Chapter Sixteen

The remainder of the morning bled into the afternoon, and it was mostly spent reassuring Hawkins, Mrs. Hook, the cook, and the remainder of the small staff that Verve and Fenn would be fine without them. And, more importantly, the house would be fine as well.

Beneath the thin facade of amiability, Verve’s anxiety bubbled, looking for release. The new muting Fenn had put on her powers felt like it would slip at any moment. At one point, when Mrs. Hook alluded to Verve’s younger years and how they foreshadowed what would surely become of the place, should she be left unmanaged, Verve had to leave the room before she lit something on fire. As it was, she had just made it to her room when a blaze erupted in her palms, burning nothing but the air it consumed.

Light footsteps sounded in the hall, and her door creaked open. “Verve?” Fenn hastily closed the door and leaned back against it, regarding her. “Your temper is close to the surface today. Perhaps you should let me deal with the staff.”

Verve closed her fists and opened them again. Out, go out, stop burning, she thought. That only made the flames leap up. The air reeked of burned coffee and bitter chocolate. She held out her hands, a silent call for help.

“Close your eyes and take a deep, calming breath. Focus on the fire receding deep down inside you, where your blood extinguishes it.”

She made a face. “That sounds gruesome.” But she tried it anyway. When she opened her eyes, the flames were gone but there was still smoke. “Thanks.” Her gaze anxiously brushed the blade hanging from his side and then moved on to look at the floor. Of course he was still wearing it. It would be foolish of him to leave it alone for a minute. I hope he doesn’t wear it to bed.

Fenn’s lips twitched, but a smile didn’t come to full realization. “I’m going to see the staff off. I’ll claim you have a headache or some other nonsense.” He turned and opened the door. “You’ll be all right alone?”

Verve felt her pulse pounding behind her left eye. Why wouldn’t she be all right alone? Though, when she came to think of it, Fenn hadn’t left her alone for more than a minute the entire day so far. It was almost as if he were afraid of her running off and leaving him. Maybe he just truly cares, thought the fair part of her mind. Her eyes slid down to the dagger and then away again. “I’ll be fine.”

Fenn looked back over his shoulder for a moment before nodding and quitting the room. When he was gone, Verve crept toward the door connecting their rooms, listened, and then sneaked into his quarters.

His bed was made, and the whole room smelled of him: limes, lemons, bergamot. It hit her with such force that her chest tightened. She waited a few beatings of her heart, listening to him talk to the servants downstairs, then she moved lithely to the corner where sat a hope chest. On top of the chest lay his cloak, her cloak, and the bag of feathers he had purchased before they were married.

Without hesitation, she untied the parcel and removed a fistful of feathers, which she pocketed. She paused, listening. The chatter downstairs had quieted, and the outside door was opening.

Verve hastily tied the parcel closed and put it approximately where she had found it. There were footsteps on the stairs, and she knew he most likely could hear her heart beating…in the wrong room. Sure enough, the doorknob to his room turned, and Verve snatched up her cloak.

When he entered, his eyes flashed briefly before he afforded her a perplexed look. “The staff took some convincing, but I managed to bewitch them. They’ll have no memory of us being here.”

“Oh, good,” said Verve, as though it were perfectly natural for her to be standing there with her cloak in the stifling heat of the room.

For the second time that day, Fenn’s lips twitched. “Your cloak could use mending.”

“Washing,” Verve said. “It stinks to high heaven.”

Without warning, it went sailing out of her hands and into Fenn’s. “Don’t bother with that. I’ll take care of it.”

She blinked at him stupidly. He thinks I was going to run off. As if I would have thought to stop and grab a cloak first. “Oh, thank you.” The feathers sat in her pocket like hot lead. She hoped he wouldn’t notice any missing. Not that he would immediately guess what she was up to.

Fenn folded his arms across his chest and raised his eyebrows. “Do you need to talk about anything?”

“No.” Perhaps she said it too hastily, for Fenn did not look at all convinced.

“Don’t worry about your family, Verve. Dacre isn’t going to harm them. That’s not in his best interest.”

She nodded, her jaw clenched. “It’s not that he would harm them on purpose, but…what about the mental damage he could do?” The words had slipped out, and she at once wished she could draw them back. Verve shifted her weight and turned back toward the door. Before she could make it into her room, Fenn was upon her. For one strange moment, she thought he might empty her pockets, that he somehow knew what she planned to magic them into, but instead he wrapped his arms around her and drew her into his chest. They both stiffened at the same time.

“I’m sorry. It was impulsive of me,” he said, releasing her, though not stepping out of her personal space.

