Two Worlds of Oblivion Page 8

  Sweat formed on her forehead and pasted her shirt against her back, and when she lowered her hands, ready to give up, an eruption of flames burst from her palms. She froze.

  “I did it.” She stared into the curtain of orange. The flames started where her skin ended and reached all the way up to the height of her eyes. “I actually did it.”

  Maray could hardly believe what she was seeing, and when Corey stepped closer, unafraid of the fire, Maray’s confidence grew. She lifted her arms and spread them out to her sides, following the curtain as it spread around her in a half-circle.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Corey asked into the flickering.

  Mary nodded, fascinated and unable to look away as the wall grew higher. She focused on a spot above her head, imagining the flames licking into the air like poison ivy that grew along an arch, until she stood under a dome of fire.

  “How do I stop it?” she asked, not even half-ready to finish.

  “You tell it to stop,” Corey said as if that was common knowledge.

  “How?”

  “The same way you told it to start.”

  By now, the dome was as high as the little cabin, and everything was tinted in a soft glow of fire. The November morning looked like an August sunset in D.C. through the lens of Maray’s magic.

  Corey

  Something moved in Corey’s stomach as she watched Maray’s firewall grow. This wasn’t what she had expected. Not that she had known what to expect when Princess Laura had asked her to come and help her daughter.

  The two weeks after the Cornay-women had returned to the other world had been busy. At least for her. She had refilled soldier-bracelets with magic, cleaned up the lab and the shelves, and created a new routine for herself. Now that Feris was gone, people were coming to her for help—whether they were the guards or young, inexperienced warlocks. And if it wasn’t magic-business to deal with, Parsin Scott and Wilhelm Pordin needed something; information on Feris or more knowledge about what he had done for Queen Rhia. Most of the time, it was Wil—Wilhelm Pordin, one of the fraction of revolutionaries who didn’t want to kill Maray to prevent her magic from ever falling into Rhia’s hands—who came and asked, but if it was for the revolutionaries, she gladly spent some extra hours talking to him.

  Now that Maray had returned to Allinan, and she was finally able to keep her promise to help her get her magic under control, Corey no longer knew whether she was up for the task. As Maray’s flames grew into a dome, keeping her voice stable became an almost impossible challenge.

  “You’re doing great, Maray,” she encouraged the princess and hoped Maray wouldn’t notice how anxious she was for her to stop. She also knew how dangerous it was to upset a warlock in action. If Maray lost control, she could set the cabin on fire. And Pen didn’t deserve to die like that. She thought of the little Gurnyak and how he had recognized Maray’s royal blood. It was almost a reason to be jealous—not the royal blood but that Pen so easily accepted Maray when she herself had had to spend weeks to get him to trust her. “No, cease the fire.”

  Maray’s eyes glittered inside the self-built, orange flame-cage, her black hair reflecting nuances of crimson.

  “How?” she asked again.

  Corey fought to keep calm. She had almost burnt down the warlock quarters once. She didn’t want Maray to experience the same kind of guilt.

  “Tell it to stop.” Corey mimicked Maray’s fire-dome easily, preparing to show how her flames retreated into her hands at her command. “Like this.” She pulled back her magic, little by little, letting one flame after the other snuff in her palm.

  Maray watched her with a half-aware expression. Corey couldn’t tell if she was paying attention or just gazing at her because she happened to stand where she stood. Then, so slowly she wasn’t sure if she was really seeing it, the Cornay-girl’s flames faded into a pale layer that looked less like fire than like a poorly bleached lace curtain.

  “Just a little more,” Corey encouraged. “You’re almost there.”

