Bright Familiar by Jeffe Kennedy
~ 6 ~
When Nic appeared to join him for dinner, Gabriel nearly did a double take at the sight of her. In fact, his surprise showed enough that she displayed uncharacteristic hesitation in her usually confident stride, pausing to run a hand over the sleek sides of her closely trimmed hair.
“Do you hate it?” she asked, eyes full of uncertainty. “I had the grooming imp trim it for me, and they only take fairly simple instructions. My hair was lopsided enough that this was the best way to even it up. But it will grow back,” she added. “It won’t be this short always.”
Recovering himself—and chagrined for giving her cause to doubt—he crossed to her and took her hands. “You look more beautiful than ever,” he breathed, knowing by the high flush on her arched cheekbones that she received the truth of his impassioned words. Raising one hand above her head, he coaxed her into turning a slow pirouette. The short black hairs defined the elegant lines where her skull met the back of her neck, silky and alluring, tempting him to kiss her just there in that hollow that made her shiver. Sharp points of slightly longer hair curved over her temples, framing her arresting features. Tamed curls atop her head waved in sensual abandon, all of it serving to set off her fiercely intelligent beauty, her deep-green eyes dominating her extraordinary face.
Unable to resist, he cupped the back of her neck, caressing those silky strands as he kissed her deeply, feeling as if he could sink into her and never emerge. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured against her lips, “that I want to commission a portrait of you, looking just like this, in case you do decide to grow it long again.”
She smiled up at him, arms languidly coiled around his waist, the scent of hothouse roses and fire-warmed wine twining around him with her potent magic. “The first time you called me beautiful, I accused you of trying to manipulate me with pretty lies.”
“I remember that accusation well,” he replied wryly. He’d been so dazzled by her, astonished at his great good fortune that the loathsome Convocation ritual had resulted in him finding such a gorgeous and fascinating woman to be his life partner. He winced for the naïveté of that self of not that long ago. No wonder Nic had been scornful of his earnest praise. “And I understand why you didn’t believe I was sincere.”
“I believe you now,” she said softly, surprising him. She hastily added, “At least, I believe in your sincerity, though I don’t at all understand why you hold that opinion.” She arched a raven-winged brow with sardonic humor. “Further evidence of your questionable judgment, no doubt.”
He was beginning to understand, too, how she used barbed humor and sarcasm to hold him off, to diffuse any tender emotions between them. “I may have questionable judgment in many arenas, but not in this.” He studied her face. “I wish I could describe what I see when I look at you.”
“I know what you see, because I have seen myself in a mirror,” she replied in a very dry voice. “My forehead is too high, my Elal nose is as big as a beak, my jaw too square, and my mouth is way too big for all of it.”
“You do have a big mouth,” he agreed, kissing those lush lips he couldn’t get enough of.
“Ha ha.” She nipped his bottom lip, the shock going straight to his groin. “You’re the one always asking for opinions you don’t actually want to hear.”
“I do want to hear them,” he replied gravely. “Even when I don’t like them. That’s how a marriage should be.”
Restless, she withdrew from him, taking in the long dining table in the partially restored hall, eyeing the planks nailed over the doors to the halls leading to the recently re-sunk arcade, but withholding comment. The dining hall was barely usable, but he’d wanted to have a more formal meal with her. The evening had turned chilly with the advent of a soaking rain, the nip in the air a reminder that winter had not yet fully withdrawn. Two place settings had been laid at one end, with a gleaming silver candelabra spilling warm candlelight.
“Just the two of us?” she inquired, sounding not entirely pleased.
“Yes. Everyone is giving us time to enjoy our honeymoon. They’re all taking turns sending over food for us.” Taking her hand, he led her around to the end of the table, holding out the chair for her.
She rolled her eyes and slipped into the other chair. “The head of the table belongs to the head of the house, Lord Phel.”
“Surely we don’t need to observe formal manners when we’re alone.”
“It’s good practice for you,” she replied, pouring wine for him and handing him the goblet, though he still stood, hesitating. “These things should be become second nature for you. Be arrogant and assume that you are owed pride of place.” She pointed a finger at him. “And don’t ruminate on how acting like that might turn you into it.”