The air around her was charged, as though there were some great storm approaching. Her whole body tingled with awareness of his closeness, of his scent. “Right,” Verve said, trying to clear her thoughts. “I’ll just be next door….” Idiot, where else would you be?

Fenn cleared his throat. “I’ll be near if you need me.”

Without looking back, she hurried into her room and shut the door behind her, breathing hard. Her hand automatically moved to lock the door, but she hesitated. He wouldn’t break in on her. Even if he smells my magic? Not that a lock would do much against keeping Fenn from entering if he wanted to.

I have no choice, she told herself. If Fenn wasn’t going to use the Cunning Blade, then she would have to get it away from him. And that was where the feathers came in.

Verve wasted no time in moving to the vanity table in the corner. She plopped down on the round seat and pulled the wad of feathers from her pocket. After separating one from the bunch, she set the handful aside and studied the white fluffy plume in her hand.

You are going to become a knife. A knife that looks and feels exactly like the one Fenn has at his side. Verve closed her eyes and imagined the feather transforming itself into what she wanted it to, and then she searched for a feeling, one of desperation, and pushed it from her chest, down her arm, into her hand, and into the feather…which at once caught fire. Verve coughed on the coffee-scented smoke as the plume crumpled into ash in her hand.

As expected, there was an urgent knock on the adjoining door. “Verve?” He sounded so concerned, she felt guilty for planning to trick him…almost.

These are means to a good end. “I’m fine. My temper just keeps getting the better of me.” She brushed her hands on her trousers, picked up another feather, and studied it. Where had she gone wrong?

“Are you sure?”

“You think I’m lying?”

There was a pause and then a sigh. “Maybe you should sit near the fireplace. Any sparks you create would be well contained.”

I should have thought of that. “Right.”

“Please, let me know if you need help.”

I need you to teach me how to transform a feather into a knife so I can betray you. “I will.” Verve gathered up her feathers and moved to the ground before the fireplace, where she sat. With her hands over the grate, Verve again closed her eyes, visualized the feather’s transformation, and pushed her feelings into it. This time it did not immediately burst into flames but grew unbearably hot. She dropped it with a tiny yelp. It glowed blue and fell onto the ashes before her. Then it ignited. Well, perhaps that’s a start.

* * *

Verve sat on the hard, cold floor for hours, trying and making very little progress toward transforming a feather. The first thirteen all ended in flame and ash. The fourteenth turned into something that looked like a dead moth and smelled like pickled herring. She gagged and this time lit it on fire on purpose, hoping to get rid of the stench. That did not end well. Verve ended up opening the window, trying to clear the room of smoke and the smell. She sensed rather than heard Fenn sitting on the other side of the door, worrying about her.

The fifteenth feather shriveled into nothing, and the sixteenth vanished altogether. Verve’s patience was quickly wearing thin, as was her handful of feathers. She knew she wouldn’t get another chance to sneak into his room and steal more, but her plan depended on it. It had been so easy with the tree swing she had made for the hawthorn. Why was this so difficult?

Feathers seventeen, eighteen and nineteen turned blue and would do nothing else, despite how much she coaxed them. She had ten left.

The twentieth feather turned into glass. Verve stared at it in wonder for a moment, before coming to her senses and transforming it into a tiny piece of rough burlap. And like the previous two feathers, it seemed it had reached its transformative limits.

Disgusted with herself, she reached for the next feather, this time putting all her anger into her magic. When she opened her eyes, she was on the ground and Fenn was shaking her shoulder. “W-what happened?”

“You exhausted yourself is what happened,” said Fenn, lifting her and bearing her toward the bed.

Her mouth was dry, her tongue thick and wooly. She looked around Fenn, to see what she had created, and was disappointed to find a large scorch mark on the ground. “I can explain.”

Fenn quirked a half smile as he gently set her down on the mattress. “You really shouldn’t try transformative magic by yourself right now. Agitated fae often only create damage – to themselves and property. Here.” He propped her head up and poured water from the jug by her bedside into a glass, which he helped her imbibe from.

“I was trying to make a cloak like you did from the blanket,” she lied as he set the glass aside.

He shook his head. “You don’t have to tell me what you were trying to make. It’s none of my business.” He gave her a stern look. “But I can’t have you continuing. You’re just going to hurt yourself.”

“What about it being none of your business?” she snapped.

“You are very much my business.” To her surprise, he leaned down and planted a long kiss on her left cheek. “I’m taking the feathers. Please don’t look for them again.” His eyes lingered on her lips before he drew back and left her.

