Bright Familiar by Jeffe Kennedy
~ 16 ~
Gabriel bit back the impulse to immediately refuse and send the lot of them far, far away from House Phel. He also wished very much that he could consult with Nic on the question. She hadn’t anticipated any of this, he knew, or she’d have coached him on how to respond. And she couldn’t help him now, having assumed proper Convocation demeanor for a familiar, all meek and being seen and not heard. There was an ominous stiffness to her silence, however, her magic very contained, so it seemed likely something wasn’t right with this offer. He was tempted to say that nobody else’s mommy had brought them to apply, but that would be unnecessarily cruel when it might not be the guy’s fault.
Jadren stared back at him unflinchingly, even defiantly. The man, who appeared to be about Gabriel’s same age or slightly older, didn’t look remotely interested in being a junior anything. “I’ll take him into consideration,” Gabriel replied, using Nic’s trick of a bland regal tone to convey nothing at all. “You brought your MP scorecard, I’m sure.” Not a question. This was the first applicant who hadn’t immediately presented his papers.
Jadren visibly clenched his jaw, the muscle there ticcing rapidly. “You can see by my eyes, Lord Phel, that I am a wizard,” Jadren replied haughtily. “And if you’re any sort of wizard yourself, you should sense my magic. You shouldn’t need more assurance than that.”
Nic shifted slightly beside him, confirming the rudeness of the interchange. She’d repeatedly assured him that the MP scores of all Convocation members were essentially public knowledge—and she’d reminded him several times that he still needed to dig through the pile of scrolls documenting the scores of all the applicant wizards. Why would Jadren refuse to provide his?
“I’m not much for Convocation laws and customs,” Gabriel replied, making his scorn clear, “but I fail to understand why a scion of a respectable High House would disdain those conventions.”
“You fail to understand a great deal,” Jadren replied, his contempt clear. “Lord Fell,” he added with a smirk.
Gabriel figured he deserved an award for his remarkable self-control in not running the snotty bastard through right then and there. Well, self-control and those creepy soldier dolls. Nic wasn’t giving him any clues, but she couldn’t. Lady El-Adrel also simply observed, as if academically interested in how the exchange would play out. It was up to him, then.
“Unfortunately,” Gabriel said, making it clear he wasn’t sorry at all, “without seeing your MP scores and associated documentation, I cannot assure myself of your compatibility in my house.” Nic had been very clear on that. “It seems your long journey is in vain.”
“Aha, Lord Phel. It seems you’re not as ignorant of Convocation customs as I’ve been led to believe,” Lady El-Adrel said smoothly, her glittering black eyes fixed on him. Potent magic in her, something to guard against, though he wondered if makers of enchanted objects could do much on the fly. She could likely command those soldiers, perhaps more. She deliberately shifted her gaze to Nic, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Someone has been tutoring you, perhaps. You see, Jadren, why I encouraged you to apply for this familiar? Not only powerful, but useful.”
Jadren stared stonily past Nic. “How nice for Lord Phel.”
“You have no familiar?” Gabriel asked, more because it seemed like an interesting sore spot to needle than because he cared.
“No,” Jadren answered tightly, giving nothing more.
“You’ve contracted other wizards without familiars, Lord Phel. I have my sources,” Lady El-Adrel added with a sly smile. “That clearly isn’t a condition of employ.”
Though the skin of his face went tight with anger that she so casually informed him he’d been spied on, Gabriel produced a thin smile of his own. “Nevertheless, I will not be offering a contract to your son.” Your spy and plant to undermine my house, he managed not to say. Nor would he offer them the hospitality of their house. He didn’t care what Nic would say about the polite social rules of that.
Lady El-Adrel didn’t look bothered by his refusal at all. In fact, her expression sharpened with anticipation, the way a warrior might when presented with the perfect opening in her opponent’s guard. “Oh, Lord Phel, I nearly forgot to mention,” she purred, extracting a dagger from a pocket of the long white coat she wore. She dangled it between thumb and forefinger, point down. “I believe this is yours?”
Nic made a small sound that likely only he could hear. Of vindication, most likely, as she had to recognize the dagger as well as he did. The silver blade he’d experimented with, bathing in moonlight as he infused it with lethal charms—completely ignorant of the Convocation and its draconian licenses that gave its houses monopolies over certain kinds of magical incantations. Despite Nic’s dire warnings of Convocation ire, he hadn’t regretted making that blade, since it had been the only thing that fully destroyed the hunters that had so mindlessly pursued Nic.