“I thought the moratorium on philosophy expired once we dealt with the threats on the breakfast table,” he reminded her, irritation rising that she dismissed his concerns so easily, even as he reminded himself that she’d been so thoroughly brainwashed by that loathsome Convocation Academy that she saw no problem with what she recommended he become. He saw the peril clearly, however. Since his magic had manifested, it had felt like he clung to a rapidly eroding slope of what had once been firm footing. With every step he took to embracing his magic and becoming Lord Phel, it seemed he lost sight of one more bit of integrity. This is how it happens. Give in to the power, and it gradually eats you alive until you have no humanity left.
Nic glanced up at him, craning her neck more than she needed to in a pointed reminder that he could be seated. “We haven’t dealt with them, not fully. Calliope sent a message that our order will be delivered in the morning, at which point we’ll have the proper paper to draft your final replies and send them. Then you can mope about and mourn the loss of your integrity.”
Not entirely certain how he could be both aggravated and amused by her, he finally sat and sipped his wine as she began filling a plate for each of them. “According to your latest plan, we’re raising the entirety of the manse after our missives have been sent.”
“Excellent point. We’ll have to schedule self-excoriating philosophizing for the afternoon.” She handed him the plate and arranged hers before her.
Knowing she wouldn’t eat until he did, he took a bite of the steaming baked potato before adding both fresh salted butter and sour cream. Nic observed him keenly, no doubt memorizing his preference. He set aside that irritation, too.
“You could add that to your repertoire as brooding Lord Phel,” she added pertly. “Perhaps you can drink heavily as you wallow in self-loathing, then alternate at dinner between sullenness and sudden explosions of anger.” Her green eyes danced with wicked mirth over the rim of her goblet.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, having to fight to restrain a smile.
“As a matter of fact, I am.” She slid him a sultry, teasing look. “And in the arcanium at night, you can release all that pent-up fury and passion upon my helpless body.”
That killed all humor, along with his appetite. Sliding the plate away, he raked his hands through his unruly curls. He should have gotten Nic to unleash the grooming imp on his hair, too. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. It’s revolting.”
Her eyes flashed with shock a moment before she lowered her gaze to her plate. Eating steadily, she focused on her food, not replying. Not meeting his gaze.
“It’s not funny to me,” he persisted. He’d developed a love-hate relationship with her quirky sense of humor. Her wit surprised and delighted him, but that sharp edge could flay him open with ease, leaving him bleeding. And she used it to deflect any serious conversation between them. She still hadn’t replied, so he caught her by the wrist. Stilling, she raised her tumultuous gaze to his, the green dark with emotions he couldn’t identify. Except that it was clear he’d hurt her. “I don’t know how to explain this to you.”
She shook her head as if he’d asked a question. “You don’t have to explain. You’ve made your feelings perfectly clear.” Pulling her hand away, she set to eating with determined fervor. “Eat. We don’t need to discuss it further.”
Somehow he seriously doubted that. “Exactly what have I made clear?”
“Your feelings about the arcanium,” she replied tersely.
“That’s not an answer, Nic. Explain.”
With a clatter, she threw down her utensil, then flung herself from the chair and paced furiously away and back again. She’d put on the burgundy riding habit again, he realized. Not appropriate for dinner, most likely, but the velvet would be warmer than the silk or the linen dresses. He’d done nothing yet about getting her more clothes to wear. He looked up from his stricken rumination to find her glaring at him in mute fury, fists clenched by her sides, visibly seething.
“Gabriel,” she bit out. “Could we please not do this?”
Carefully, he pushed back from the table, casting a regretful eye over their half-eaten meal, the wine, the candlelight. He’d thought to give her a bit of romance, and he’d been doing all right for a while, he thought, until it went sideways. Until she deliberately destroyed the mood, an uncharitable voice in him growled. Keeping his voice even, he attempted a reply to that non-question. “You might understand me perfectly well, but I’m not so fortunate. What am I not to do?”