  It was hard to push that sense of jealousy aside. She knew there was nothing she had to be jealous of. Maray had suffered at least as much as Corey herself with her mother leaving her and finding out her parents had been living a lie… And then, of course, there was Rhia and her thirst for Maray’s blood. Not in the literal sense but in the sense of becoming almighty. As she went over all the reasons why she shouldn’t be jealous, she envied Maray her bravery, and she saw what drew Jem and Heck toward that girl so much: she was royalty but didn’t behave like a privileged prat—the way a lot of the nobles’ kids did. And she was beautiful in a natural way. Even without elaborate robes and Crown Jewels, there was something like a glow hovering around her. Her face was as pale as the November-fog, and her eyes, dark and blue like the gemstones in the palace’s precious chambers, had a spark that she had seen only in soldiers so far. It was the spark of someone who was never going to run from her fate. She was going to face everything life threw at her with everything she had. And she had Jem and Heck. And—as much as Corey hated to admit it—she had her, too.

  When the flames were gone completely, Maray swayed, and Corey darted to her side.

  “I’m okay,” Maray reassured her, but her face was even whiter than before. “Just let me sit for a moment.” She slouched back to the stairs and sank down. “That was easier than I expected,” she noted with a smile. “Thanks for helping me, Corey.”

  “Thank you for letting me help.” Corey was aware that apart from Jem and Heck, no one ever fully trusted her. She was a devil-child. But Maray had no history with Allinan’s prejudices of warlocks who were different. She didn’t see danger when she looked at Corey.

  “Thanks for being a friend,” Maray said with sincere, blue eyes.

  So, was that what Maray saw when she looked at her? A friend? Not an abomination whose powers had to be hidden?

  “I know it must be difficult for you… finding out Feris helped Rhia…” Maray watched Corey as she sat on the stairs beside her. “I appreciate you taking the time to help me despite your own problems.”

  “That’s nothing,” Corey dismissed her words. “I wouldn’t know what to do with my time otherwise. You know…” She felt her face pull into a grin. “Now that only half of Allinan needs my help, you’re a small drop in the ocean of my duties.”

  Maray returned her smile. “Duties?”

  “You know,” Corey stammered. “Friends take care of each other.” It was difficult for her to accept that she had gained a new friend. But she loved it anyway.

  Maray

  Maray took a deep breath. The sun was creeping toward the highest point when Corey announced that they were done for the day. She had shaped fire curtains tons of times, and each time it had gotten a bit easier. But her body had been telling her for a while that it was time to take a break.

  She was just about to wipe sweat off her forehead when a familiar voice called her name.

  “Hungry?” Jemin asked as he joined them on the stairs, the Gurnyak right behind him.

  Maray shied to the side as the creature peered at her from between Jemin’s legs like a curious cat.

  “Always,” Corey answered for both of them and reached for the basket in Jemin’s hand. “Thanks.” She retracted her hand, a piece of bread between her fingers, and got to her feet.

  “Great practice,” she said to Maray. “We continue tomorrow. Same time, same place.”

  Before Maray could say anything, Corey hastened through the open cabin door.

  “She in a hurry?” Jemin asked with a frown.

  Maray just shook her head, stomach growling. She had experienced earlier firsthand what it meant if her emotions got the best of her. She wasn’t going to throw a firewall up between them.

  “We can eat inside,” Jemin dropped the topic and turned on his heels, the Gurnyak right behind him as he returned to the cabin.

  “Sounds great.” Maray followed, ready to eat anything he’d offer her.

&nb
sp; When she crossed the threshold, the Gurnyak trotted to her side and rubbed its head against her leg. She cringed but didn’t dare step any further.

  Jemin was pulling items out of the basket and placing them on a small table.

  “Pen,” he said without looking up, and the creature left Maray’s leg alone.

  “Thank you.”

  “I brought an assortment of Allinan specialties,” Jemin narrated as he continued to load the table as elegantly as if he was dancing.

  Maray stepped closer, ignoring the way his hair bounced in a loose ponytail, and reached for the basket, intending to keep herself busy so she wouldn’t stare. But Jemin’s hands blocked her way.

  “Please,” he insisted with a bright-blue gaze, “let me do this.”

  Maray dropped her hands, not because she was convinced she shouldn’t be helping, but because she couldn’t focus on anything but the blue of his eyes.

