Chapter 21
“You are thinking so very loudly,” Tyriel mumbled.
“Am I?” Aryn stroked his hand down her back, far too aware of how thin she was. But the energy, the inner strength that was her core, that filled her.
He could sense it, all but taste the sheer life of her.
So many questions tumbled inside his head. But he pushed them aside. If he was thinking loudly, as Tyriel had put it, he was keeping her from resting. She might not be able to see inside his head as he’d once accused her of doing, but she had the most sensitive soul he’d ever encountered. That she’d picked up on the turbulence inside him was no surprise.
She sat up, the movements far slower than he was used to seeing from her, and her normal fluid grace wasn’t there. But her cheeks glowed with color. Her eyes no longer reflected screaming darkness he’d seen in the days after they’d taken her out of the miserable hole where she’d been held captive. Her dark, tumbling mass of curls was a wild tangle as she tugged a coverlet around herself, her chill another sign she still had healing left to do.
“I think I know part of why you are so quiet while your thoughts are so very loud.” Tyriel cocked her head, gaze watchful.
“I guess it’s time for those questions,” he muttered. He sat, adjusting his position until his back was braced against the elegantly carved headboard. “Will you come to me?”
Her lips curved in a lovely smile and she came just as he’d asked, throwing one leg over his so she sat astride him. The coverlet started to fall and he caught it, securing it around her before the chill could return. “You’re still weak,” he said quietly.
“Yes.” Her nose wrinkled, her disgust at her state quite clear.
He cupped her cheek. “You survived a monster. That you’re whole and sane at all is a miracle. You can always rebuild your strength. Be kind to yourself…give yourself the time to heal.”
“Since when did you become a speaker of wisdom?” But she smiled as she said it, covering his hand with her own. “I thought you humans had to become graybeards before you started tossing out such sensible advice.”
“That may well be the only useful wisdom I ever impart,” he said solemnly, even as the sight of her smile made his heart clench. “It’s a good thing you didn’t have to wait until I was a graybeard to hear it, considering that it’s likely I’ll live centuries now. The magic…”
He lifted a hand and breathed into it, watched as flames lit there.
And he was acutely aware of the silence within his own mind.
“Irian has long said his power was settling inside your skin.” Tyriel’s eyes were watchful.
“It’s no longer his power, but mine.” He closed his hand around the flames. As they extinguished, he looked back at Tyriel. “He’s gone.”
She drew in a slow breath, but there was no surprise in her eyes. “I thought he might be.”
Aryn placed his hands on her thighs, thumbs stroking restlessly.
“Aryn, about Irian…”
He slanted a look at her, reaching up to press his thumb to her soft mouth. The shadows in her eyes confirmed something he’d long suspected. “I know,” he said simply. When she started to look away, he cupped her chin and brought her face back to his. “He was the smarter of us both. Yes, I know he’s taken my mind over, used my body as he lay with you. A part of me hated him for it, even when I had only suspicions. Now…”
Her cheeks were hotly pink and her gaze kept sliding away.
Aryn pushed his fingers into her hair and brought her mouth to his, kissing her as he longed to do for so long.
“I don’t know what he did,” Aryn murmured after ending the kiss. Brow pressed to hers, he sucked in a rough breath before continuing. “But as I slept, I felt him. I know the feel of his power, his magic, Tyriel. It surrounded me. I could feel it, almost drowned in it…and then it was flowing out. From me, into you.”
Her mouth fell open on a gasp. She leaned into him, trembling.
“He came to me as I slept,” she murmured, the words so quiet, he could hear them. She pulled back then and met his gaze. “He told me there was still a spark within me, a spark that was my magic. I’d been…lost.” Shaking her head, she looked past Aryn’s shoulder, but he knew she wasn’t truly looking at anything. She was remembering.
She continued to speak, the words a hushed whisper in the silence of her room. When she finally lapsed into silence, Aryn simply wrapped his arms around her. “He came to me as well. Nothing quite so…strange, but he asked if I would be your bridge.”
Tyriel said nothing so he continued.
“I didn’t know what he meant, but there was…something about the way he spoke that told me how urgent this was. I’d told him I’d be whatever you needed. Everything went dark after that, and I slept. That was when his magic began to flood into me. It was far too much for me to hold inside, but then it spilled out.” He waited for her to look at him once more. He was right—he felt it in his bones. Slowly, she lifted her head and met his gaze. “It flowed me into you. His power…” He stopped, unable to explain anymore.
“Enchanters can carry a great deal of magic inside them,” she murmured, resting a hand over her chest. “Even human enchanters. But eventually, it becomes too much and they have to store it—sometimes in objects, like swords.” She glanced at him before continuing. “There are some who can actually pierce the veils and merge with the ether plains—the lingering place between here and eternity. Rumors say to linger there long is to court death…you’ll lose your anchor to reality and slip away until you’ve merged with the ether plains and become naught by a shadow of magic, void of memory. But some enchanters are powerful enough they can walk there, even store magic within the veil, if they can find a way to forge a holding place, like a cask. Irian is…was very powerful. And you shared a bond with him.”
“A bridge,” Aryn said quietly. “He gathered up all the power he’s stored over millennia and used his bond with me to give that power to you.” He scowled, shaking his head. “But I don’t understand. He was an enchanter. You’re fae. You have elemental magic, and other gifts. But you are not an enchanter.”
“The spark,” she murmured, a small smile on her face. It grew as she looked at Aryn. “That spark was me, the core of myself, my magic…like the embers of a fire. Raw magical energy, in its purest form, is just that, Aryn.” She cupped his cheeks, her eyes bright as the puzzle revealed itself to her. “There are places in our world that run rich with lingering magical energy still in the earth. Irian—now you—could easily tap into it for enchantments. I could tap into it as well. But I’d use that same energy to call up water or shake the earth, while you could use it to power wardings or seek a fleeing blood mage. All Irian did was find a way to funnel the raw energy he’s stored into me.”
“Hardly all,” Aryn muttered, his head spinning as je fought to make sense of what Tyriel had told him.
“What?”
He traced a line down her cheek. “He gave you back to me—no, he find a way so you come back. You were already out of reach, slipping from this world and he threw you a rope when nobody else could.”