The Spark of a Feudling (16 page)

He burned the spell and threw it at the ward, at her, at Charity, at everything out there, until his magic was depleted and he collapsed to his hands and knees in the dirt. Dust clung to the sweat at his temples and he could taste it against his teeth. He felt tears snaking their way through the grime and held back a sob. Ada knelt next to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It's okay, Christian. We knew this wouldn't be solved in one day. It will take time. Weeks, months, even.”

“Your wedding is in four months, Ada.”

“It doesn't matter.”

****

Every single day, as soon as Ada escaped from training with her father, she came to get him, working with him until all hours of the night, until he would collapse from exhaustion and she would help him home. Sometimes Charity joined them, but mostly it was just the two of them — a fact that would ruin her socially if anyone found out.

She didn't seem to care. In fact, she didn't seem to care about her other, non-magical life at all. She didn't talk about the wedding or her betrothed. She grudgingly met with seamstresses and the dragon-faced woman who seemed to be in charge of planning the event — one Christian had heard Vivian say would be a fairy tale in the making, and all the girls in London would swoon with envy.

But it all seemed to drive Ada even more into her magic, her training, her saving and protecting and fighting. And Christian thought maybe he hadn't lost her completely after all.

She was later than usual picking him up that day, and Christian started to plan how he could sneak into the manor without anyone killing him. Because that would be somewhat unfortunate. When he finally started thinking it was worth the risk, she suddenly appeared at the window, rapping lightly against the glass.

“You look awful,” he said as he met her outside.

She smirked at him, but it was a half-hearted smirk. Partly because the entire side of her face was badly burned, and partly because she must have agreed with him.

“What happened?” He stopped her as she attempted to walk away from him, tugging her gently back to his side. Her eyes widened and she glanced quickly at his hands, checking for sparks, no doubt, and he realized for the first time that she was afraid of him. The thought at once shamed him and thrilled him.

But this time there were no sparks. He raised his hand, and the warm blue heat throbbed from his palm, sweeping to her face, to the expansive burns there, and mending the broken skin. When it finally healed, he dropped his hand, but didn't let go of her wrist, waiting for an answer.

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “I stumbled into my father's spell.”

“Ada…” Now the flames erupted. She'd told him Richard wasn't hurting her anymore. This was one of the worst injuries he'd seen.

“Stop it, Christian. I tell the truth. I stumbled into his spell. My father thinks I am too tired and need to rest.”

His flames died abruptly. He knew it had to be coming, the exhaustion. She'd been going too hard for too long and her body couldn't take it. No one's could, and she was so small…

She took his hand and brought it to her lips, kissing the palm shyly. “Thank you for healing me.”

Hope bloomed in his chest, but before he could get overly excited she spun on her heel and marched away. “Come now. We have training to do.”

****

Ada was sure she understood what Christian was going through, his true self locked inside of someone else. She felt the same way — pretending to be so strong while inside she was dying. Pretending to be the daughter her father wanted while inside she wanted to strangle him. Pretending Christian didn't still set her body on fire, and the way her heart would pound if he merely glanced at her. Pretending she didn't cry at night when she was finally alone because she was marrying a man who didn't hold her heart, because the man who did had lost his mind.

I am very tired.

But being tired did not save Christian, or Charity. Being tired meant she was weak, and she couldn't have even one single moment of weakness or she would fail them all. So she locked her true self away and pretended she was someone else. Someone who adored and trusted her father, who did not love Christian, who could marry William, and who did not cry. Ever.

I am very tired.

She watched Christian struggle. He fought so hard to control the flames, but Ada could see that there was a part of him that embraced the anger, and until that part of him died, he would never win. If she could just understand
why
, she might be able to help him more, but talking to him hurt. It reminded her of before. Before she'd gone to London, before her father had made everyone crazy. When they had climbed trees and run through the forest and stolen kisses by the pond. The hideaway was gone now — she'd visited their secret place alone one too many times and finally burned the briars to the ground in a fit of heartbroken rage.

“I think you've had enough for today. We will work more tomorrow,” she said tiredly. Despite Christian's healing, her face still burned underneath, and she desperately wanted to sleep. She also desperately wanted to escape Christian, because being with him was the sweetest form of torture.

