She makes a fair point.
No matter. I can do this without magic. Fire.Fire. How do the Tuath servants in the castle light fires without magic?
Allette shifts her weight, her lips tugging upward.
“Can you not stare at me?” I need to focus. Kindling. They usually have kindling. I glance around the room. We don’t have any, though. Where does one get kindling?
Her smile widens. “You don’t know how to do it, do you?”
Please. Everyone knows how to start a fire. I just need to find the right tools. I stand and feel around what remains of the mantle for something to help.
Allette rocks back, grinning like a fool. “What are you doing?”
“If you must know, I am searching for matches.”
Laughing, she pushes to her feet. “Maybe there are some in the kitchen.” Swiping bits of dirt and hay from her skirts, she skips over to the four cabinets screwed to the wall next to a porcelain sink. The doors bang as she searches. “No matches. Sorry.”
We can’t stay in this hovel without some source of heat. There really is only one thing to do.
I squat back down and draw on my element, the heat of magic warming me all the way through before a small spark appears at my fingertips. Even though I spent the better part of the last week in the sun, my well of magic shudders. Not that it matters since I won’t be needing my wings down here.
I’ll never need them again.
I quickly push the depressing realization aside. What I’m giving up is nothing compared to what I’ve gained.
“Have you lost your mind?” Allette hisses even as she sinks down next to me, holding her hands toward the now-blazing log. With the way the wood burns, we’ll need more sooner rather than later.
I reign in my magic, feeling it settle deep in my core like a glowing coal. “I think I have. I’ve not been able to think straight since the day I met you.”
She huffs a laugh and slips off her boots, leaving them beside the hearth. Her sopping wet socks land next to them. Her poor toes are almost as blue as her hair used to be. I wrap my hands around the pads of her feet, calling a little more heat into my palms.
Firelight dances on her rosy cheeks and the red tip of her slightly upturned nose. “Thank you.”
“What good am I if I can’t keep my mate warm?”
“No good at all,” she says with a mischievous smile.
I return her grin. “Exactly.” No good at all.
Eight
ALLETTE
Wildflowers swayin the field where Senan and I lounge, our hearts and minds at peace as we stare into each other’s eyes. Warmth from the sun-drenched earth seeps into my bones. A lazy bee buzzes from a sprig of lavender to a tiny pink flower whose name I don’t know. Each inhale tastes of sweet freedom; each exhale swims with bliss. I’d stay here forever if I could.
Senan’s brow furrows, and he pushes to his elbows, his nose lifting toward the cloudless sky. “Do you smell that?”
I sniff the air. Fragrant flowers. Fresh cut grass. Tilled earth from a distant field. And something else. Something that doesn’t belong.
I sit up, resting my forearms on my knees as I scan the purple mountains on the horizon. There isn’t a tower in sight. Songbirds, not Scathians, ride the breeze high above.
There it is again. That strange smell.
“What is it?” I ask.
When I look back at Senan, distress lines his brow and tightens his mouth.
He grabs my hand, our palms slipping together as our fingers lock tight. When our eyes connect, his are black as pitch. “We need to run.”