  Jemin set down a blue china dish, and his free hand gestured at her cloak. “May I?”

  Maray nodded, unsure what he meant but eager to find out. Anything that put him in her immediate proximity was good—and not good at the same time. As he reached for the hook of her cloak, she clenched her hands at her sides, preventing them from flipping up to his chest. The brush of his wrist against her throat as he shoved the cloak back over her shoulders sent a shiver down her spine and called an ache to life she hadn’t known she was capable of. It was the ache of something she wanted so badly but knew she couldn’t have.

  She swallowed a lump in her throat. “Thank you.” It sounded like sandpaper, not at all smooth and alluring the way she’d liked to have heard herself thank him, but he rewarded her with a tiny twitch of his lips.

  “Anytime.” His voice was even as always. If it hadn’t been for the kisses they’d shared, she could swear that he had never shown any interest in her—at least not in that way.

  Jemin threw the cloak on a small armchair in the corner behind the Gurnyak’s carpet and pulled a chair out. “Please, sit.”

  As he guided her into the chair with the slightest touch of his hand between her shoulders, she suppressed another impulse to turn around and confront him. He had made it clear he didn’t want to be with her, and he had pinned it on court protocol and on her being the Princess of Allinan. But the way he was acting now could just as well mean that he had used an excuse to appease her.

  Maray gracelessly dropped into the chair and watched him return to the basket, and the Gurnyak joined her, laying his head on her lap, black eyes following every single one of Jemin’s movements.

  “I brought an assortment of dumplings.” Jemin held up an oval plate with an ensemble of pale, doughy spheres before he set it down in the center of the table. “And some pastries.”

  Absently, Maray’s hand reached for the Gurnyak’s neck and petted it, getting a grunt of pleasure in return.

  “He is lucky,” Jemin said as he placed another small, blue plate in front of Maray, and she gave him a quizzical look. “No one cares if you stroke his neck, and it’s okay for him to enjoy it.” His face was unreadable.

  “You want me to pet your neck instead?” Maray asked before she could think about what she was saying. It had to be that lack of sugar in her system and the lightheaded feeling that using so much magic had left behind—or it was purely Jemin’s presence. The why was no longer apparent.

  Jemin’s shocked expression made it clear she hadn’t just thought those last words.

  “I am sorry.” Maray came to her senses, and the Gurnyak wiggled out from under her hand. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay,” Jemin sat down, his lightly tan face paler than usual and his composure wiped away completely. “You’re right,” he said to her surprise, “I shouldn’t be making comments like that. It’s unfair toward you.” The blue fire was burning in his eyes again, resembling the burning of suffocated passion. “I brought it upon myself. I should have never—”

  Maray leaned forward drawn by the crease between his eyebrows—it didn’t belong there—and Jemin mirrored her movement.

  “Should have never what?” Maray whispered, half-aware she was speaking. Jemin’s eyes were all that mattered, two oceans framed in dunes of the shadows of long lashes.

  “Let myself fall in love with you.” His voice was a mere whisper, lips hardly moving, as if he wasn’t aware he was speaking himself.

  Maray’s heart fluttered. There was no layer of protection in his features now. His face was an open book for her to read; and all she wanted was to dive into it and study who he truly was—

  A screeching noise erupted beside her.

  “What is it, Pen?” Jemin snapped out of the moment before Maray even had a chance to understand he was talking to the Gurnyak.

  The creature paced the room, black eyes fixated on the door, and screamed a whimper.

  “What’s happening?” While Maray was still pushing herself to her feet, Jemin had already drawn his sword. He tiptoed to the door, gesturing for Maray to move to the wall and keep her head down.

  Maray did as he showed her, and just as she made it to the wooden wall, a deafening thump made the door shake in its angles.

  “Don’t move,” Jemin whispered and lifted his sword with one hand, the other one reaching for the doorknob. “Ready, Pen?”

  Cold sweat pasted Maray’s hair to her neck as she pushed herself against the wall.