With a wordless snarl, she looked as if she’d love nothing better than to hurl something at his head. Visibly reining herself in, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin, pulling that regal poise around her like a cloak. “I am aware,” she said with impressive coolness, given that snarl, “that you are conflicted about being a wizard, and that I am not what you envisioned for your lady wife.”
Uh-oh.This was worse than he’d realized. “That is categorically not true.”
“Don’t lie,” she spat, all the fire in her welling up, the scent of rose-infused wine thick as fresh blood. “Everything in this place speaks of the vision you had. I see it everywhere I look. The pretty master suite with its books and view of the river. This dinner with two place settings and polished silver that—”
“Moon magic,” he interrupted. “My silver requires no polishing.”
“Romance,” she spat without pause. “Honeymooning.” The way she said the words made them drip with distaste. “You never wanted a familiar, and you still don’t.”
Feeling his own temper rise, he picked up the eating knife and tapped it on the table. “I want you,” he said, meeting and holding her gaze.
She laughed, full of bitter scorn. “No, you don’t, Gabriel Phel. Not really. You want some ideal of me. The woman you fantasized I’d be when you studied that miniature. A wife and partner,” she sneered, as if those would be the worst things possible.
“And you are those things to me,” he replied tightly.
“In your imagination!” she flung back. “Telling me I’m beautiful, and wanting to protect me from the wizards who hurt me, and acting like this is some kind of romantic relationship.”
“Nic…” He flailed, completely at sea. She’d been pleased that he found her beautiful, he hadn’t imagined it. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
“Because!” she nearly screeched, then swallowed hard. Holding back tears. Anyone who hurts you enough to draw tears deserves to die. He’d said that to her not hours ago, and look at him now. “Because at heart you’re revolted by what I am.”
Unable to sit still for this, he pushed to his feet. “Wrong. I meant that you joking about using you like that in the arcanium is revolting, not that you are.”
She laughed, a hysterical edge to it, and briefly dropped her face into her hands. When she met his gaze again, hers was distraught. “That is who and what I am. You can’t divide the two.”
“You are more than a familiar to be used by me,” he said on a harsh whisper, to keep from shouting.
“More? That implies that being a familiar isn’t enough. That if I’m only that, I’m somehow lacking.”
Her tangled logic had him turned around, his head aching from it, the candles smelling too strong. “That’s not what I meant. You had ambitions to be a wizard, and you were disappointed that you turned out to be a familiar. I want more than that for you, too.”
“But I am a familiar! I’m your bonded familiar, which means there are things I crave from you. You might hate that and be revolted by it, but I think you don’t realize how lowering it is for me to crave something from you that you despise me for wanting and despise yourself for wanting, too.” She finished on a harsh sob, pressing her hand to her stomach as if she might be sick. “Do I wish I was a wizard? Yes! With all my heart, but I am not. And it kills me, Gabriel, that you are everything I ever wanted to be, and you scorn it at every turn. I swear, I wish you hadn’t cheated in the trials. It would be easier if I’d been bonded to a wizard who at least planned to use me honestly than to suffer this emotional hot and cold from you.”
It was as if an arrow had thudded through his chest, ripping his heart out. “You don’t mean that.”
She lifted her chin defiantly, eyes glittering with unshed tears. “I do mean it.”
“You’d rather be cruelly used than treated with respect and kindness,” he ground out.
Opening her mouth, she closed it again, but not before her lips wobbled. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “Maybe it’s that I’d know how to do that. I think that… if I were only a pet to you, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much when you despise me.”
Shit.Feeling utterly helpless, he went to her, wanting to reach for her. He stopped himself. She held her ground. “I don’t despise you, Nic. I promise. I just want…” Realizing that these words, too, would come out wrong, he let the sentence trail off.
“You want your wholesome Meresin farm girl,” Nic supplied for him, her eyes far too wise. “The sweet young woman who grows oranges and feeds the geese, who’d be your loving wife and companion in all things. Who would bed you with sweet affection and bear you children that you could raise together, until they gave you apple-cheeked grandchildren to dandle on your knee. Someone who would never even think of wanting to kneel for you, who wouldn’t yearn for the silver chains of your arcanium.”
