Curse of Stolen Flame (Firebird, #1)

CHAPTER 39

The next day, Cerulle greeted her in the morning with the news that her mother was safely on her way.

“They just passed through Bridgewood. They expect to arrive within the next fortnight.”

Her relief was so intense that Kindra’s knees almost gave out beneath her. She managed to stay upright but couldn’t bring herself to speak. Cerulle smiled in understanding, giving Kindra’s arm a squeeze. Kindra could only manage a weak nod in reply.

The second the door shut behind the Windspinner, Kindra sank to the ground, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. Things had become so distressing in Wendrith that she could no longer tell which worry revolved around her mother’s safe journey and which belonged to the war, to Tess, to Jasper, to everything. But hearing her mother was safe lessened the weight she’d been carrying by a hundred pounds.

Once she steadied herself, she went to her dressing room and got ready for training. Trepidation coursed through her veins: now that she knew for certain the closet held an entrance to the catacombs, she found the task of acting normal around Tess much harder than it already was. She knew people in the castle would have their secrets and tell their lies, but she never expected Tess, of all people, to be one of them. Or at least, she hadn’t expected Tess to be that way with her.

But she reminded herself, what claim did she have on Tess anyway? She’d only known the woman for a couple of months, even though it often felt she’d known her longer. Tess had been here for years, had spent most of her life in this castle under the cruel thumb of Lord Avis. So maybe she had secrets. She’d earned the right to have them .

And Kindra had not yet earned the right to know them.

As confident as possible, she made her way to the training grounds. Along the way, courtiers, guards, and servants alike stopped to acknowledge her. Their respect had grown over the last few weeks. It began when she started sparring, but it fully blossomed after the bombing. Word had spread that she was attending meetings in the War Chamber, and it became obvious she had the king’s respect—or simply his interest. Those two things were considered the same by many. The same nobles that had curled their lip at her when she’d first arrived now smiled in earnest whenever she looked their way. That change was unsettling, especially because she knew that many of them still whispered about her behind her back.

Kindra’s anxiety mounted with each step she took. How could she even look at Tess, much less talk to her or laugh with her? Mercifully, though, the Firefury was nowhere to be found when she arrived at the grounds. Kindra breathed a sigh of relief and hurried over to Ryle and Terryn.

“Tess gone again today?” Ryle asked, brow furrowed with confusion. Kindra nodded, already starting on her stretches, and hoped she looked unbothered.

“Trouble in paradise?” Terryn quipped, a length of vines sprouting from the pouch of seeds he kept strapped to his side.

“No,” Kindra replied—too quickly, and Terryn raised his brows, his classic smirk sketching its way across his face. She leaned forward and touched her toes, using the opportunity to take a calming breath. When she popped back up, she gave him an easy smile and said, “No trouble here. She’s just had her shifts changed around.”

“So she’s on the morning patrol block now?”

Kindra shrugged, calling her fire forward so that it danced along her hands and arms. “I guess. I may have to find a new Firefury to train with—or work out a different time with her.” Say it like it’s nothing, say it like it’s nothing…

“Hm,” was Terryn’s reply, and Kindra gave him a curious look. He raised his hands defensively. “It’s just that one of my best friends is on the morning patrol block, and he hasn’t said anything about shifts being changed around. And he would’ve mentioned Tess—she’s, um, got a reputation.” He winced slightly .

She kept her face as neutral as possible. Ryle, too, watched the exchange with a blank, indifferent expression, though she knew he was taking in everything. It had been one of the first things she’d learned about him when they’d started training together. His keen eyes served him both in and out of the sparring ring, always catching even the most subtle shifts in body language, the most minuscule changes in expression or tone.

“Well,” Kindra said as she turned on her heel and strode into the open space of the ring. “It’s none of my concern what Tess does.” She cocked her head to the side, eyes dancing with a challenge. “Now are we done talking?” Her flames wove through her fingers.

Terryn bought it, jogging over to her. He took up a position across from her, vines twisting their way around him. But she only had to glance at Ryle to know the Windspinner had seen through her easygoing facade, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked her over. Quickly, she looked away, turning her focus to Terryn. Ryle wouldn’t ask her about it, at least. He rarely meddled, but Heinrich did. She wouldn’t be surprised if the guardsman peppered her with some questions about it later.

“Until first blood,” Ryle directed, and they began.

Their first match was over quickly, Kindra once again victorious. If it bothered Terryn that he never beat her, he didn’t show it. In fact, he was always eager to spar with her. She suspected she was the one Firefury he got a chance to train with often: He and Tess were far from friends, and Kindra rarely saw other Firefuries here at this time. He seemed to appreciate the chance to learn from her and improve his skills. Even though she beat him every time and had a habit of knocking that cocky smirk right of his face.