What he’d most regretted was losing it. Overboard. Into the ocean. Along with that hunter that had somehow survived. He believed the hunter’s geas had driven it to survive the drowning and continue to pursue Nic, but someone had to find that dagger.
Lady El-Adrel cocked a brow as if reading his mind. For all he knew, she could. “It was found on a barge that listed you as a previous owner. Naturally, as an enchanted artifact, it was brought to the attention of one of my wizards. Imagine my surprise! No El-Adrel trademark stamp, no maker’s mark, and it tastes of moon magic.” She curled a lip and waggled the dagger so its point ticked back and forth like a pendulum. “Naturally I thought to bring it to House Phel.”
Wanting to keep Nic free of the taint of this particular guilt, Gabriel didn’t so much as glance at her. “I didn’t realize House El-Adrel was in the courier business,” he said, making sure to sound as bored as possible. “Does House Ratsiel know?”
A slight change in Nic’s breathing and a light aroma of roses wafting against his skin hinted that his sally amused her, and that perhaps it hadn’t been entirely the wrong approach. He might not have fancy Convocation manners or Nic’s keen understanding of politics, but he’d spent enough of his youth getting into trouble that he knew to never admit to wrongdoing, even if the evidence stared you boldly in the face. Also never outright deny the accusation. You might get punished anyway, but it was always good to leave a door open to potential absolution.
Lady El-Adrel looked off over his shoulder at the manse. “I’ll make this quick, shall I, since it appears we won’t be offered the basic courtesy of refreshing ourselves.”
Gabriel said nothing, and Nic didn’t cue him any differently.
“There’s no point in you dissembling in an attempt to evade guilt,” Lady El-Adrel continued. “Nor for me to mince words. If I wanted to sic the Convocation lawyers on you, I would have the moment my people brought this to my attention.”
Ah, here it came. Some sort of blackmail, then.
She passed the blade to her familiar. The man, who shared Jadren’s coloring and bone structure, held the knife on open palms, very clearly not prepared to use it as a weapon. “You will offer a contract to Jadren here and now, to be a senior wizard in House Phel, and you will agree to tutor him in such skills as intersect with yours.” Lady El-Adrel made that sound unlikely. “And I won’t tell the Convocation of your infringement on House El-Adrel’s license.”
“And in the future?” he asked, well aware she gave no guarantees.
“You proposed a business partnership, and I accept, conditionally. I look forward to negotiating our share of whatever artifacts you and Jadren manage to develop. House El-Adrel will, naturally, produce those objects under our house license. I’m prepared to offer House Phel twenty percent of net sales.”
Nic casually slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. He didn’t need her pinch on the sensitive skin there to recognize a shitty deal when he heard one. “I’ll contract Jadren as a junior wizard in House Phel,” Gabriel countered, not above needling Jadren a bit more, though the man showed no reaction. “Given his apparent lack of quantifiable magical potential, however, it’s premature to discuss mutual profits that may never come to be. If he manages to make something worth selling, we’ll be in touch.”
Jadren visibly fumed, though his magic remained oddly amorphous. Nic didn’t pinch him again, or otherwise seem agitated, so Gabriel must not have gotten it too wrong. Lady El-Adrel drummed long gold nails against her thigh. “I’ll have evidence of your license infringement.”
“I’ll have your son,” Gabriel countered. “I wonder which of us cares most about the hostage in the other’s keeping.”
She smiled coldly. “I wonder.”
The chill of that smile gave Gabriel pause. Jadren appeared not to hear.
“Don’t cross House El-Adrel.” Lady El-Adrel plucked the blade from her familiar’s uplifted palms and slipped it back into a pocket. The warning, and searing magic, was clear in her tone. Her gaze lingered on Nic. “You will need allies, not enemies, and House Fell has a sorry history of choosing unwisely. Learn from the mistakes of your ancestors, Lord Phel.”
Gabriel didn’t bother to acknowledge that.
After a moment, Lady El-Adrel shrugged. “No kiss goodbye for your maman, Jadren?”
“Goodbye, Maman,” Jadren replied like one of his mother’s automatons, not moving to kiss her.
Her lips firmed with annoyance, but she did nothing more than flick her fingers at her familiar. Released, the man gave Jadren a hug. Jadren returned the embrace as the man who was no doubt his father whispered something in his ear before returning to Lady El-Adrel’s side, a subservient one step behind her and to the side. She turned back to the carriage.
