Page 41 of War Mage

“Welcome home, commander,” she says, her voice throaty and full of promise.

I pause at the vision of Adara, at the longing those imagined words bring to me. Is this truly what I want? The mage in my space, invading my place of peace? Why does it feel more complete than it has in the past with her here? In my vision, my eyes glance to her wrist, where my mating bite is clearly visible, instead of hidden under her manacles. In the edges of my awareness, my Mating Instinct rumbles with approval at the sight and urges me to make this a reality. Then, before I have a chance to wonder what it all means, as if from a great distance away, I feel a gentle touch on my cheek and the absence of the painful touch on my chest, which brings my mind back to the present.

Adara is in front of me, worry on her face, her hand cupping my cheek as she searches my face. Her long hair still tickles against my arm and her other hand is on my thigh to steady herself. “I’m finished. Are you well?”

My mind is still full of thoughts of her, troubled that apparently to feel at peace my mind must conjure her, but I mentally shake off my unquiet. I also ignore how right it feels to have her touch me, to have her physical presence so close. “I am well. I was in my sanctuary and didn’t feel you as you worked.” I do not mention that a vision of her was in my sanctuary as well, a version of her where she was trulymine.

Now that I am back to my senses though, the newly burned brand throbs and aches deeply on my chest. The agony of the brand serves to distract me from my realization that I subconsciously long for the mage. I can feel that its effect has reactivated as well, my pain heightened from what it should be. The brand and my other wounds, like the bites on my neck and wrist, threaten to take my breath. But I know that any change in my breathing or sound of pain would distress Adara, who already did not want to burn me, so I use my iron control to keep silent and my breathing even.

She murmurs, oblivious to my thoughts, “I tried to go quickly and not burn you more than necessary, but—”

“You did well, Adara,” I interrupt her guilty speech. “You did what had to be done and that’s all that matters.”

“I’ve killed on the battlefield before,” she says, her voice shaking. “But that was always from a distance and unavoidable. Kill or be killed. And I gave them as quick of deaths I could manage. I’ve never harmed another creature so deliberately. I—”

“It wasn’t harm,” I break in again, my voice firm, even as the symbol on my chest throbs, even the air touching it seeming like too much. “You wouldn’t have been able to use your powers on me if it was, remember? This was necessary to protect your secret and the mission. I am strong enough to bear it.”

That statement seems to distract her from her guilt and horror for a moment as she rolls her eyes at me. “Has this all been about how strong you are? I already knew orcs were strong; you didn’t have to prove it.”

“Unfortunately,” I reply gravely, “I think I’ll have to prove it many more times before this journey is through.”

I regret my observation though as soon as I say it, as it sobers Adara again, that teasing light going out of her eyes.

“Will he brand you again, do you think?” Adara finally asks, her face still close to mine, her gaze holding mine.

I shake my head. “He said that the brand’s magic will be active as long as it's fresh and brands take a long while to heal. Six weeks at least on most creatures. As an orc I might heal a little faster, but we are only a week of travel away from Evernight. Once we get there, we’ll execute the mission and escape, so this brand should be the only one he gives me, gods willing.”

“But he is a sadist,” the mage points out. “He could give you another just because he can.”

“Then I will handle that when it happens,” I reply. “I am a trained agent of the Crown, I can bear a little pain.”

Though, this is more than a little pain and we both know it. We are silent for a few moments, our situation hanging heavy between us, so I change the subject.

“You should practice picking your lock some more,” I say, still mindful to be quiet, even though I can’t hear any guards close to the wagon. “Before we try to sleep. You need to master it before we get to Evernight.”

“I succeeded earlier while you were incapacitated,” she retorts, pushing her delicate ankle out from under her skirts to show it to me. I try not to think too hard about how arousing her bare ankle is to me, her dark tan skin smooth and unblemished. My Mating Instinct is going to drive me insane if I am so drawn to even her ankle.

“That was well done,” I say, banishing my wayward thoughts. “But you need to master picking the lock so that you can do it like it's second nature, not rely on luck. You need it to be a reliable skill that you can do quickly, even in suboptimal circumstances.”

Adara frowns at my words. “Fine. I’ll practice. But just to show you that Icando it.”

“I would be more than happy for you to show me that,” I say honestly.

Adara pulls the open cuff out from under her skirt, before wrapping it once more around her ankle and closing it. I dislike seeing the proof of her imprisonment on her body, but I don’t react as she starts trying to pick the lock once more with the two pieces of wire. When it doesn’t immediately open with her fiddling, she grunts in annoyance.

“I swear to the gods, it opened before when I twisted it like this . . .” she trails off as she focuses on her shackle.

I observe her technique for a moment and then shake my head. “You need to keep the first piece still until you’ve lifted the pins,thenyou twist. If you twist from the beginning you are just getting in the way of the other wire.”

“I bet this would be easier if you had actual lock picks,” grouses the mage as she takes my correction. “If you were going to smuggle in a tool, why didn't you just bring in the real thing?”

“Lock picks are a crutch,” I return evenly, not offended by her frustration. “They are unnecessary for most simple locks. Two pieces of wire are easier to hide because they can mold with the shape of your clothing or hair. And if they are found during a search, wire is a lot more innocuous and easily explained than a set of lock picks.”

“Alright, fine,” she retorts. “You win, spymaster. Doesn’t change the fact that it’s difficult to do with just these little bits.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” I say logically. “You are clever and your fingers nimble. It’s just a matter of practice.”

“Hmm . . .” grunts Adara, digging one piece of wire into where the pins and tumblers are. This time she keeps the piece that she’s using as a torsion wrench still as she moves the pins. After a moment there’s a slight click and the cuff falls off.

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