Christian knelt in the dirt across from her, leaning forward on his hands. He raised his head slowly, the brown hair falling over his forehead. His face shone with sweat, and his eyes stared back at her, hopeless. She slid off the bench she'd been sitting on — her feet couldn't even reach the floor — and went over to him. “It's getting better every day, Christian. You are getting stronger.”

“I am not, and you know it.”

She sighed, sitting in the dirt next to him, knowing her mother would be furious if she saw how dirty her skirts were. “Christian, I see something when I watch you.”

He laughed bitterly, staring down at the ground in front of him. “I know what you see. A weak, poor Carules with no future and no—”

“Stop it,” she snapped. He winced but said nothing. More gently, she said, “I see that there is a part of you that does not want to control these flames. You like the power that comes with them, yes?”

He didn't answer, but his shoulders tensed. She continued, “There is another way to have this power, Christian. I learned to heal. You can learn to have Edren spells without the madness. You just have to let go of whatever it is my father put into you.”

When he still didn't respond, she sighed and finally stood, brushing off her skirts as best she could. She held out a hand but he ignored it, struggling to his feet himself. He went straight to the little doorway to the tunnel without looking at her. “Wait. I need to protect—” she started forward but he froze, half in the tunnel and half out, balancing on a precipice that seemed more than a little symbolic.

“I do not need you to protect me, Miss Aleshire.”

Ada's jaw dropped and her eyes filled with tears. Grateful that he refused to look at her, she scrubbed at her cheeks, but her tears refused to stop. She heard him slosh through the water, disappearing into the tunnel and the darkness without even a torch.
Don't be daft, Ada. His
hands
are torches
. She thought about leaving him to it and escaping to her rooms for the night, but her heart wouldn't let her — broken though it was.

“Christian, wait!” she picked up her skirts and ran after him, afraid when she got to the tunnel he would be gone. Somehow it mattered very much to her that he still be there. She tugged the door open, and he stood, his back still to her, but waiting. She let out a sigh of relief. “We didn't learn the new spell. It's new for both of us, I just learned it today.”

The tense set of his shoulders fell and he turned slowly. Sloshing back through the water, he climbed up into the dungeon. He raised his hand, and for half a second she thought he was going to attack, but he flicked water at her face, chuckling as he walked off. “This better be good, Miss Aleshire.” Whatever precipice he'd stood on, he'd chosen her side. A relieved breath left her in a whoosh.

“Just you wait,” she muttered while she brushed water droplets off her nose. “I might drown you next time we go through that tunnel.”

He glanced over his shoulder with a lopsided smile. “You could certainly try.”

Dropping her hands to her hips, she raised an eyebrow. “You think I couldn't?”

His smile was downright too sure of himself. “I think you should teach me that spell before you end up in a water fight you will not win.”

She muttered under her breath about being bigger and falling harder, but she crossed to his side. “This, Mr. Not-afraid-of-a-little-girl, is a
kiril
. It's a second kill spell besides a
lirik
. It takes less of our flames, but it is also less effective.”

Christian swallowed, all the amusement dying from his face. “You're teaching me another kill spell?”

She rolled her eyes. “You're learning these spells to be a warrior, yes? And warriors typically... kill people.”

“But I—”

“Christian…” She patted his arm, feeling the well-muscled bicep under her hand. She swallowed hard. “You will be fine.”

The
rikil
was less fluid than the
lirik,
with harder corners and lines. Christian, of course, picked up on it much more quickly than she had that morning. He pushed it easily at the wall, where it shattered like a frozen flame, raining sparks on the dirt. “That is interesting.” He grinned at her and she couldn't help but smile back.

“I told you you'd like this one.”

He acknowledged her statement with a slow nod before not quite changing the subject. “You know that interesting little wall of fire you like to burn things down with? That needs a name.”

She tipped her head, playing absently with stray curls that had once again escaped the braids Charity worked so hard on every morning. When she was married, long braids wouldn't be appropriate any longer. She tugged hard on the end. She liked her braids. “It does. I shall think on it.” But the name hit her right then, requiring no thought at all, nicely enough. “
Alable
”

He nodded. “Very fitting. Yet another spell that no one will be able to remember the name of.”

Ada pulled a face at him. “It is late and I still need to research my spells for tomorrow.” She hesitated, peeking at him shyly through her lashes. “I will walk you back if you'd like me to.”