As she climbed in, she paused with one foot on the step. “Oh, Lady Phel, I nearly forgot. Your papa gave me a message for you.” She smiled. “He asked me to tell you to drink water. I don’t know what that means, but it seems you have plenty of it here.” With a sunny smile so false Gabriel half expected it to crack her face in half, Lady El-Adrel ascended into the carriage. Her familiar bowed to them, waved to his son, and followed after, the guards joining them.
Jadren watched them leave, expression as blank as one of his mother’s creations.
Drink water.Though it was hardly the most important aspect of the alarming meeting with Lady El-Adrel, Nic fumed over that message to the point of being unable to process anything else. Drink water. Papa wasn’t sending her grapes to make wine was the clear message. The other, subtler message was that she’d chosen Gabriel and Meresin over her birth house, so she could live on that. Papa wasn’t honoring the dowry agreement either. They would get nothing from House Elal.
If she hadn’t been holding onto Gabriel’s arm, she might’ve crumpled to the ground.
“I await your instructions, Lord Phel,” Jadren said tonelessly.
Gabriel didn’t look to her for guidance, but she could sense he wanted to. “Of course,” she replied smoothly, pulling herself together and assuming the role of Lady Phel. “There are any number of suites for you to choose from. Allow me to show you the selection available. As we are in early days of the manse renovation, you’ll be able to furnish them according to your taste.”
Jadren snorted, not looking at her or otherwise acknowledging Nic’s words. He glared at Gabriel. “A nice way of saying I’ll be sleeping on the floor tonight.”
Tempting. Oh, so tempting to blithely agree, but that would only put Jadren’s nose even farther out of joint. And Gabriel seethed with fury beneath her hand. They didn’t need to make this already difficult beginning any worse. So, she smiled, adding a breathless laugh as if he’d made a joke. “I think we can drum up a straw pallet,” she replied lightly, letting him wonder if she was joking or not.
He paused. Then deliberately kept his gaze on Gabriel. “I’m grateful for whatever accommodations you can spare, Lord Phel.” He didn’t sound grateful, and his jaw was clenched, but he seemed to be sincere. “I will be a willing student, especially if you can teach me this.” He gestured at the rain shield.
Gabriel studied him, magic questing cool past her. “Have you water magic, then?”
Jadren grimaced. “I… cannot say.”
How interesting.
“Are you a spy?” Gabriel asked bluntly.
For the first time, Jadren smiled. “Of course.”
“And you can make enchanted artifacts,” Gabriel continued, as if that revelation hadn’t been noteworthy.
“That, at least, I can do.”
“Hmm.” Gabriel grunted noncommittally. He covered Nic’s hand with his. “Escort Jadren to the north wing, but find someone else to handle assigning our new minion a room and attend me. I have need of you.”
“Of course,” Nic replied, not meeting Gabriel’s searching gaze. He’d have sensed her distress. Likely he’d understood her papa’s coded message as well as she did. “Wizard Jadren, will you come with me?”
Jadren, clearly annoyed at being referred to as a minion, strode up the porch steps beside her, just enough ahead to demonstrate that he refused to follow her anywhere. The new arrivals were keeping either to the living spaces in the north wing or carving out office spaces in the south wing, so this main section was quiet enough that the pattering of rain on the roof sounded steadily from above. It made Nic realize that the rain had made no sound as it deflected off Gabriel’s magic overhead. Same as when he’d held the water back in the arcade. It appeared to be some kind of field of force, but that was an illusion. His magic lay in manipulating water, so it was more that he’d been bending the water away. Something to remember.
“This is the main section of the house,” Nic said, the tour already becoming rote. “The library is through there, which you may access with Lord Phel’s permission, and through here is—”
“Cease your chatter, familiar,” Jadren snapped. “If I want information I’ll inform you.”
Nic shut her mouth, stung. How quickly she’d become used to being treated as an equal human being.
“Elals,” Jadren muttered. “The only thing worse than an Elal is a female one.”
Tempted to point out the logical fallacy there, Nic nevertheless continued to keep her mouth shut until she passed him off to a cheerful Daisy. Hurrying back, Nic very much hoped Jadren didn’t treat her that way in front of Gabriel. Her wizard wouldn’t tolerate that, and they couldn’t afford to violate the bargain with El-Adrel by harming Jadren or running him off. Gabriel was pacing in the library, hands folded behind his back, a hint of steam in the air.
