Then she turns to Finley.
“Masara naudan. Tochero nuzat.” Maiian says.
“She wants to take a closer look at you,” I translate for Finley. “She’s asking if she can take your hand.”
“She may.” Finley holds up her left hand.
She’s playing this well. She looks composed; almost imperious.
Like a queen.
Maiian takes Finley’s hand. The backs of the Khaturian’s own hands are covered in intricate white tattoos; swirls and patterns of leaves and flowers. She strokes Finley’s palm and murmurs something in another language altogether.
It sounds like a chant; low, lyrical, and incomprehensible. As I listen to her rhythmic words, I’m lulled into a trancelike state.
I can’t stop looking at my future wife.
I watch as she studies the shaman, her dark gaze sharp and analytical. She goes still as Maiian traces her thumb across Finley’s palm.
The tattoos on her hand start to glow, emanating a faint white light.
Finley stiffens.
I tense. All of my senses are on high alert. Even the simple act of this stranger touching my wife stirs a deep protective instinct within me.
I want her. I want to devour her, and I’m ready to strike at the slightest hint of anything sinister.
Was I always like this?
Finley closes her eyes. She sways. I lean closer, filled with a terrible kind of restlessness.
She lets out a gasp of pain.
I’m already moving, wrapping my hand around the shaman’s wrists. “Karazu dene antam?”
What are you doing?
Maiian freezes. I can sense her fear. I should stop, but I’m not quite rational right now. Finley’s scent is driving me mad.
“Corvan,” Finley hisses. “Calm down. Whatever she’s doing, it’s working. I can feel it. Don’t interfere. I’m fine.”
The shaman tips her head and waits patiently, as if she understands exactly what’s going on between us.
Slowly, I release her hand. “Very well. Kemashen.” Continue.
Maiian presses her thumb firmly into Finley’s palm and asks a question in that strange language.
Finley looks her straight in the eye and nods. “I can hear them. It’s the strangest thing. Voices whispering in my head. Welcoming me. They call me daughter.”
Maiian closes her eyes. The glow of her tattoos intensifies. Finley winces. “Ah!” she gasps.
I’m just about to tear Maiian away from my wife when the shaman releases her and steps back. She says something to Sylhara, speaking so rapidly I struggle to make out her words.
“What did she say?” My impatience spills over. “What did she do?”
Sylhara clasps her hands together. She takes a deep, steady breath. She’s the picture of serenity; the antidote to my seething mood.
Finley reaches across and places her hand on top of mine. Her touch is like cool water on the kindling of my irrational anger.
When it comes to her…
Am I always going to be like this?
Silence descends across the room. One could hear a pin drop.
“There’s a seal,” Sylhara says at last. “A barrier between her and the magical world. Not a harmful one, but a protective one, put in place by someone very powerful.”
“What is the meaning of this?”
Maiian speaks again, her tone dry and sarcastic.
Sylhara struggles to keep a straight face. She hesitates.
“I know what she said, Sylhara. Translate for Finley’s benefit.”
To her credit, Sylhara’s expression remains completely deadpan. “Even a halfling with direct dryad lineage can become immensely powerful. Her magic concerns the forest, from which all wood is derived. Therefore, she should be able to manipulate any kind of wooden object, and commune with the trees themselves. Under her power, some of the ancient ones can even grow beyond their earthly limitations. The seal was probably put in place to protect her from stupid Rahavans, who shun magic as if it’s worse than the plague. If she had shown any signs of magical ability when she was young, your people probably wouldn’t have let her survive. But you can’t escape magic. You are magic now, O’Kral.”
“Considering that I am of those stupid Rahavans, the irony of it all hasn’t escaped me,” I say dryly. Perhaps this is the Gods’ way of getting back at my father. “So. What are we to do about this seal?”
“A powerful seal requires powerful magic to break. How fortunate that we have you, a Son of Hecoa, with the blood of the goddess herself running through your veins. This must be a fated meeting, for you have death-magic and she possesses life-magic. Just as your magic can reverse death to a certain extent, hers can erase it altogether. In particular, you would find her incomparably invigorating. Life negates death. Death negates life. But when all is in balance, life and death also sustain one another.”
I meet Finley’s eyes. Her delicate lips part in surprise.
Suddenly, it’s all so obvious. Why she reacted that way when she took that wine, laced with my vampiric blood.
“My blood can break the seal,” I murmur.
Sylhara and Maiian nod in unison before Sylhara even has a chance to translate.
“And what happens to me when the seal’s broken?” Finley’s voice is brimming with nervous energy. “What if I can’t control the magic? Is there anyone here that can teach me how to use it?”
Sylhara consults with the shamans and the elders. They speak for a while, carefully weighing up the possibilities. Sometimes, they speak in proverbs, the concepts too complicated for me to grasp with my limited Khaturian.
But it’s clear that breaking Finley’s magical seal isn’t without its risks. The Khaturians haven’t encountered someone like her before.
They don’t really know what to do with her.
For me, the answer is already obvious.
Aralya.
I lean across and whisper into her ear. “I’m not going anywhere. And I have the key to your power. Let’s keep the seal intact for now, until we know more. Until we find someone that can truly teach you what you are. I want you to be safe, Finley.”
She looks up at me. Her eyes are wide and filled with trust.
It’s a look that spears right through my heart, putting tiny hooks into my soul.
How can I disappoint her? This fragile, brave, trusting creature, who’s both calculating and innocent?
The more I understand her, the more obsessed I become. And if there’s one thing I can use all my power to defeat, it’s her father’s stupidity and wickedness.
We’re going to the capital.
We’re going to find her mother.
Nothing can keep me from the truth. All of father’s armies can’t stop me.
And those who plot from the shadows; who dare try and meddle with what is mine…
If any harm comes to her, I’ll destroy them.
Even the emperor himself.
37
CORVAN
By the time we return to Tyron Castle, the sun has started to slip behind the mountains, casting the valley in shadow.
Through my dark glasses, I have a clear view of the castle from up high as we stand on a precipice, taking a small rest before we rejoin the world.
The entire trip back, Finley’s been uncharacteristically quiet. She was muted when we bid farewell to the Khaturians, her eyes brimming with unspoken thoughts.