She went two more rounds with him, and though she remained focused enough to win, her mind strayed elsewhere. To Tess, to her mother, to Jasper. To the feeling she had that they were headed straight for some kind of calamity, and Tess was right there at the center of it.

And Kindra was, somehow, standing right there next to her.

She had lunch as she normally did these days, with Jasper. He was ecstatic for her when she told him about her mother, gathering her in his arms and spinning her around. As they waited for their meal to arrive, they sat on the sofa. Her legs folded over his lap, his hands running up and down her thighs, her arms, her waist—that was how they were now. No better than two obsessed teenagers. So far from that first time alone together in the carriage back to Wendrith, when she wouldn’t so much as look at him and sat as far from him as possible.

“Oh!” Jasper exclaimed suddenly, as if just remembering something, “I have something for you.” He took her hand and led her to the dining table in his room. Atop it sat a bowl, filled with small, round orange fruits.

Kindra reached for one, encircling her hand around it and feeling the pitted, tough rind. “Is this what I think it is?”

“They aren’t where orange juice comes from, no,” he answered, “though they are related to oranges, and taste almost the same. These are called melengeries.”

She pressed her thumb gently against the side of the melengerie; it sank slightly from the pressure. “Here,” Jasper said softly, taking it from her and sinking his nail into the peel, pulling it away from the fruit to reveal the plump inside. She watched his fingers work, entranced as he stripped the peel away in one spiraling motion. He gently pried the fruit in half and handed her a small section. “Eat it,” he requested, so she did, sitting on the table with him standing between her legs.

It was sweeter than orange juice, she noted as she bit into it, its flavor exploding in her mouth. She made a small noise of contentment, and Jasper held out another piece for her, this time holding it directly up to her mouth. When she took it from him, her lips brushed the tips of his fingers, and his cheeks flushed. Piece by piece, he fed her, until it was gone, and she reached for another.

“For you,” she said, but when she went to peel it, she pushed her nail in too far, and the juice dripped down her finger.

Jasper laughed, and placed his hands over hers, guiding her so that she peeled it correctly. She fed him this time, eyes never leaving his, feeling like she was under some kind of spell. When he took the last piece from her, he reached up and wrapped his hand around her arm, holding it in place as he kissed his way down her hand and wrist, his tongue brushing against her skin wherever juice had run. Kindra sucked in a ragged breath.

At another moment, perhaps he would have kissed her hungrily, or she him. Perhaps she would have grabbed him by his collar, his hair, his face, and pulled him onto her. But there was something so tender about this closeness, something so soft, that neither of them made a move to shatter it. Jasper pressed another kiss to her hand and reached out to brush her hair out of her face. He was looking at her in that way of his again: like she was a marvel, something not quite real.

“Thank you,” she whispered, unable to speak any louder, “for the fruit.”

He smiled, and his eyes didn’t lose their awed glimmer. “Of course,” he murmured. “Anything for you.”

She did kiss him then, gently, and he made a soft noise that almost lit her on fire.

“Kindra,” he said against her lips, “I—”

She felt a swell of panic at the thought of what he was going to say. She kissed him again to silence him. It could have been anything; something innocent, harmless, but she had a terrifying premonition that it wasn’t going to be harmless at all. She’d seen those words painted across his face just then, before she kissed him; had seen them flit across his expression a few times in recent days.

I love you.

He couldn’t say that, not yet. She didn’t know what she would do. What could she do, anyway, besides say it back? And to say it back when she wasn’t yet sure she felt the same… No, she couldn’t do that to him. They’d come so far—for her to lie about such a monumental thing? She just couldn’t.

So she kissed him harder, and as the gentleness of the moment shattered, replaced by something hungrier, she hardly gave Jasper room to catch his breath, let alone speak. And he, none the wiser, went along with it eagerly, his hands and mouth wandering over her body.

A knock on the door interrupted them, and they quickly collected themselves as servants entered with the rest of their meal. Or at least they tried to, but she was certain the servants knew exactly what it they’d been up to, judging by their barely suppressed smirks and averted eyes. Jasper winked at her from across the table, and her cheeks once again heated.

Still, though, as the servants left, and they chatted easily as they ate, the words Jasper almost said hovered in Kindra’s mind .

It was more than sparing his feelings, that she knew. Because despite the tenderness between them, despite how she did sometimes feel it—that warmth in her chest when she looked at him—she just wasn’t ready.

To hear it or to say it back.

There was no need to rush it. They had time.

Not enough , she thought sadly, watching him scribble in his journal as he scoured some book after lunch. She was reading a book of her own—or trying to at least. She was distracted by him. And the realization that she did, in fact, want time.

Far more time than what they were likely to be given.