Sage and Quinn had been busy, and the tall windows that faced over the river had all been glassed in, rain sliding down them in silver rivulets. A fire had been lit and—like a miracle—a couple of cozy reading chairs now sat before it, upholstered in a damask pattern of overlapping silver crescents and full circles over deep blue. A lovely take on the House Phel crest. A matching rug designed on the same theme but predominantly featuring a full moon reflected on water lay between the chairs and cheerful fire. Dahlia had been busy, and was clearly an excellent recommendation. She said as much to Gabriel, who frowned at her.
“What are you talking about?”
“The upholstery, on the new armchairs.” Nic gestured toward it, although it wasn’t as if there was other furniture she could be talking about. “And the rug. Aren’t you pleased with how Dahlia is using the House Phel crest in her designs?”
Gabriel regarded her for a long moment. “Why are you talking to me about furniture and rugs when I know you’re upset about your father’s message?”
She wound her fingers together, knotting them an extra twist. Then she shook her head for added emphasis. “So he told me to drink water. It’s not important.”
“Nic.”
The grief burbled up in her lungs, wanting to break free in a sob. She refused to let it escape, clamping down hard and holding her breath until it starved for air. Once it sullenly subsided, she dragged in a long breath, momentarily dizzy. “I suppose we’ll be shopping for grapes in Wartson, after all,” she ventured, attempting to make a joke of it, and failing utterly, her words plopping to the floor, sodden with heartbreak.
“Nic,” Gabriel said again, but softly this time. He came to her, gently setting hands on her arms. “He’s just angry. Mostly with me.”
“Oh, now there you’re wrong,” she replied on a shuddering breath. “This anger is very pointed. I betrayed House Elal and disappointed him in the worst possible way. He’s letting me know that I’m cut off. I’m so sorry, Gabriel.” The tears wanted to well up again, so she turned her head to stare into the fire, willing it to burn the sorrow away.
“What are you sorry for?”
“I’ve jeopardized House Phel. Through my fears and foolishness, I have destroyed your financial future and your strongest bid for status in the Convocation. House Elal will never ally with you. All of this is futile.” She tried waving her arms wildly to demonstrate all of their hard work, but Gabriel held her arms tightly, wizard-black eyes intense.
“Listen to me, Nic. None of that is true, and I won’t have you say it.”
“Gabriel…” She laugh raggedly, that terrible sobbing threading through it, attempting to escape another way. She wouldn’t let it. She’d been crying too much lately, being too emotional, and not practical at all. None of this was going how she’d resolved to be. Calm, cool, accepting of her fate and lot in life. “If not for my pride, none of this would’ve happened. Maman always said my pride would be my downfall and look! I’m right here anyway. I accomplished nothing but harm. If I hadn’t tried to fight you, fight who I am, then we’d have my dowry, an alliance with House Elal, and Papa would still… He would still… love me.” The sob escaped in a great, ugly gulp, the tears breaking like Gabriel’s magic giving way, in a torrent of fetid water. Cries of incoherent grief poured out, and she half expected gobs of algae and water snakes to burst out with them.
“Oh, my heart.” Gabriel picked her up and carried her to one of the new armchairs, holding her in his lap as he sat, big arms wrapped around her. She curled her fingers into his shirt, burying her face against his chest, unable to fight the tears. What a complete wreck she was. And yet he didn’t seem to mind, murmuring nonsense words of comfort, leaning his cheek against the top of her head, enfolding her as if she were something precious. Rain pounded on the roof, pouring down the tall windows in solidarity, and thunder boomed in the distance, an angry counterpoint.
When her internal storm receded, the sobs lessening to stupid little hiccups, shame crawled in to settle cold in her gut. What must her wizard think of her now? “I’m sorry,” she managed, her voice small.
His arms tightened. “Don’t apologize, not for this.”
“But I—”
“I forbid it,” he cut in decisively. “There. There’s me being a commanding wizard. I will not let you apologize for being justifiably devastated by a tyrant’s cruelty.”
That gave her pause. Her mind empty of anything else, she stared at the wing of the armchair where it curved past Gabriel’s shoulder, as if cupping them in a gentle hand. Lifting her finger to trace the pattern of silver moons on the starless blue velvet, she searched for something else to say. “This is really pretty upholstery, though.”