Verve sat up, but she at once grew lightheaded and had to return her head to the pillow. So much for her plan to steal the knife and replace it with a duplicate. She cursed herself for not trying to feed calmer emotions into the feather, but none could be found inside her at the moment. All she was made of was tight knots of panic and bubbling rage.

Fenn’s racing heart announced his return more loudly than the creaking floorboards. “Nightfall is a few hours away.” He approached her slowly, and she was startled to see he was no longer disguising his magic. “Might I remain with you ’til then? ’Til I deliver the letters, that is?” His eyes were so dark, Verve would think he was angry if she didn’t know better.

Her own heart leapt, but she attributed it to the new plan that she had begun to cobble together. “All right.”

Fenn was out of place in the small, fancy room. He was the wilds, the untamed moors. In his eyes she saw raw power that was barely contained and could spill out at any moment, but she was not as afraid as she knew she should be. He moved to sit on the seat by the vanity table, but Verve found her courage and said, “You don’t have to sit that far away.”

Oh, he liked that implied invitation, the glowing of his skin told her that. He prowled toward her, his movements lithe and slow.

She had known since yesterday that he had quickly fallen in love with her, but why was he openly showing her his desire? He had kept that to himself, curse him, until after the binding had taken place. He’s trying to take your mind off your troubles, Verve realized. She could have laughed, but instead a low whimper escaped her lips as he sank onto the bed next to her. They were inches apart. Verve could reach out and take the knife, but she was distracted by his sudden closeness as he lay down beside her, not touching still but looking very much like he wanted to.

Her face blossomed with a heat that was also creeping in her belly. “What are you doing?” Verve had meant to keep her tone cold, but instead it came out a weak whisper.

“You may turn me away if you please. But you are my wife, and it would not be wholly inappropriate for us to be together.” He reached for her face, but instead of taking hold of it, he ensnared a lock of her hair and coiled it loosely around his fingers.

Verve swallowed; her bones turned to jelly. This would be the perfect opportunity to snatch the blade. Her heart picked up its pace not at the thought of her deception but at the way his eyes drifted from hers to her lips and then to the swell of her breasts. “All right.”

His eyes returned to hers and his glow intensified. “It’s all right to touch you?”

She nodded, and at once found herself being gathered into Fenn’s embrace. With her back pressed against him, it was impossible not to notice the firm, muscular plain of his chest. Even through his clothing he was obviously powerful.

He draped his left arm over her and let it rest on her collarbone. The other arm he moved beneath her, and his right hand found her stomach. His touch sent a jolt through her. “If you wish me to stop or release you, tell me and I will.” With that said, he buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply.

Soon, her thoughts became incoherent, her plans jumbled. His touch was everything in the circle of his arms. Verve waited to feel trapped, for her heart to race for a different reason. That moment never came.

Fenn was gentle yet persistent in his attentions, kissing her neck, stroking the hollow of her throat, and then nipping her ear. It was apparent he was holding back, reading her and acting on every bit of new information her body gave him.

Her skin prickled beneath his eager hands, his power washing through her in hot waves, weaving itself into her bones, making her even more his. Suddenly, she felt the inequity of the situation and squirmed.

He froze and opened his arms, allowing her freedom. Instead, she turned around to face him and placed her hands on his chest. They lay like this for some time, him watching her, her eyes exploring him.

At length, he dipped his head down to hers, and their lips met. He drew her closer with a moan, shifting his weight so she was beneath him.

Verve’s wandering right hand brushed his stomach and traveled in search of his hip, but instead connected with something cold and leathery. A jolt went through her arm and she heard a voice in her mind say, “At last!”

As one in a dream, her hand closed around the leather-wrapped pommel of the knife. The leather melted beneath her touch. At once her palm grew unbearably cold, now touching the hilt of the blade.

Fenn shifted his weight again, apparently unaware of what was happening. “Is this all right, my love?” He kissed her throat again and again, but she could not respond, could not move.

Cold had taken over her entire body. Could he not feel how very frigid her skin had become? Then, white lightning flashed behind her closed eyelids and lit her whole body on fire.

With a shout, Fenn was thrown off the bed and against the wall, and Verve shook mightily with a seizure, the blade still in her hand. She could see through her closed eyelids, through the walls and into the distance. A storm was raging in Letorheas. She saw into that realm as clearly as she saw Fenn lying motionless on the floor.

A scream formed on her lips, one that only came out as a whimper.

“You desire not power, so power you shall have,” said the cold voice. “She wades ’neath shallow shores….”

