This is a short chapter because the next one is likely to be extra long, but with a bit more snogging, so hopefully that offsets the length!
"Damn, Solona," Nathaniel gasped. "He died in your arms?"
Nodding, Solona took a shaky breath. Talking about Alistair hadn't been as difficult as it had been in the past, even despite the gut-punch of news she'd received only a short time earlier. She was certain she'd barely begun to scratch the surface on her feelings about that, though talking to Nathaniel seemed to be a good start. She wasn't sure she'd ever given anyone the full story of Alistair's death before. It was a difficult enough experience to relive in so many of her taint-fueled nightmares, and putting the memory into words always seemed a task of unbearable magnitude. Yet Nathaniel had opened something in her, and it only took a moment of his gentle urging before the story spilled out in its entirety. She wasn't even sure how they'd gotten onto the topic in the first place.
"That explains so much," he added.
"But, it's still… I mean, it's only one person. And you've lost your mother, your brother, your father…"
Nathaniel cocked his head, regarding her silently for a moment. "As did you. It's almost worse the way you lost yours, isn't it? My family had no choice in their deaths. But yours… they gave you up willingly to the Circle. And that was it? You never heard from them again?"
"Well… my mother wrote for a while. About a year. And then one day the letters stopped coming. The last one I received said she was expecting again. So it seems I was… replaced." She sighed. "And this is why I see no point in contacting them. I mean, you could argue that they had no choice, what with the law and the Templars requiring they hand me over. But… how hard is it to write a letter every once in a while?"
Solona took a deep breath, avoiding the silvery spotlights of his eyes. Still the words continued to come, flooding out of her.
"I know it couldn't have been easy for them. And maybe it made it easier to just… stop writing and get on with their lives. But, I couldn't understand that at five years old! Abandoned and stuck in a tower with a bunch of strangers, most of whom looked at me like they expected me to burst into flames at any given moment? A few of the older mages were kind, but most of the adults there had no interest in coddling yet another confused, burdensome child." Solona smiled weakly. "Though there was this one... Maggie. I remember she reminded me a little of mother. She was very mom-like. She taught me which Templars to avoid, and how to keep my head down in order to avoid becoming a target. She'd even sneak me her extra muffin after dinner sometimes. And then one day she was just… different. Cold. I didn't know what a Tranquil was until the day I walked up to her to show her something I made in crafts, and she had this thing on her forehead. She just looked at me like she had no idea who I was. She did know, but she didn't care anymore. She was just… vacant."
Nathaniel exhaled audibly, his face softened with a gentle frown. Across the table he reached for her hand. His palm was warm and dry, and intensely comforting. Gazing down at the wispy strands of dark hairs that covered his knuckles, Solona felt a surge of affection for him. She squeezed at his hand, feeling along his fingers until she reached two hard patches of skin.
"You got your callouses back," she observed quietly. He nodded; his eyes lowered to watch their joined hands. He turned her hand over in his and stroked his thumb over the lines on her palm.
"Anyway," she began, but self-consciousness seized her. It was not at all like her to prattle on about herself for so long. "So that was it. No more parents. The Templars were assholes. Years passed and they were lonely and boring, but eventually Anders was transferred in, and he made things more interesting."
Nathaniel's eyes flicked up to her at the mention of Anders' name, something deep transpiring within them.
"This is after you got a bit older, I assume. And you… you liked him?" He asked cautiously. A pang of guilt stabbed deep in Solona's belly. She shook away the memory of her and Anders' night together. It hardly seemed to count, considering she'd spent most of that time in his bed thinking of Nathaniel.
"It was a crush. An obsession, sort of. He was funny and different and he really messed with the Templars. All the things the rest of us always dreamed about doing — pranks, talking back, hitting back…" Nathaniel's face remained stoic, though the energy around him changed. Solona cleared her throat, wishing she hadn't even mentioned Anders. "Well anyway, the rest of us talked a big game about all the things we wanted to do to the Templars. Anders actually did those things. And then Duncan came after my Harrowing and offered me a chance to get out of the Circle. So I took it. And then I met… Alistair." Solona choked his name out, trying not to let it turn into a sob. She took a shaky breath, determined to stop rambling. "And he changed everything. I had no idea it was possible to love someone that much, and be loved the same in return."