A laugh trembled through him, rumbling under her cheek. “Are those my only options?” he asked gently. “Apologies for events beyond your control or discussions of interior design?”
She smiled, watery though it felt, her nail tracing a tumble of crescent moons. “It’s sweet of you to attempt to take that burden from me, but our current circumstances are entirely my fault.”
“I don’t think anyone has ever called me sweet before,” he mused.
Tipping her head back, she met his gaze, his black eyes soft with affection and sympathy. She must look awful, but he gave no hint of it. Reaching up to cup his cheek, she gave him a wobbly smile. “But you are sweet, Gabriel. Far more than I deserve.”
“You deserve a great deal more than life has given you,” he replied somberly. “And your father’s actions are his own. You are not responsible for what he does.”
“If I hadn’t—”
“You made the choices you did for good reasons,” he interrupted. “As did I. We both chose paths that led us to this point, here and now. How other people decide to react to that is on them. What you and I decide to do about it going forward is all we can control.”
She considered that a moment. “When did you get so wise?”
His lips twisted wryly. “All that self-excoriating philosophizing.”
Snorting a bit at that, she was surprised she could feel humor at all. “Apparently it’s more worthwhile than I realized. I should try it.”
“You certainly have the self-excoriating bit down pat.” He slipped a finger under her chin, lifting it slightly, then tracing light fingers along the sensitive skin under her jaw. “A father’s love should never be conditional,” he said, spacing his words so she’d absorb the import of them. “And you shouldn’t have to earn your papa’s regard.”
“I had it, once,” she whispered. “For a very long time, when we thought I’d be a wizard. Then I failed him and—”
Gabriel put a finger over her lips. “You didn’t fail anyone by being who you are.”
“Are you going to keep interrupting me?” she demanded, irritation rising.
“Ah, there she is. My spitfire returns. I knew nothing would dampen that fiery spirit for long.” He smiled broadly and kissed her.
She leaned into the kiss, extending it beyond what he’d clearly intended, but she needed that from him, needed to feel close to someone, needed to know that Gabriel, at least, loved her like she—Breaking the kiss on a gasp, she stared at him in utter shock. “You’re in love with me!”
An almost comical blend of emotions chased each other across his face before he tipped his head wryly. “I believe it’s traditional for the person feeling that emotion to make the declaration.”
“Since when have you cared about tradition?”
“True.” He laughed softly, caressing her cheek, raw vulnerability in his face. “Do you mind?”
“Because it’s not done?”
“Yes,” he replied in a dry tone. “I’m anticipating the lecture on wizardly behavior and how a familiar isn’t worthy of such regard, blah blah blah.”
She couldn’t quite laugh, as he clearly wanted her to. “It makes me really happy,” she confessed in a creaky voice.
“Does it?” He ran a fingertip over her lower lip, a hint of joy lighting his black eyes. “At last I’ve solved the mystery of how to make a familiar happy.”
“Yes, well.” She drew his fingertip into her mouth, sucking lightly and teasing the sensitive pad with her tongue, loving the way his face hardened with desire. “Making my wizard happy is still a key part of that.”
“You make me very happy, Nic,” he whispered, withdrawing his finger to replace it with his lips. He kissed her softly, lingeringly. “Happier than I ever thought possible.”
She lifted her hand to comb her fingers through the solitary black lock of hair that streamed back from his temple, black as his eyes. “I’m in love with you, too,” she told him, as earnestly as she knew how. “I know you don’t believe me, but I do.”
“I believe you.” He pulled her closer, kissing her deeply, dizzyingly, their kisses a soft music along with the rain and the crackling fire. She wished they could stay in that chair, rapt in each other, for all time. But the world would reach out to them. Likely sooner rather than later.
He seemed to have the same thought, for he gradually broke the kiss, gazing at her ruefully. “I suppose we’ll have to wait to commemorate this moment.”
“And inaugurate the new furniture properly,” she replied with a solemn nod.
“You’re obsessed with this furniture.”
“It’s pretty,” she defended herself, laughing. “And it’s really nice to have something to sit on besides your lap.” She wiggled her bottom against his hard thighs, and he stopped her with a wince.
“Arguably, I wouldn’t have a lap to hold you on without this chair, so I see your point. Nevertheless, up you go.” He gripped her by the waist and set her on her feet, adjusting himself with a pained expression.
