Page 40 of The Bound Mage
“They looked at me like I could—” Loren trailed off, staring down at the shadows that drifted around his feet. “The Veil isn’t the same thing, El. And I’m not Father. I can’t...” He shook his head, rubbing the shadowmark that wound around his arm through his shirt. “I don’t want to give them false hope.”
“You aren’tfalsehope,” Eloria answered, more fiercely than he’d expected. “You survived twenty fiveyearsof torture, Loren. Youescapedand came here. People need to know you’re alive, that you’re here and fighting for them. As for the shadows?—”
“I don’t want to talk about her,” Loren cut her off. The shadows hissed softly, the bond twisting like a knife in his chest, demanding that he go to her.
Eloria was quiet for a long moment. “Eryn said you compelled her to hold a knife to her throat—then almost killed him when he stepped in.”
Loren barked out a bitter laugh. “That’s a generous interpretation of his role.”
“He’s trying to cast you as unstable,” Eloria warned. “The incomplete mate bond doesn’t do you any favors?—”
“I said I don’t want to talk about her.” He stood, not waiting for her to dismiss him. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
But of course theshadows didn’t leave it there.
He couldn’t escape them, not even in his own rooms. They pressed close, tugging and pushing, whispering with a hundred fractured voices that all carried the same demand. The bondached, stretched too thin by the distance between them. He’d grown used to the heat of her fury, the bitter sting of her mistrust. But now…the silence where she used to be was so much worse.
Loren dragged both hands through his hair, pacing the confines of his chamber as the shadows crowded tighter, urging him toward her. But he couldn’t shake the memory of her eyes, full of terror as she collapsed in a sobbing heap on the floor, the knife falling from her hand. What monster had she seen when she looked at him?
Still, he couldn’t help himself.
Loren sank down on the edge of the bed, pressing his palms against his eyes. It was easy to reach for her—easy to follow that thin, hollow thread across the miles that separated them. The ache eased for the barest moment as his mind brushed hers, a ghost of the connection they’d shared before. It wasn’t enough. It never was. But it was all he could allow himself.
He would never let anyone hurt her again. Not even himself.
Chapter
Sixteen
Araya madeit two more days before she broke.
It was boredom that finally wore her down, driving her to seek Thorne out in the skeletal remains of the garden. She found him sitting on a bench under a bower of gnarled vines, his head bowed over a sheaf of papers filled with flowing Valenya script.
“You made it,” he said. “I’m so glad you found the time?—”
“Don’t patronize me.” Araya crossed her arms, glaring at him. “Just tell me what you expect me to do out here.”
“Well, I think it makes the most sense to start by walking the wall.” Thorne stood, tucking his papers away. “It never hurts to check the wards.”
“The wall isn’t warded.” Araya stared at him, frowning. “There aren’t any runes.”
“You might be surprised.” Thorne grinned. “Come on—this will be fun.”
Thorne had an interesting definition offun, Araya decided when they were halfway around the wall. As far as she could tell, checking the wards involved nothing but running a hand along the stones.
“It’s ancient magic,” Thorne said when they stopped for water. “Designed to protect the castle from intruders. Theintention was set a long time ago, but sometimes the stones have to be reminded.”
“So it doesn’t need any sort of anchor or focus?” Araya studied the stones, intrigued despite herself. “But how does it get power? I thought this place was abandoned?”
“Oh, it absorbs aether from the world around it,” Thorne capped the waterskin, passing it back to her. “That’s why thezal’vorraren’t breaking down our doors every night.”
“That’s not how magic works,” Araya protested. “You can’t justtellthings what to do and expect it to hold.”
“You’d be surprised,” was all Thorne said, his lips twitching like he was hiding a smile.
The next day he had her hauling water. She pulled bucket after bucket up from a tucked away well, her palms burning from the rough rope and her arms and shoulders screaming from the effort. Her hair escaped its braid, sweat plastering it to her face and neck.
“You know there are easier ways to do this,” she grumbled, groaning as she pulled up the next bucket. “There’s running water inside. I don’t see why this is even necessary?—”