After having leaned away from Nathaniel so she could see his face as they spoke, Solona marveled at the contrast between him and her memory of her beloved. Alistair had seen hardship in his childhood, and had faced down monsters of every stripe at her side, but still always exuded an innocence and humor that had brought light to even the bleakest moments. Alistair was light. His earnestness and unwavering love had been like living every moment under the warm rays of the sun. And after so many cold years in the Circle, she had basked in him, allowing herself to believe that such happiness would last forever. But then the sun had died and she'd been plunged into darkness, and not only had some of that darkness come into her, but she'd learned that a great well of it had actually been there all along.
And what if Alistair were to show up right now, and see for himself exactly what I've become?
The question was one she'd asked herself many times, but more startling than that was the question of what Solona herself might see in Alistair. How could someone who carried such darkness within her be a good match for someone who lived in life's sunny shallows?
Of course she knew that question probably wasn't giving Alistair enough credit. He'd been a breathing, evolving person just like anyone, who'd grown with his experiences, who had known pain and death the same as any other. Still, the man before her, a man who knew the same immense losses she did, who'd witnessed her courting death in the Deep Roads, unafraid of the dark places inside her because he had those places too, everything suddenly seemed different. Alistair had been the perfect man for the time in her life that they'd known each other, but she wasn't in that place any more. It was a revelation as big as any other she'd experienced on this day.
Glancing toward the bar, she confirmed that the first rude man, the portly one with the droopy red eyes, had left. The fisherman had disappeared into the crowded tavern behind them, though his boisterous group could still be heard, amplifying the tavern's volume considerably. The original excuse for her and Nathaniel's pretense of couplehood was gone, though the desire to fling herself into his arms remained as strong as ever.
A heavy lump sat uncomfortably in Solona's throat, one which threatened to release itself in a flood of tears. Squeezing at Nathaniel's hand, Solona's eye flew to the whiskey bottle. For a short time she'd begun to feel as though she'd regained some bit of equilibrium, but the aftermath of telling Nathaniel the story of Alistair's death had awakened a great upheaval of forces inside her. It felt much larger than anything she could possibly deal with right there, in public and surrounded by a sea of strangers. Glancing warily at Nathaniel, she reached for her empty whiskey glass with her free hand.
"Just one more," she said. Nathaniel's hand squeezed at hers. Once her glass was filled and then quickly drained, the bottle's topper replaced and her chest burning pleasantly with the liquor's fire, Nathaniel's grip on her began to pull. Her body obeyed easily, somehow both lightened by the sharing of her troubles, and yet seeming clunkier and more unwieldy than ever. Solona found herself slipping mindlessly into Nathaniel's arms. A tender touch tickled down the back of her hair, before wrapping her in a solid, comforting hug. Solona exhaled what felt like a year's worth emotional weight as she melted into the firm contours of his chest. Warmth spilled wetly down her cheeks, but the quiet rhythms of Nathaniel's body overpowered her inner turmoil. Syncing her breaths with the deep, even rise and fall of his chest, Solona tuned into him and felt a numb peace come over her. His woodsy scent filled her nose, and the thumping bass of his steady heart resounded through her bones, the gentle waves of his breathing swelled against her. The powerful words he'd spoken not even an hour earlier came back to her. Of all the questions swirling around her head and making her chest ache, it was Nathaniel that was the most real. He was, in every way, right here, right now.
Sharp voices rose up from behind, though Solona only registered them once Nathaniel straightened up and cast his eyes warily in their direction. Nathaniel's body coiled in reaction to whatever was happening behind her, but Solona only finished turning in time to catch the shadow of a body moments before it stumbled into her, jarring her backward. A hasty apology was hissed in her direction, before the accidental attacker rushed out of view.
The seconds following the impact passed in slow motion. Dim figures jumped away from the center of the room, seeking space from the main source of noise. Nathaniel's hand closed around Solona's upper arm, pulling her roughly toward the wall. Wood scraped across floorboards and scrambling feet thumped through the room as if in a stampede. The unexpected outbreak of chaos dumped adrenaline in Solona's blood, a rush of energy that connected habitually to the ocean of magic inside her. Sparks skittered up her arms while the knots in her stomach untangled in anticipation of a fight. But with Nathaniel backed up in front of her, the ruckus in the center of the tavern remained completely obscured from view. And then came a tense moment of silence.