“Do you want help with that?” she offered, intrigued by the image of kneeling on the new rug and ministering to him with the fire hot on her back, perhaps her skirts rucked up to bare her bottom to—
“Stop that,” he warned her. “Or we’ll never leave this library.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she retorted, throwing his earlier words back at him.
He acknowledged the point, then grimaced. “What is El-Adrel up to?”
She sat in the other chair, arranging her skirts and her thoughts. “I don’t know,” she said slowly.
“I thought you were the queen of Convocation social machinations.”
“Ha ha, and I wish.” She pressed her lips together, the thought of her papa’s rejection still painfully raw. And Maman… who knew what she was suffering? Nic couldn’t think about it, not if she wanted to keep from melting down into a puddle again. “Lady El-Adrel had us cold. She could have taken that dagger to the Convocation and done serious damage to you, perhaps forever destroyed your bid to reinstate House Phel. She didn’t because she wants something else more.”
“Thus Jadren.”
“Yes. Jadren is a puzzle.” She frowned, trying to dredge up the pieces of memory. “You know, I can list all forty-eight high and second-tier houses, their current lords or ladies, almost all of their heirs and most of their progeny—particularly the wizards—and yet I don’t remember anything about Jadren.”
“Maybe he didn’t attend Convocation Academy.”
“That’s unheard of.”
“Not precisely,” he corrected, gesturing to himself.
“You are the exception to so many rules that I’m issuing a full present-company exemption.”
“You warm the cockles of my cold, cold heart, darling. But seriously, there must be plenty of people who don’t attend the academy for one reason or another.”
“Sure.” She ticked off the reasons on one hand. “Lack of magic, lack of connections, lack of money.” She slid him a look. “Lack of sense.”
He smirked for her sally, then sobered. “No academy attendance would explain his lack of an MP scorecard.”
“No, it wouldn’t. The Convocation would not let a wizard go untested. I bet it wasn’t your idea to go to Convocation Center to get tested.”
Tipping his head ruefully, he said, “You are correct, as usual. The Convocation summoned me for testing. Apparently there are no secrets from the Convocation, even in remote Meresin.”
“Keep that in mind, and I’m not surprised. It’s far too risky to have rogue untested wizards running around. One of Elal’s contracts with Convocation Center is to use spirits to spy out undocumented wizards. A house might try to circumvent that, for one reason or another, but the Convocation would pull El-Adrel’s status as a house before they’d allow them to hide a wizard like Jadren. I don’t know what was up with them refusing to show us his scores. El-Adrel clearly doesn’t want us to see them, but I can promise there is an MP scorecard out there.” She tapped a finger thoughtfully on her chin. “I wonder if I can find out through the gossip network.”
“Wouldn’t El-Adrel fight having their house status removed?”
“They’d try, but they’d be one house against …”
She trailed off, a terrible thought occurring to her.
“What?” Gabriel prompted, leaning forward to pin his elbows to his knees, steepling his fingers and pressing them to his lips. “Tell me.”
“There were signs that Lady El-Adrel has been collaborating with someone from Elal. Those automatons were animated by spirits, and only an Elal wizard of considerable power could do that.”
“An alliance for a new product line?”
“If so, it was kept very secret. I would’ve said before this that I knew everything about Elal business.” But then, Papa had been involved in complicated incantations extensively in recent months, retreating to his arcanium regularly, her maman more exhausted than usual. And Nic had been confined to her tower, not exactly in the swim of information.
“Perhaps it’s someone else in Elal’s employ,” Gabriel suggested.
“I considered that, but then there’s the message Lady El-Adrel passed along.” She had to take a breath to release the tightness in her chest. “That could only have come from Papa. Whatever is behind placing Jadren in House Phel, they’re collaborating on it.”
“Against the Convocation?” Gabriel’s brows rose. “They’re already heads of the two most powerful High Houses. They are the Convocation, for all intents and purposes.”
“Not truly. There are a lot of checks and balances. You scoff at what you see as the immovable architecture of the Convocation, but those laws are in place for good reasons—and one is to prevent any one house, or alliance of houses, from seizing too much power. There is balance in the current system.”
“Hmm.” Gabriel tapped his fingers against his lips, brows creased.
“I thought of something else, too. Remember how I told you that Papa encouraged me to accept your application? He made a remark at the time that if you won me, you’d be allied to House Elal, and—without the resources of a full house or experience of your own—forever beholden to Elal.”
Gabriel’s eyes went hard as obsidian. “Is that so,” he said softly, not a question.