  “We know you’re in there, Maray Cornay!” a voice called from outside. “Come willingly, and we won’t hurt your friend!”

  “Back to the palace,” Jemin mouthed and pointed at the door to the passageway she and Corey had come through. “I’ll make sure they don’t follow you.”

  Maray glanced at Jemin, alarmed, as he peeked through the keyhole, raised an eyebrow, and told her to stay put while the Gurnyak reinforced his statement with a tiny puff of smoke. Then, his hand reached the doorknob and pulled the door open in slow motion—or did it only feel like slow motion to her? Anyway, before she could tell him not to go out there, he was standing on the threshold, Pen beside him.

  Maray had no idea who was out there or how many of them it might be, but it was obvious who they were after. And the way things were looking, Jemin and the Gurnyak were determined to put themselves between whoever it was and her.

  “She’s not coming out,” Jemin’s voice was fierce, and the expression he wore—she could still see his profile from her angle—was very different from everything she’d seen on him so far. For the first time since she’d met him, she saw fear.

  Jemin

  There were ten of them, twelve maybe—he couldn’t see behind the evergreens on the other end of the clearing. If Maray was smart and fled through the passageway now, he and Pen could make sure no one followed them. Maray’s life before his—always.

  Pen stomped the porch beside him.

  “It’s all right,” he reassured the Gurnyak. “We can take them on.”

  He knew that it was more a theoretical ‘taking them on’ than a practical one. He had never fought that many at once; especially not tried soldiers. Those were men he’d seen in the guard, men who he had thought loyal to the crown. As he was still thinking, it dawned on him. To the crown, not to the queen. They were revolutionaries. How had they found her? It shouldn’t surprise him. Langley had sniffed Maray out in the other world, too. Jemin forced all thoughts to the back of his mind. He needed to focus.

  “What do you want with Maray?” He controlled his voice well, but he could feel how the fear was showing on his face. Maray had unlocked something in him. He suddenly had something to lose. Even if she hadn’t gotten a chance to put into words how she felt about him, the look in her lapis-lazuli eyes as he had declared his feelings for her—

  Pen puffed more smoke beside him.

  “Careful, little guy,” he cautioned the Gurnyak. “You don’t want me to lose consciousness, do you?”

  Pen stomped again and trotted further out.

  The men and women watched
anxiously, each of them eager to not catch the Gurnyak’s attention. And how right they were. He had seen Pen hunt. He might have the build of a pony, but he could dart forward like a lizard tongue if he wanted.

  “What do you want?” he repeated, putting the full force of his voice into it this time. From the corner of his eye, he noticed how Maray shrank further into the wall and instantly regretted his tone. Wasn’t it enough that those people were after her? Did she have to be afraid of him, too? He toned down his aggression a notch and said, “Maray is not coming out. If there is anything you want, you’ll have to get past me first.”

  “So glad you said that.” The voice came from the evergreens, and he’d recognize it anywhere.

  “Langley.” He strained his eyes to find the elderly man behind the emerald leaves and spotted him as he stepped forward, out of the array of branches.

  “So we are back to a last name basis?” Langley asked rhetorically. “Fine with me.”

  “I usually only call my friends by their first name,” Jemin provoked. He knew it wasn’t a smart move. Langley had attacked him once, and when in his Yutu-form, Jemin wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

  “I am not your enemy, Jemin Boyd, quite the opposite. Your father was my hero,” Langley said as he slowly wound his way through the other revolutionaries. “But I will gladly sacrifice you if you stand in my way.”

  “Maray is not a danger to you and your cause,” Jemin reasoned and placed his free hand on Pen’s back to keep him from attacking. “You can walk away, and I will forget this ever happened.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t,” Langley said and ran his finger over his beard, twisting it into a bushy spiral under his chin. “In order to keep Rhia from ever getting her hands on Maray’s blood, the only way is to make sure there is no blood to get her hands onto.” The look in his eyes suggested he really didn’t like the idea. The other men and women didn’t move, probably waiting for a sign Langley would give them.