There was no water, yet Verve was drowning in power. It pulled her under and pushed all the air out of her burning lungs.

“Child of flame….”

Power filled her soul, though she fought helplessly against its burn.

“Of blade and bone….”

Power wove itself into her bones and rippled through her skin.

“The once-brittle child, O she of middling ground.”

In her hand, the Cunning Blade broke into a million pieces; the metal now was nothing but silver dust. Slowly, the pain ebbed and the burning sensation subsided. A ringing sound filled her ears, as though there had been some great, loud explosion that her hearing was attempting to recover from.

Verve groaned and sat up, her eyes going at once to Fenn, who was returning to consciousness. “What happened?” he said, his voice shaky. Then he looked at Verve and squinted. His face paled. Whatever he saw made him shoot to his feet and throw up his hands in defense.

“Fenn, what are you doing?” she said, trying to laugh. Her voice filled the room, echoed off the walls, though she had barely whispered. She swallowed when he drew power into his hands. “You’re acting like you don’t know me.” There, she sounded more like herself.

He hesitated, then awareness dawned on him and he let his hands drop. “You touched the blade.” His tone was harsh.

Verve flinched.

“And it accepted you.”

She leapt out of bed and nearly skidded into the window before stopping herself. “Fenn, it was an accident. I didn’t mean— Well, I wanted to, but I didn’t—”

“You could have killed yourself!” he shouted. “That blade has only one master and if you had not been chosen, it would have destroyed you just for touching it.”

Her own temper rose to meet his. “Maybe if you had told me that, I would have avoided it entirely.” Sparks flew from her accusing finger, which she drew back and stuck in her mouth. It was what she imagined sucking on lit gunpowder might be like. She sniffed, smelling the tang of burned sugar. So, her residual burst had changed.

Fenn closed his eyes and shook his head. “Would you have avoided it, though?”

“Of course,” Verve snarled, and the whole room vibrated with her rage.

Apparently fascinated, Fenn looked at her again, his head cocked to the side. This did nothing more than make Verve’s fury intensify, so he quickly raised his hands. “All right. Verve, please, calm down.”

The way Fenn looked at her, like she was some wild, dangerous creature he desired to tame, made her bolt. She ran past him, down the stairs, out the door. Never before had she shown such speed, but Verve was too frightened to marvel at it. Soon she reached the protective boundaries Fenn had set up, and it was only then that she paused and thought through her actions.

That was all the time her husband needed to sneak up and cast a magical rope around her, effectively thwarting any chance of fleeing farther. “No, don’t struggle, my love. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Much to Verve’s relief, Fenn no longer looked angry, just amused and some other emotion he strove to hide. The indignity of being lassoed like some wayward calf made Verve growl.

Fenn smiled softly and planted his feet. “I’m sorry I yelled,” he offered, reeling her toward him. He swore. “Goodness, but you’re beautiful. And strong, brave….” His voice broke around the words, his eyes dark with desire.

Verve huffed, an impatient noise that she hoped masked her alarm. “What’s changed?” He’d always looked at her with longing, something she’d just recognized for what it was. This was different, new. The way Fenn looked at her was beyond desirous. It turned her bones to fire, and the very blood in her veins seemed to sing. Gone were her fears and uncertainty. Whatever this new intensity was about, Verve hoped it wouldn’t end.

“Like a moth to the flame,” he said, closing the gap between them. “Verve, love, I’m yours. You can stop now.” Even after the words had left him, Fenn pressed his lips to her throat, just as she wished he would.

Verve’s eyes fluttered closed and she imagined the many things she would like him to do to her just there beneath the stars.

Fenn’s deep, erotic chuckle broke the daze, and Verve was surprised to find herself with her right palm facing him, her thumb bent in toward her little finger. A stream of golden light flowed down from her fingertips and into Fenn’s chest, which had lit up like the midday sun.

Horrified, she let her hand drop, and with it, the unintentional spell broke. “W-what just happened?”

Thankfully, Fenn didn’t seem any the worse for wear. “Why don’t we go inside and discuss things.” He held out a hand and she took it after a moment of hesitation.

Evening was upon them, and the sky was overcast, obfuscating what remained of the day’s light. Insects keened and glowworms glistened. The air was thick with the unfulfilled promise of rain as they walked in silence back toward the house.

Power thrummed in Verve’s chest, sang in her veins, making her feel like a loaded gun waiting to go off. Every sound grew louder and louder, her ears pricking and her head throbbing with the songs of birds she knew only sang in the morning hours. Voices belonging to people she could not see laughed and shouted in her ears. Verve looked around for the sources, expecting to see herself and Fenn surrounded, but her eyes picked up nothing in the near distance but trees and shrubs and the house. Unbidden, her gaze homed in on the house and it was all she could see, then it homed in even farther to a single plank of painted wood, whose color was fading.

