“I had to do this alone. It was the only way.”
His head slumps forward and he sighs, frustrated. “How could you risk yourself like this?”
Guilt prickles at me, but I don’t relent. “You’ve expected Arien and Clover to risk themselves for you. This is no different.”
“It’s completely different.”
“No, it isn’t. What would you have done, that day in Greymere, if it had been me you saw with magic, instead of Arien?”
He tries to turn away. I reach out, knot my fingers into his shirt, and pull him closer. “Tell me. If I’d had the magic you needed, what would you have done?”
Our eyes meet, and he tenses. I see him as he was when we first met. The Monster of Lakesedge who circled me with feral, watchful hunger in his eyes.
“I’d have gone to your cottage. I’d have asked you to come with me.”
“You’d have offered to teach me to be an alchemist.”
“Yes.”
“You’d have threatened me.”
“Yes.” Darkness starts to spread in lines under his skin. At his throat, more slivers of poison shift alongside the scars, then slowly fade into shadow. “I’d have done whatever it took to have your help. But—” He touches my palm, following the curve of the crescent mark. “I’d never have asked this.”
I curl my hand closed around his fingers. The mark on my palm gives a steady pulse. “You’ve not asked me to do anything. It was my choice to summon the Lord Under. And if I do work with him, that will be my choice, too.”
“Leta, please.” His voice lowers, rough and hurt. “Whatever price he’ll ask of you will be too much. He’ll take you apart, use you up until there’s nothing left.”
“He might. But he also needs me.” I can’t find how to put it into words: how I feel about the Lord Under, the fact that I alone was the one he sought out. That we’re connected. “He needs me just as much as I need him.”
“I know you want to protect Arien, but—”
“I want to protect everyone.”
“Everyone, but what about you?” Gently, Rowan takes my face between his hands. He bends to me, until his forehead touches mine. “You fight so hard to keep everyone safe. But who is going to watch over you, when you go into the dark?”
The day when the Lord Under first asked for my help, I stood alone and afraid as the darkness overwhelmed me. For the first time, I imagine how it might feel to stare into the shadows with someone at my side.
I look up at Rowan. He’s flushed from the heat of the kitchen and the banked-up stove. I think of how undone he was when I went to his room. His bare skin. His tangled hair. The sparks of magic that scattered as he kissed the sigil on my wrist.
I’ve hated him. I’ve lied to him. I’ve seen him bled and wounded. I’ve bandaged those same wounds. I’ve heard truths from him that he’s never told another person. And right now all I can think about is the two of us in my garden. The world turned to fire by crimson sunset. My skirts tucked back and my scars laid bare. His hands on my skin.
I slip my hand beneath his sleeve and touch the bandages I tied there last night. Then I reach up and run my fingers over the hollow of his throat.
“Rowan, I care for you. More than I’ve ever cared for anyone, except for Arien.” The words are too raw, too tender, to speak louder than a whisper. “I don’t want you to be hurt.”
He reaches past me, enclosing me. I move back until I’m against the door with his arms braced on either side of me. He shoves the door, slams it all the way shut. We both jump—he’s startled by his own action. Then he slides his hand into my hair. His fingers press into the nape of my neck. He moves slowly, and I realize he’s giving me a chance to stop him if I don’t want this.
But this is all I want.
I put my hands against the door, shift forward onto my tiptoes, and close the final distance between us. Rowan’s breath catches in a strangled growl as my lips brush his. My first ever kiss. It’s all so unexpected. How clumsy I feel, the rasp of his mouth on mine, the heat that unwinds all through me when he kisses me back.
At first, he’s hesitant and soft, like he still wants to leave me space to change my mind. But at this moment, I don’t want softness. I want fierceness and fire and incandescent surrender.
I catch hold of him, pull him toward me. He groans against my mouth and his fingers tighten and tangle through my hair. I kiss him more deeply, my tongue sweeping his. He tastes of burnt sugar and spiced tea. I can feel the place where the scars cross the edge of his mouth. Rough, it feels rough, and wonderful.