She recalled how proud Papa had been of her, how delighted that Gabriel, practically a rogue wizard from a fallen house, had been the one to impregnate her. How Papa had produced that incredible wedding gown and how annoyed he’d been when Maman suggested that Nic’s future might be difficult. Of its own accord, her hand went to cover her womb protectively, the child within more vividly real than ever—and more painfully at risk. “He might have thought to control you through me, and through our child.”
Gabriel’s gaze followed her gesture, lingering there before his eyes rose to meet hers. “He’d be mistaken.”
“Well, I know that. I knew that the moment you walked into my tower room. But Papa didn’t, and then…”
“And then you proved to be too stubborn to be a good tool,” Gabriel said, finishing her half-formed thought.
Startled, she stared at him, not quite able to wrap her head around what he was saying.
“You didn’t fall meekly in line with their plans, did you?” Gabriel demanded with an amused lift of his brows. “No, you defied the path he laid out for you—with your mother’s assistance, I might point out—and you escaped his control. Think about it. All along, his goal has been to get you back to House Elal. He’s tried sending spirits after you, having you bodily abducted, playing on your affection, frightening you with implied threats to your mother. And now he’s trying to break you by threatening to cut you off from your family and inheritance entirely.”
“And working with Lady El-Adrel to plant someone else in your house.”
“Our house,” he corrected firmly. “Your father would never anticipate that you’d have feelings for me, would he?”
“He might have anticipated the Fascination, but that can’t be induced by…” Aghast, she stopped, as if by not speaking the thought aloud, she could stop it from being true.
“Nic?” Gabriel reached across the narrow space and took her hands. “You can tell me. You’re thinking your father somehow induced the Fascination.”
“It’s largely regarded as a myth,” she said faintly, remembering how easily Quinn had dismissed the possibility. “That’s what they say at Convocation Academy. That it’s not real. That the tale of Sylus and Lyndella is a bunch of romantic nonsense. But then I experienced it, with you, and Maman told me it happened to her too, with…”
“With your father,” Gabriel finished grimly. Dropping her hands abruptly, he exploded out of his chair and paced away. Raking both hands through his hair, he clutched his skull, body vibrating with tension. In that posture, displaying his muscular back, spectacular thighs, and tight ass, he looked absurdly beautiful to her. Amazing that she could be so attracted to him, have fantasies of undressing that gorgeous body and losing herself in passion with him, even in a moment of crisis like this. Or, perhaps, especially in a moment of crisis. Somewhere along the way, he’d become the rock she clung to.
Gabriel spun, dropping his hands but still clenching them into fists. “I didn’t plan this with him,” he said with urgency. “I know you have no reason to believe me, not after I cheated with the fertility spell, but I did not collude with your father to trap you with me. I promise. I swear on anything you ask.”
She blinked at him, dragging her mind back from lascivious fantasies of ravishing him, trying to follow the path of his thoughts instead. “It never occurred to me that you might have,” she replied honestly.
“It should,” he bit out. Then pressed his fists to his temples, pressing his eyes and lips firmly shut. When he opened his eyes again, he came to her and knelt on the rug before her, taking her hands in his. “No one would blame you for coming to that conclusion, least of all me.”
“Gabriel,” she said very solemnly, then leaned forward to press a kiss between his dark brows, lingering a moment so he’d feel her love in the caress. “You may be willing to skirt—even openly subvert—Convocation law, but you would never stoop to that level of villainy. I would never believe it of you.”
He released a breath, his shoulders relaxing. “Thank you. I couldn’t bear it if you left me.”
“I can’t leave you,” she chided gently. “More, I don’t want to. I can’t imagine ever wanting to.”
“But if the Fascination isn’t real…”
“Even if Papa worked some incantation to create the Fascination, whatever I felt was real. The bonding is very real. You can feel it between us, yes?”
He nodded reluctantly. “I just hate thinking that your feelings for me are the result of magic.”
“At some point, you’re going to have to trust me to know what I feel. If the Fascination was my imagination, I love you now. If the Fascination was the result of some manipulation of my father’s, I love you now. The result is the same, my only love.”
He regarded her with a wistfulness that twisted her heart, balanced by a wry twist to his sensuous lips. “Sometimes I’m not sure if you call me your only love because you mean it or because you’re teasing me.”
“Yes,” she replied promptly, and he laughed, kissing her with sweet affection.