“Is everything all right?” Fenn asked, his voice sending a shock through her body.

Verve blinked and she no longer saw the house but through it, to the forest and fields beyond. There was a fox stalking its prey, waiting for the right moment to tear into the rabbit with its sharp canine teeth.

“You’re shaking.”

At once the world went topsy-turvy and she was swept into Fenn’s arms. She kept her eyes firmly shut, wary of what else she might see. Before she knew it, she was back on the bed in the guest room, and a fire had been lit in the grate. She could see the flames dancing pink from behind her eyelids.

The mattress dipped beneath Fenn’s weight next to her, and his cool fingers stroked through her hair. “Are you tired?”

She turned her head toward his voice. In her mind’s eye she could see him looking down at her, his brow puckered with concern. “I saw too much,” was all she could think to say.

His frown intensified. “How do you mean?” When she was silent, he touched her arm. “Verve, you absorbed an enormous amount of power. It’s all right to feel overwhelmed.” He stroked her face, and she leaned into his palm.

Her eyes snapped open and she saw two images simultaneously: Fenn giving her an encouraging smile and her own almost-black eyes set in a face of writhing silver. Shaking, Verve lifted a hand to her cheek. It felt no different. It must be a hallucination, the image of herself she was seeing. She shook her head. “What do I look like? Am I very different?”

Fenn stilled. “Yes, but you’ll learn to control how much of your power others can see.” He kissed her brow.

Verve’s teeth chattered, though she wasn’t cold. She yawned, though she wasn’t tired. Energy pulsed beneath her skin. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could tear the entire house down with a flick of her finger, and the thought made her tremble.

“Will you be all right if I leave for a moment? I have some herbs that might help you.”

As he started to pull away, Verve’s hand shot out and grabbed him around his wrist. “Don’t leave.”

“I’ll only be a moment,” he said, his voice rough with pain.

Verve loosened her grip on him, and he sighed in apparent relief. “What would the herbs do?”

Fenn tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “They’ll help you relax and rest.” Gently, he extricated himself from her grasp, and she let him go. Normally, he moved with a quiet gait, his movements too soft to hear. Now, with her change in hearing, he sounded as though he were marching and the floorboards beneath him were about to collapse.

He returned a moment later with some bitter-smelling plants and a kettle he had no doubt taken from the kitchen below. With a steady hand he poured steaming water into a mug and added the herbs after first bruising them between his fingers to release more of their fragrance.

“Fenn?”

His head snapped up as he stirred the contents of the mug. “Hmm?”

The words stuck in her throat for a moment, but they needed saying, though she knew they would hurt him. “I was going to take the blade from you at some point, even though this time was more an accident.” He opened his mouth but she rushed on, her words pouring out one after the other in a torrent. “I took the feathers to make a decoy blade, which I was hoping to swap out with the real thing.”

Fenn nodded. “I know.”

She sank back onto the pillow, her body weak with relief. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be. I know you’d do anything for your family, and that’s admirable.” His countenance told Verve that Fenn felt he had said something he wished he hadn’t. He cleared his throat and stared down at the brew he was making. “Tomorrow we’ll test your new abilities and I’ll try to help you control them.”

Verve wanted to groan and insist against it, as she had never asked for any of this. She knew, however, that she needed to learn.

Fenn rose and approached her with the mug, which he placed in her hands. “I could add some sugar to take the edge off the bitterness, if you would like.”

She shook her head and sniffed the infusion. Lavender and valerian root were the only familiar scents. The others were woody, earthy, and bitter. “Thanks.”

“It’s hot, so be careful.”

Instead of listening, she downed the hot drink in four large gulps. She could tell that the liquid was boiling hot, but it did not burn or hurt going down her throat. At once her muscles relaxed and sleep tugged at her eyes.

Her husband leaned down and kissed her brow. “If I’m gone when you wake, stay where you are, all right?”

The words tugged her eyes back open, but not for long. “Where are you going?” she said, her words running one into another.

Fenn settled down next to her. “Shh. I’m not going anywhere right now. Just rest.” He took her wrist between his calloused fingers and stroked her pulse with his thumb.

In the silence that followed, Verve tried to rouse herself, but the herbs in her system had a different plan. Her breathing slowed. Her blood pumped sluggishly through her veins. And she fell into a deep, terror-filled sleep.