a weak cough shaking his body.

I opened the book and set it on the ground beside me, flipping it open to the black ribbon. It had been opened here so many times that the musty pages went there of their own accord.

The page held a detailed painting of three runes to be painted on the afflicted person. Complicated but manageable. But my blood chilled when I saw what they were. They weren't healing runes. They weren't cures. All they did was push back the effects of the curse. The Wyrdcleft Seal. One of the thirteen Grave Bane Runic Spells.

"Hurry," Caein urged. "There isn't much time." The air shimmered roughly near his voice.

Steeling myself, I removed the corks from each of the vials, pulled back the fabric of Ramiel's tunic, and painted the marks on his chest. Each rune had particular cuts and bents, the small flourishes more detailed than what I usually worked with. And each one required at least three colors with the final one requiring five. As I worked, I prayed and filled my thoughts and gestures with petitions for healing. That the Creator of All would hear and have mercy.

And I meant it. I meant every word. Even though sometimes I wondered if I was heard. So many prayers had been answered in silence and death.

What nearly broke me was seeing how far along this curse was. The bonds and the knots were so tight around his heart that I did not see how he was even breathing at all. My paltry attempts to provide relief had eased them only a little.

He remained still, glassy eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Caein murmured words of encouragement and direction. I held my breath, my breaths cramped until Ramiel's lips returned to their natural color and his breaths loosed. Somehow. Even with those knots still bound around his heart. "Thank you," he gasped, his voice strained and rough.

"You're still in pain," I said. It wasn't a question. I knew what that kind of spellwork did to a person.

He cut his gaze to mine, his eyes half shaded. Even with the dark circles beneath his eyes, the sweat on his brow, and his overall disheveled appearance, he was painfully beautiful. "I am alive. And that is thanks to you. Even though I told you not to come. The omenfang could have turned on you."

The way he said that made me ache. I wasn't even sure why. He said it as if that would somehow make it worse. "I don't leave people to fight alone."

"Sometimes there's no other choice." He pressed his hands down against the rug and sat up slowly. A low groan escaped him. "Should have known you would use the dragon platform."

"Ramiel, you need to rest," Caein said, his voice concentrating over Ramiel's head. "I will see to the wards and sigils."

Ramiel lifted his hand. He swayed a little, then steadied himself against the wall. "You needn't fuss."

Before I even thought about it, I was at his side, my arm at his trim waist and his arm resting across the back of my shoulders as Caein continued to speak. The nearness and heat coming off him startled me. His pleasant cedar and silver scent had returned, evidence of his magic. Not even the scent of adrenaline or sweat remained. That crispness combined with the earthy woodiness into a soothing combination. Probably some spell of his. I certainly had my own. In my early months of dragon riding, I had used vanilla and jasmine. Then I'd realized people didn't take me seriously. Vanilla and jasmine were the scent of a peacetime princess or at least of a woman who was safe. After it exposed me to an attack, I'd settled for making my scent neutral. Or at least as neutral as possible. My magic sometimes smelled like cashmere, and I loved when that lingered. There was even a faint trace of it now.

I froze then, realizing that I was pressed up against him and he was standing there with his hand hovering over my shoulder as if not sure whether to fully rest against me or push me away. "You were going to fall," I said. My cheeks burned. Caein had stopped speaking, and the air was heavier now.

"I suppose I was." His gaze drifted over my face, dropping briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes. His arm started to relax against my shoulders, his fingers brushing my skin. Everything within me tightened.

"You should probably rest like Caein said." My mouth had gone dry.

His throat bobbed. "Perhaps."

"Do you want me to help you to your room?"

"You want to come to my room?"

I hadn't meant it to sound so salacious. But the way he asked that with that low voice of his and half-shaded eyes suddenly made it sound so much worse. The tension rose, burning in my cheeks and core, humming in the air. "I just—I know you need to rest. So…it doesn't have to be your room. Anywhere you'd be comfortable."

Caein cleared his throat. "I will go and tend to the dragons. They have been unusually quiet. I suspect they understand more than might be assumed." A soft rustle in the air sounded above us. I couldn't drag my gaze from Ramiel's though. He simply nodded, his fingers brushing tortuously over my shoulder again.

Heat rose to my cheeks, my heart quickening. As I focused, I heard his. It beat almost as fast as mine, even with the knots around it. "I just want you to be all right," I murmured.

His fingers curled along the curve of my shoulder, sending sparks through my body. The air hummed and drew me deeper into the moment. His purple eyes darkened, pupils expanding as they fixed on my lips. He leaned closer, the scent of frosted silver and cedar enveloping me and mingling with notes of cashmere from my magic.

"You shouldn't worry about me," he whispered, his voice low and rough. His free hand rose to brush a strand of hair from my face, fingertips lingering against my cheek.

A thunderous crash echoed through the tower, followed by a dragon's roar. Ramiel jerked away, the moment shattered. His expression shuttered closed, walls slamming back into place.

"I should check on that," he murmured, pulling away.

The sudden absence of his warmth left me cold and hollow. I wrapped my arms around myself, aching for what almost was. Breathing deep, I tried to still my racing heart. More than anything I wanted to burrow back under his arm and hold him close. That was ludicrous though. What was wrong with me? I'd seared out my own mate bond years ago. Not falling hard and fast was supposedly a benefit. "Sounded like a play challenge," I responded, swallowing hard and trying to compose myself.

