The halls of Chatham Castle had never felt like an escape before. Today, he gratefully retreated to the chaos.
Leaving Isadora sleeping soundly in their bed, her wispy breaths gentle as a sigh, had been more arduous than expected. The urge to curl his body around hers, pull her close, and memorize the smell of her hair had required all his control not to satisfy. Isadora had no idea how much he longed to be at her side, tucked into Wildrose, with nowhere else to go.
Coward, he told himself with biting animosity.
The truth stung.
Though he had finally admitted a desire to keep her with him in maintenance of their handfasting, kissed her until every iota of his soul responded, he hadn’t said half of what he felt. Nor the history of caring for her that he shored up in his most secret mind.
She had agreed to . . . be his . . . for all intents and purposes, without him telling her the full, terrifying truth.
That she was breath.
Soul.
The stirring power in his hollow, dormant heart. Isadora had been almost ever-present, with him as long as the magic.
She had no idea.
The words tangled in his throat when he thought them. He’d be a bumbling mess if he tried to speak them. Now, he had no idea what to do.
How did one build a life around—or with—another witch?
The question occupied half his attention, leading to poorly executed replies to letters, a judgmental look from his Assistant, Wally, for whom he couldn’t answer a straight question, and too many dazed-out stares at the desk.
Charlie’s bright smile and bouncing eyes greeted him when he returned from a meeting with the new Eastern Network Ambassador. The High Priest waited in Max’s office. Halfway through the doorway, Max paused.
Charlie’s grin widened.
“Max.”
“Charlie,” he drawled.
A stack of rolled parchments hovered about Max’s desk, forming a floating hexagonal tower that could only be from Charlie. Not another political witch in all of Alkarra would use a spell to stack parchments into a design just for fun.
Charlie stood with his hands behind his back, brow high in expectation. The carroty red color of his hair gleamed like illuminated copper in the sunlight that slanted through the open windows. He wore a green velvet jacket today, and a freshly-pressed pinstripe vest of gold and black.
“Well?” Charlie drawled. “How is your bride?”
Max scowled. “None of your business.”
Charlie laughed. “Based on the lack of fury behind your glare, she must have agreed to stay.”
Max paused, then nodded once.
“If Isadora refused you outright, you’d be surly as a forest lion. In such an event, I would feel obligated to fend your most foul manners away from Council Members.”
“You’re lying.”
“I am.” Charlie chuckled again. “If Council Members can’t handle your disposition, they have no business working for the Central Network. In the meantime, I’m hungry to know what she said.”
“She agreed. She also wanted to remain handfasted.”
Charlie’s jaw dropped.
Max ignored him and plucked the top scroll off the pile. The rest of them clattered to the desktop in a neat rectangle.
When he realized Max had no intention of explaining further, the High Priest rallied himself with admirable aplomb. He cleared his throat, doing a terrible job of suppressing a smile.
“Well, Max. I’m happy to hear that, my friend.”
“Thank you.”
“Are congratulations in order for the happy couple? Or are we pretending that life shall continue on as before without any change?”
The tentative note of searching in Charlie’s voice set Max’s teeth on edge. Charlie wanted to know something else.
But what?
What could he possibly be thinking? Dodging would be the best policy for Max’s scrambled state of mind.
He pretended to regard the top parchment, but saw only a blur of words. His brain resided firmly in the halls of Wildrose with Isadora. He’d turned her loose on the stately place without him. He should be concerned.
“You may congratulate us as you wish,” he finally said.
“Then congratulations!”
“Thank you.”
Charlie studied him, bright lashes tapered. “Well, you’re handfasted. You didn’t even get a celebration. We should inform the Advocacy—”
“No.”
“Max!” Charlie rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a bore! You need to celebrate such a wonderful event. If not for yourself, for Isadora. Faye regrets that we can tell no one of our handfasting.”
“We’ve been handfasted for months.”
“All the more reason! Look what the two of you have accomplished in your time together. Saved the Network. Diverted wars. Managed to crack the secret of a magic that’s been long hidden. As far as efficient couples go, I’d say you win the prize.”
Max shot him another glare.
Charlie bit his bottom lip, then burst out laughing. “Fine, fine. You don’t have to celebrate, but . . . what are you going to do? You’ve already handfasted, lived together. You have your job and Isadora has . . . given up everything to be with you. She has no career, no friends near Wildrose, and no idea how to truly live with you.”
A cold sludge of pure panic settled in Max’s stomach. Trust Charlie to put into precise words exactly what simmered beneath the surface of his foul mood. A spoken agreement to remain handfasted was one thing, but truly committing to it was another.
Max set aside the parchment. “I don’t know what is next for both of us. Seems presumptuous to plan that myself. She was very tired yesterday. We have plans to speak at dinner tonight, after work.”
“Now that you have a wife, you’ll be eating more at home, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“Are you afraid of the word wife, Max?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? I haven’t heard you say it yet.” Merriment danced in Charlie’s eyes, brightened by the challenge. “Say it, Max. Isadora is your wife.”
“Isadora is my wife. Are you happy now?”
“Goodness, no. You sound like a forest lion. The poor woman will think you don’t like her if you keep that up.”
“Charlie—”
Charlie held up two hands. “Right, right. I’m done, Max. I won’t tease anymore, though it isn’t really teasing. You could use some softening. At any rate, I hope you figure out what’s next. Isadora’s giving up a lot for you. Just wanted to make sure you saw it.”
In fact, he hadn’t.
And Charlie knew it.
The smug sense of amusement spoke worlds. Still, Max couldn’t fault him. Charlie had insight into emotional conundrums that he never seemed to possess.
“I suppose we’ll figure that out tonight, after I give her a tour of Wildrose and explain that the Advocacy was in the basement, with headquarters.”
Charlie’s eyes bugged out. The question of you haven’t told her about Wildrose yet? lingered. Isadora had been inside headquarters once or twice when she worked for the Advocacy, though Max had been very careful not to let her know much about it. She shouldn’t know what lay beneath Wildrose.
Arguably, most Advocacy members didn’t see outside of headquarters. Few had known of Wildrose’s immediate connection to the society until all exploded when East Guards attacked Charlie and Faye outright. Max had been careful to hide Wildrose from Isadora. He didn’t know why.
Didn’t want to think about it, either.
Charlie wisely wrestled back his astonishment and channeled it into a nod.
“Very good. Well, you know where to find me, should you need anything. I’ll be in my office, pretending to write official letters while secretly messaging Faye and deciding who to establish as Council Member. Now that we have a High Priestess, things will be smoother. Come by if you need anything!”
With a duck, a wave, and a flash of red, Charlie headed out the door. Max braced both hands on his desk, hung his head, and exhaled. The good gods help him.
What had he gotten into?