"What the fuck, asshole!?" shouted an enraged voice. Chairs somewhere within the room screeched again and clattered to the floor. Solona clutched the arm Nathaniel held protectively along her side, and breathed through the seconds it took her disoriented mind to process the situation. Errant sparks bled from Solona's fingertips, glancing off Nathaniel's leathers and shooting light into the shadowy recesses between their bodies. Somewhere to the left a head turned sharply in her direction, attracted by the telltale emitting of magical light. At least this time the liquor worked to dull her reflexes, preventing a full-on panic such as she'd had in the tavern outside the Wending Wood. Nathaniel's presence also seemed to issue a calming effect of its own. Raising herself up on tiptoes she peered over Nathaniel's shoulder, steadying herself with a palm at his waist. He turned his face toward her, and then stepped slightly to the side to afford her a better view.
"And what exactly are you protecting me from this time?" Solona asked.
Nathaniel laughed. "I'm not protecting you, my lady. I'm protecting them." He nodded toward the churning crowd while eyeing her hand on his arm, still buzzing with its connection to the Fade. "No need to be a hero right now, is there? Now that we are finally getting to know each other?"
Solona snorted, recognizing how accurately he'd anticipated her reaction. He lowered his arm as he watched this realization dawning on her, and she eased out from behind him to search the row of murmuring people blocking the view. One woman in a green shift clutched her companion's arm, dragging him toward the door. As they picked their way through the crowd the bodies moved, allowing a glimpse of the source of the tension. Unsurprisingly, the drunk crowd of youths stood at the center, chief among them the smug looking fisherman.
"Ten sovereigns says our fishy friend mouthed off to the lady in the blue dress," whispered Nathaniel.
The woman in the blue dress was difficult to spot, but Solona eventually found her, fuming and red-cheeked behind three barrel chested men who were facing down the fisherman. Smug smirk in place, and arms crossed over his chest, the fisherman was attempting to look unconcerned but it was hardly convincing.
"Let's see if his sea legs help him now." Nathaniel continued.
Solona sighed heavily. "But, we should step in, shouldn't we?"
"Why!?" Nathaniel scoffed.
"Well… it's what I normally end up having to do anyway before someone innocent gets hurt…"
"Solona, that man is not innocent. There is no injustice here. In fact it appears that blighter might be about to get exactly what he deserves."
Body still trembling with adrenaline, Solona gave a shrug and tried to force herself to relax. The adrenaline had a lightening effect, wiping away the heavy weight of all the talk about Alistair. She was grateful for the new development of tavern brawl and the distraction that it provided, but there was no question the talk with Nathaniel was one she needed. Still, she could always count on battle to dampen the voices in her head that drove her to precipice of madness and despair, though it seemed the momentary promise of battle was dying. It was true that Amaranthine already had its own law enforcement, and by the way Mick was glancing toward the tavern door, she expected he'd already sent out for some guards.
"Well if they start breaking things…" she said hopefully.
Nathaniel turned around to face her, his lip curled and eyes glinting suggestively.
"What?" she asked as her hands fell away from him. He hovered in front of her, just inches away while she grew increasingly more breathless.
"It would be quite satisfying to see you pummel him." His mischievous smirk was incendiary, and stunning to behold.
A surge of power streamed down her arms at the thought, clearing out the last of the malaise that had infected her during their talk. Flickering light around her fingers caught her eye as a second wave of sparks drifted from her fingertips to the floor. Her body seemed barely able to contain the multitude of new desires coursing through her. The desire to release the build up of magical energy, the desire to grab Nathaniel and plaster herself against him, to rip away the leathers and bindings blocking her from his flesh. Solona choked down a groan and rolled her shoulders, trying to keep herself under control.
"Actually, you're right. I should just let the guards handle it. I might end up damaging the place worse than those men will." Every second Nathaniel stood before her, so close, her body ached for more of his touch. Squeezing her eyes shut, Solona searched within herself for her connection to the Fade, where mana bled into her system in anticipation of release. With tremendous effort, she forced the channel closed, cutting off the flow of magical energy.
When it was done, she kept her eyes closed for a long moment, soaking in the sensation of Nathaniel's closeness. Even without touching him it seemed the space around her was swelling and contracting, breathing with the rhythm of his energy. She caught a whiff of his distinct scent again, clean, light and earthy, calling up visions of forests and campfires, of the soothing whisper of wind through the treetops. An image of him running silently over rocks and leaves, bow drawn and eyes sharp played in her mind. She saw a quiet, humble man who somehow embodied both simplicity and depth, who incited within her a return to all that was natural and real, things she could touch and taste.