"Yes." He paced into one of the rooms and then back, dragging his hand through his silver hair. "Yes, probably." He cut his gaze toward me once more.

My eyes locked with his. That look in his eye was one of pure hunger and need. Almost as intense as the fear when we were at the bridge.

I—I wanted him to hold me.

My hand flew up to the heavy scarring around my shoulder and collarbone, swallowing hard. I couldn't take my eyes off him. Couldn't bury this…need that was rising within me. To be held close. Loved as a person…as a woman.

Where had these thoughts come from? They were so blazingly vivid within my mind. Practically a plea. All these years I'd been alone. I'd learned the hard way to not ask for much for myself. The world was kinder when you didn't have expectations. And yet?—

Another roar sounded. This one even more clearly a play response but breaking the moment nonetheless.

Ramiel swiped his hand through his hair again. "There's much to be done. We weren't able to fully seal the final rift in the Chasm or heal the leviathan, so it will only be a matter of time before he goes mad and attempts to break through again. His thrashing and biting near the surface weakens it enough that the other creatures can sometimes escape, and the chasm wraiths feed off his agony. There's a tragic irony to it. The leviathans are guardians of the Chasm. They help keep it safe on the inside, but that wound…it's deep enough that he can't fulfill his duty. He's got to be healed or else...."

"He's not the only one. Those knots and bindings around your heart only have one outcome." I followed him, steeling my voice to ensure I sounded far more focused than I felt. "I know what it means when someone is using a grave bane spell."

He grunted in response. "Well…it is what it is." Drawing in a slow breath, he straightened his posture and strode toward the chest with the vials. Carefully, he checked each of the stoppers and then sealed the chest. "Not everything has a cure. And everything has its time."

A deep ache formed within my chest. I shivered, feeling the cold more acutely now that he was no longer beside me. "I'm a knotweaver. I might be able to help you."

"A generous offer." His surcoat hung loose and crooked, entirely unbuttoned now. He moved it back as he straightened his tunic and then began to fasten the buttons one by one. "And one that is unlikely to be effective. This curse is beyond both of us, little gnat."

Was there a note of affection in his voice when he said that? Even the nickname…I brushed the thought aside. My imagination was not helping me. This was just loneliness talking. "You might be surprised. We've both underestimated one another. What would it hurt to let me try?"

"You mean aside from you pulling the wrong thread and killing me on the spot?"

I shrugged, trying to seem casual about this. But I genuinely wanted to help. "You're a rune fae. Your death does not end your spells. If you die and the binding spell remains on me and keeps me from Zephyrus, I'll never be able to journey with him again."

"That still doesn't account for mistakes." A hint of a smile curled at the right side of his mouth.

"No. But I won't make any. Besides, what other choice do you have? Do you have some great plan in place?"

"I have other plans I am pursuing." He adjusted his surcoat, lining it up at the shoulders, and then fixing the lapels. "I have many plans, little gnat."

"None of which have worked." I folded my arms.

Though he was moving a little stiffly now, he seemed more himself. With firm strokes, he smoothed down his hair. It returned to its sleek finery with ease. "So your point is…what's the harm in trying a desperate chance?" He glanced at me sidelong. "And what will you want in return?"

Now it was my turn to smile. "Well, I can certainly be reasonable, and we both agree, no one owns a dragon. So…I help you, and you remove the binding spell and?—"

"Let you leave with Zephyrus," he said. His expression had masked once more, returning to its more typical stoicness.

"Not if he doesn't want to. And after seeing him with his kin…" I shook my head. "No. It's his choice. But as you said, if he remains here, he is in danger." More than I had ever guessed, and Ramiel was clearly on borrowed time. "So…that means you let me stay here and help you make the Chasm safer and protect the dragons."

"So…" He smoothed the lapels of his surcoat down, making the embroidery shine a little more with the gesture. "You're saying that you want to help me in return for letting you help me more? You aren't especially good at bargains, are you?"

"I never claimed to be, but it isn't about helping you," I said, sharper than I intended. He must have noticed the way I looked at him, and he was certainly keeping his distance now. "It's about making sure Zephyrus is all right."

"So if Zephyrus wanted you to leave, you would go?" He tilted his head, those eyes of his piercing me in place once more.

"Yes." What an odd question? Something else lay beneath it. I frowned.

He gave a slow nod of his head, then looked away. Dragging his hand back through his silver hair, he seemed to be weighing what I'd said. "I think this is a point at which you and I are quite similar. We both want to ensure that the dragon is cared for. You would put his well-being above all else. Good. So you swear it then? On your life—on your spirit?" He turned to face me again and held out his hand. Silver light shone in his palm, the runes for the oath flashing in his flesh.

"I already told you I would." I frowned even more at this. What was I missing in this? "Why do you require a vow? Do you think me a faithless dragon rider?"

"You are not formally a dragon rider nor are you a sentinel. I do not know you." Though his voice was calm and cool, each word enunciated as crisply as if for a vow recitation, something else lurked beneath.

"My word is?—"

"If I am to trust your word, then make the vow," he said firmly. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Make the vow. Choose the words yourself if you fear I am trying to fool you, but ensure that it is at its core that you will not abandon Zephyrus and if he feels that you should leave, then you will leave. Make this vow, or I will rescind my offer of hospitality and send you from this place."