The images she evoked pushed all else from his mind. Nic, kneeling naked but for silver chains, her lush body bound for him to use as he pleased. The wicked tools of the arcanium glinted with dark allure, his imagination wanting to discover what they might do to her. Just envisioning what might pass between them had his magic swelling, pulsing with power—hungering for even more. If the mere thought of such depravity fed his magic, what would the reality do—
“No!” he shouted, clapping his hands over his ears, shutting out her words, banishing the possibility that he’d succumb. Dropping his hands, he curled his fingers into fists. “I won’t become like Sammael. Not even for you.”
Nic gazed at him with wide-eyed and knowing calm. “See?” she asked softly. “You hate the very thought of it. You despise yourself, and me, too.”
His jaw clenched so hard it ached, he glared his fury. “You should hate the thought, too.”
“I feel I should point out that you are telling me how I should feel. I told you what I want, and you refuse to take that seriously.”
“Because this isn’t something you really want. You’ve just been told to want it. You don’t know any better.”
She regarded him with something that would be pity if she weren’t so coldly furious. “I am not a child, and I am not a fool. I’d venture to say I know—and accept—myself far better than you do.”
“I won’t do this,” he said with vicious determination. “You clearly don’t know your own mind, and I refuse to demean you that way.”
“I see.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter to her one way or the other. “It’s your decision, of course. How you use me is entirely up to you.”
“Stop putting it that way,” he warned her, coming very near to ordering her not to.
“As you say,” she replied in a meek tone not matched by her flashing eyes. “But you are stuck with me, so I suggest you come to terms with how you want things to be between us.”
“I have come to terms,” he informed her. “And there will be no visit to the arcanium. That’s my final decision. We’ll work together to raise the manse without that.”
“I’ll do my best to work within those parameters.” She inclined her head as if acknowledging a command, infuriating him further.
“Stop deferring to me,” he snarled at her.
She lifted her chin, otherwise bland in expression. “Gabriel, you cannot give me orders, make unilateral decisions about my life, and tell me I don’t know what I want while you know better—and also expect me not to defer. You can’t have it both ways. You have power over me whether you like it or not, and at this moment, when you are so determined to have things your way, you seem to like it just fine. I can’t fight you, and I’m not going to try.”
How had this conversation gone so deeply into the bog? He felt mired to the waist in mud, and the more he struggled against it, the deeper he sank.
“May I be excused?” she asked with excruciating politeness.
He nearly said no, nearly demanded that she sit and eat dinner with him. That she be witty and sweet, flirting with him. You want your wholesome Meresin farm girl. “Yes, go then.”
She curtsied, lowering her gaze demurely, then rose and walked out. If he knew her slightly less, he wouldn’t have been able to pick out the stiffness in her gait, the repressed fury and despair tightening the line of her shoulders.
“Nic,” he called after her.
When she turned, waiting with polite obedience, he realized he didn’t know what to say to her. “I didn’t want to fight with you,” he said, the words sounding absurd even as he said them.
She softened, ever so slightly, a gleam of something like compassion in her eyes. “I know.” Letting out a sigh, she shook her head. “Perhaps you understand now why wizards and familiars can never be partners. It’s in a wizard’s nature to be commanding, and it’s in a familiar’s nature to be commanded. The sooner we sort that out, the better off we’ll be.”
She stood there, saying nothing more. Waiting to be excused, he realized.
“Good night,” he told her.
With a polite nod, she left, leaving him alone with their interrupted dinner. With a snarl of pure rage, he dashed the food and dishes from the table, sending the candelabra and melted wax flying. Moon magic burst out of him in a rain of silver, an uncontrolled burst as hadn’t happened in a long while.
Perhaps you can drink heavily as you wallow in self-loathing, then alternate at dinner between sullenness and sudden explosions of anger.
Sinking to his knees, he clutched his head, willing himself to control the magic, to draw it back inside. And wished with all his heart that he hadn’t driven away the one person who would understand.
