He’s grinning at me now, all traces of the throbbing tension at his temple vanished. His voice drops down to a whisper as he leans in. “I’ve missed you, too.”
My heart spasms in a ridiculous manner. Before I can set him straight with a scathing retort, he tosses away the parchment and takes my hand. He’s led me most of the way across the library before I locate my powers of speech.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Away from this nonstop noise and wedding nonsense.Somewhere we can hear ourselves think for a change.” He does not break stride as he shoots a smile at me over his shoulder. “I’ve been most neglectful of your lessons these past few days. I can’t have my star pupil slipping, can I?”
“But you can’t just leave. There are a dozen people on your terrace for a dinner feast! And tomorrow—”
“Will be more of the same.” He groans. “Pomp and circumstance, small talk and frivolity. Arwen will forgive me if I miss yet another prenuptial celebration.” He shakes his head, voice dropping lower. “Right now I don’t want to be with anyone. Can you understand that?”
“I can. But bringing me along somewhat undermines your desire to be alone.”
He’s quiet for a long beat. “I do not want to be alone. I want to be alone with you.”
I stumble over my own feet.
Soren catches me before I fall on my face, his grip strong and sure in all the ways I still feel hesitant, leading me down the hallway to destinations unknown. And though I know I should be sensible, that it is unwise to anger Arwen when she is only just beginning to tolerate my presence without a sneer…I cannot deny how my heart sails at the prospect of escaping the circus for a few hours of solitude.
Or…solitude with Soren.
Somehow, though, his company never grates at me the way others’ does.
“Open it.”
I stare at the wooden box, wary. “Why do I feel something nefarious is about to jump out at me?”
“Because you have issues with trust.”
“Or, perhaps, becausesomeonerevels in every opportunity to catch me off guard, be it with water globes or impromptu flight lessons.”
His scoff is dark. “You will not be complaining about my methods when you’ve fully mastered your maegic. Already you have come so far in such a short time.”
I cannot contradict that statement. He’s right. Despite the past few days without our lessons, I feel in command of my power in a way I never have before. The confidence I have gained over my skills cannot be negated.
Was it really only three weeks ago that I arrived in this city, too afraid to call the wind? Quivering at the thought of tapping into my maegical reserves?
Sucking in a breath, I cross to the box he set on the sand when we arrived. We aren’t far from Hylios—if I squint, I can make out the towering walls of the capital to the northeast—but we might as well be a whole world away. The secluded cove he’s brought me to is a short walk from a cleverly concealed portal tucked in the thick trunk of an oversized palm tree.
I tried in vain to peek at the mysterious box when he retrieved it off one of his many artifact shelves back at the villa, managing no more than the briefest glimpse before he tucked it under his arm. Now, up close, I can finally make out the details. It is made of lightweight wood with silver hinges. The top is scored with a symbol I recognize instantly, for it is nearly identical to the one etched into the skin of my chest.
The Air Remnant.
My pulse picks up speed as I lift the lid to reveal a length of what I think is rope, nestled on a bed of blue velvet. Instead of jute or hemp fibers, it is crafted of coils of pure gold. It gleams even in the low afternoon light, catching the fading rays of sunshine. When I lift it out, I expect it to be stiff, the metal resistantto movement, and yet it is pliable as a silken cord in my hands. One end frays into a tassel of many braids, some so thin they are very nearly gossamer; the other tapers into a slim handle with a knotted bottom that fits perfectly in my palm.
Like it was made especially for me.
“The hallowed Whip of Light,” Soren says. “A gift from the Goddess of Skies. Created from one strand of her golden hair, and capable of wielding lightning—or so say the legends.”
I want to look at him, but I cannot pull my eyes away from the gilded weapon. My voice is hushed, reverent. “Wherever did you get this?”
“I told you, I found several relics in the ruins of the Court of Clouds. This was one of them.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s yours.”
My eyes snap up. “What?”