Christian rolled his eyes. “Shouldn't I be walking you back, since I am the man?”

She picked up her skirts, hoping she was forgiven for his earlier anger, whatever it was she'd said that had caused it. “I am already home. You've done your duty, kind sir.”

He chuckled, leading the way through the tunnel. Their sloshing made conversation difficult without yelling, and Ada was fairly positive that neither of them had the energy for that. There was no light except for the blue sparks from his fingers, and he was just a beautiful silhouette in front of her.

Her heart ached.

Ada had never been so tired in all her life. The manor had been attacked that morning, and her father had insisted they chase down every last one of the bandits and kill them. Now they rode silently, side by side. Christian rode just in front of them. Apparently, he'd, been promoted from a stable hand to one of her father's guards. He seemed to be euphoric after the fight — after he had let the angry flames take control.

She kept her distance.

The rest of their guards were spread out around them, although Ada didn't understand why they had guards at all. Weren't
they
supposed to be the guards themselves? She thought of all the Edrens protecting the queen. Shouldn't that be where Ada belonged? But no. There were no women there. “When Charity said there would be a sorcerer more powerful than any other, she undoubtedly meant a man,” she muttered angrily.

“What darling?” The fact that Richard was paying enough attention to her to hear Ada's mutterings surprised her and she stumbled over her words. Ahead of her, Christian turned his head just a bit, also listening.
Can a girl not grumble to herself with any d
e
cent amount of privacy?

“Nothing, Daddy. I just—” A spell shot past her face, skimming Alexios. The big black horse reared back, screaming, and Ada watched helplessly as her father flew through the air, landing hard behind them. Immediately, Christian and her father's other guards spread out, searching for the threat. Ada leaped from her horse, whose name she did not know, and grabbed Alexios' reins, holding tight as she tried to calm him. “Shhh. It's okay. I'll heal you, it's okay,” she whispered, letting the spell Scarlett had taught her seep into the burn across his chest. And then she realized.

Ada had gone to the horse first. While her father lay in the road.

She jerked toward him, but he was unconscious. Or dead. He hadn't seen her error. Dropping Alexios' reins, she hurried to him, glancing at the guards to see if anyone had noticed. If Richard had seen her attend to his horse and not himself, he would be angry, and he would take that anger out on Christian and Charity — to hurt Ada.

Swearing fluidly under her breath, she knelt in the dirt and lifted his head to her lap. He breathed, and she found herself releasing a pent-up breath of her own. Should she wish for his death? Probably. But he was her father and she could not. Despite everything, she loved him very much.

Christian appeared beside her, flames already warming his palms. Unlike Edren battle spells, Carules healing spells came from the palms and there were no sparks. More like a mist. Ada joined him, letting her own magic join his. Richard's eyes fluttered open and Ada killed her flames, unwilling to let him try to take that away from her, too.

“Are you alright now, Daddy?” she asked, forcing concern into her voice. She looked away, because her eyes would tell him the truth.
I cared more about your horse than you
.

“Yes. Yes, I'm alright,” he muttered. Christian offered his hand, and pulled Richard to a sitting position. “These old bones can't take a fall like they used to.”

Ada smiled. Her father was far from old. “It is too bad there isn't a spell that keeps us young, isn't it?”

Richard's face lit up. “There isn't yet.” He waved his finger near her face and she blinked, completely confused. “Just give me time, Ada girl.” Christian pulled him to his feet and he stumbled to his horse. He struggled to mount, his arms shaking under his own weight. Christian glanced at Ada before turning to give her father a leg up into the saddle. Richard rode away without a word or backward glance, urging the great horse to stretch his legs and run.

Ada, still kneeling on the ground, looked from the cloud of dust he left behind to Christian, who returned to pull her to her feet. “What was that all about?”

“I do believe you've given him an idea for new experiments.” Christian's voice was grim. Too grim, and Ada shivered.

“I hope you are wrong.”

Her horse waited patiently, eating grass along the side of the road. “Did you find who attacked him?” she asked as she swung herself into the saddle. She refused to ride like a lady and showed far too much ankle to be appropriate. She didn't care.

Davis rode up next to her. “An assassin, I suppose. We must have missed him in the battle.”

From Davis's other side, Harrison's dark face split into a dangerous grin. “We did not miss him this time.”