The fight behind them had begun by the time she opened her eyes. Tables overturning, punches being thrown, flagons clattering to the floor; the sound of it all was unmistakable and yet growing more distant with each passing second. Startled by the intensity in Nathaniel's eyes as he gazed down at her, the air between them grew heavier.
Kiss me.
The thought rocked through her, but Nathaniel made no advance. His eyes grew dark, gaping down at her with what appeared to be desire. Remembering that she'd already declined him once, Solona sighed with the realization that the move would have to be hers.
Palm sliding around his waist, Solona faced her body to his, reveling in how perfectly tall he was, how his chest and shoulders sat at just the right height for her to drop her forehead down to rest upon them. An equally simple move would have his mouth within range, requiring no reaching or exertion, just the most ideal placement to make kissing him effortless. Despite the fighting going on just feet away, only Nathaniel registered in her awareness, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the alluring bulk of his shoulders, the sheer electric nearness of him. She took a step closer and Nathaniel's head bowed low, his hair breezing softly against her cheek. Solona drank in a breath of him, his flesh radiating his sweet, distinctive musk, heat blazing from his eyes and his chest. A shaky hunger in her belly snaked out to infect her limbs; between her legs raged an insistent ache.
She didn't even realize she was about to do it until it was done: that fragrant skin of his neck, pulsing with life and heat, beckoned her. She wanted his mouth, but in her amorous delirium somehow landed upon the sinewy grace of his neck. Opening her mouth enough to employ the tip of her tongue, she took in the light tang of salt and was rewarded with the vibration of his voice buzzing its sensual sound against her lips. Tentatively her hand raised to scrape against his collarbone, searching its way up to his jaw, the soft caress of his hair a veil over her fingers. Nathaniel's arm reached around her with greater confidence, his hand dragging down her back, tugging on her waist. His head turned toward her the moment her palm found his cheek. Ending her kiss to his neck, she pulled her face away in time to feel him brush back the hair at her temple, his fingers lingering as it drew lower, landing with a gentle caress on her collarbone. Her body pulsing with desire, she clenched her fingers into his back, urging him closer. This wasn't pretend anymore, she knew with certainty. This was real. This was it. And it couldn't seem to come soon enough.
"Solona." His voice a throaty whisper, infused with longing. She positioned her face before him, angling for his mouth.
In a quick move, he seized her, his mouth finding hers with a gentle but firm precision. Solona grasped him back, wanting to offer the reassurance she'd denied him under the bridge. Some small voice in the back of her mind reminded her she'd yet to apologize for that, despite all their time spent talking. But if she'd still failed to tell him that his feelings were returned, she resolved to finally, unequivocally show him. Fingers raking down his back, Solona pressed herself into him with a new fervor. Her mouth opened, her tongue sliding against his. His lips, so soft and warm, moved skillfully against hers as she drank in the luscious heat of his mouth. One hand tangled in the silky ropes of his hair, the other locked around his waist, holding him desperately against her. A whimper escaped her throat as the experience of him saturated her senses, as delicious and satisfying as the wildest of her imaginings. Everything about his body, his kiss, just felt right.
It was almost more than she could process, that the man she'd tried for so long not to think about was now in her arms. All those visions of him in the dark had invaded her thoughts at the oddest moments, taunting her. Trying to get closer still, her fingers searched over him, seeking a place to slip under and connect directly with his skin. But his leathers remained a labyrinth of belts and buckles, pieces that fit into each other differently than any of hers. Every few seconds the reality of their surroundings broke through the reverie, reminding her that they were surrounded with people. The yelps and crashes of the fight droned on, while bystanders slipped around them in their attempt to reach the door. Voices in the background cut sharply through the haze, followed by the scuffling of a continuedstruggle. But Nathaniel had been right that it wasn't Solona's business, and the sounds of violence behind her were reduced to an unwelcome distraction.
With a nip to his lower lip, Solona ended the kiss and was back upon the skin of his neck again. She closed her eyes and brought the taste of him into her, the clean but light bite of salt, the silky flexing of satiny flesh. His body tensed against the length of her, muscles rolling in tightening waves, thigh pressing against her hip; his arms slid down her back, pausing to squeeze and knead into her. Their bodies coiled into each other in a sensual a dance, and she let her head fall back in surrender, welcoming him, inhaling him.
I could love you. I might already.