New to this story? Read Part 1
M
Mal could feel something was off with Anora, but couldn’t figure out what. She had giggled at his rather inelegant riding, his long legs bunched and cramped on the stocky pony. Since lunch though she had gone quiet and while he didn’t mind the break in conversation, she seemed sad. As they made their way to the pass that would lead them into the mountain valley that they needed, he pondered his companion’s mood. Not just a companion, he corrected himself, his friend. Warmth filled him at the thought and he was determined to be a good friend in return.
Snow began to drift lazily down on them as they reached the pass, its craggy peaks hidden above the clouds. A small wooden shelter half buried in snow was stationed at the pass, granting travelers a place to rest before braving the windy narrow stretch. Mal began to set up camp, still hyper aware of Anora’s bleak mood.
The shelter was little more than a few wooden walls to keep out the weather so they stayed fully dressed as they slipped into their bedrolls, their cloaks draped over them for additional warmth. After wishing Anora a good night, Mal lay awake trying to understand her sudden sadness. It had been at lunch, he remembered, shortly after he said how much longer it would be. He blinked, suddenly realizing that their journey was soon ending. Once they reached the village and he acquired the ingredient he needed he could teleport home and prepare the elixir. He could not bring her along though, not in his weakened condition. He lay there, listening to the wind, and realized why she had become sad. She had no reason to be, he decided, he would not abandon her, his friend.
He glanced over at her. It was dark in the shelter, but he could faintly make out her form. She was turned away from him, her chest rising and falling unevenly. He quietly inched closer, the bedroll acting like a cocoon around him. As he got closer he heard the muffled sobs and felt his heart crack.
“Please don’t cry,” he whispered softly. She turned to him, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears. He slipped a hand out of his bedroll and brushed her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere without you.” With a gasp, she threw her arms around him and he happily pulled her close. His entire body felt warm now simply from having her pressed against him. He felt her snuggle her face into his shoulder as if it were a pillow and her breathing soon evened out with sleep.
A
Anora tried to be quiet as she curled in her bedroll. Mal had made no comment after the one at lunch, no glimmer of hope that he wouldn’t just abandon her once he had the ingredient he needed. She was being unfair, she knew, he had done nothing to make her think he would leave her, yet the thoughts were relentless.
The wind howled outside, creeking the boards of their shelter. No, she realized, not the wind. Mal was inching closer, his warmth calling to her in the dark.
“Please don’t cry,” he whispered. Her breath caught at how gentle and warm his voice sounded. She turned to him, barely making out his features in the dark. Warmth cupped her cheek and she leaned into his touch. “I’m not going anywhere without you.” She gasped, warmth filling her heart. She threw her arms around him, suddenly needing him even closer. She felt him pull her right against him, the bedrolls parting yet still cocooning them. Tucking her head against his shoulder, she let her body relax, soaking in the warmth wrapped around her. Sleep was quick to claim her.
The morning sun seeped into the cracks between the boards of their shelter and Anora buried herself further into her warm cocoon, not wanting to leave the coziness. The bedroll felt firmer than usual and had a new scent, reminding her of the fresh baked bread she had helped make in the kitchens. She sighed, enjoying the pleasant comfort wrapped around her. Her bedroll moved and she froze, startled by the movement. Memories from last night floated through the fog of her sleepy mind and she realized she was still curled into Mal. Hesitantly, she peeked an eye open. He was still asleep, his eyes closed, his face so close she could count his eyelashes if she chose to. He looked so relaxed, his sharp features softer with sleep.
She started to gently pull away and his brows furrowed. The arms around her moved slightly, pulling her back up against him. His face relaxed again and she felt him sigh, the air warm against her cheek. She smiled and tucked her head back against his shoulder. Her mother would have thought her curled up in bed with a young man highly scandalous even with them both fully dressed, but she felt safe with Mal.
She fingered the necklace she always wore, a gift from her mother before she had died. Her mother had said it would protect her as long as she wore it, but from what she didn’t know. It hadn’t helped her when she had been thrown in the dungeon nor saved her from the harsh discipline of the head cook. Mal seemed to recognize it though so perhaps it did have magic. She turned her attention back to him, taking in the smooth planes of his body pressed against hers. He wanted her here, she realized, perhaps even needed her as much as she had grown to need him. Her heart fluttered as she remembered his words to her, the warmth and conviction in them. Feeling emboldened, she gently kissed his neck.
M
Warmth surrounded Mal and he found himself strangely reluctant to greet the day. He could feel his arms still wrapped around Anora, her body flush against his. Though they were both fully clothed, he found his body stirring at such an intimate closeness. He was just about to open his eyes when he felt movement by his neck. Soft, warm lips pressed against his neck and a jolt went through him. He felt his blood heat, stirred to life by the kiss. His eyes opened and his gaze met hers.
He searched her eyes, an ache building in him. Her cheeks were soft pink, but she did nothing, only meeting his gaze. His attention moved to her mouth and he nearly lost his mind when she licked her lips. His eyes snapped back to hers and he saw her eyes darken. He loosened his grip on her, giving her an escape if he was misreading her intent, then brought his lips to hers.
The kiss was gentle, tentative at first, but soon he felt Anora respond with a heat that surprised him. A heat he eagerly matched as the kiss deepened into something hungry. His fingers found their way into her hair and he couldn’t help the groan as her hands mirrored his, her nails lightly scraping his scalp. Down their hands traveled, stroking and exploring every accessible inch. His pants were getting uncomfortably tight by the time Anora’s hands reached them.
When they did, he felt her pause. He pulled back and met her eyes. She was blushing hard, her cheeks flushed a deep pink. Her eyes darted uncertainly from his gaze to her hands still hovering at his crotch. He cupped her cheek, tilting her chin slightly to get her to meet his gaze. He would not push, no matter how much his body screamed for her. Taking her hands in his, he brought them to his lips and kissed them gently.
“There is no rush,” he assured her. He watched her let out a shaky breath and nod, a smile creeping over her flushed lips. He was as new to this as she seemed to be and he wanted to take it slow. A rumbling sounded between them, echoed by a second. A giggle followed and he found himself chuckling at their stomachs too. “Breakfast it is,” he said, giving her a final kiss before slipping out of the bedrolls. A fresh layer of snow coated everything outside the shelter, glittering in the sunshine.
Breakfast was the same as other mornings and yet somehow completely different. Mal found himself keenly aware of Anora as he cooked, every inch of distance between them feeling unbearable. She must have felt the same for she stayed much closer to him as he worked. Once it was ready, she plopped beside him on a log, her left side completely flush against his right. It sent tingles through him as he tried to focus on his meal.
A
Anora sat next to Mal and ate her breakfast. No, she amended, she was practically glued to his side. She felt embarrassed and yet not nearly enough to stop her from giving into the pull, a deep need to be close to him that had flared when they’d kissed. She noticed Mal seemed to be just as eager for the contact, unconsciously closing any gap between them she made.
She felt giddy as she ate, unable to believe that he did in fact return her feelings. She had paused when she reached the bulge in his pants, her mind reeling and mildly panicking. She could scarcely comprehend that she had him reacting like that, that he found her that desirable. It thrilled her, but had scared her too. At least, it had scared her until he had told her there was no rush, kissing her hands with such reverence that she’d felt her knees go weak even lying down. With just those few words he had let her know he wouldn’t push her beyond what she was comfortable with and she was extremely grateful for that.
She finished her meal and began packing up the bedrolls. They would enter the pass and the valley beyond today, according to Mal, hopefully reaching the village before nightfall. Conversation was still not abundant between them, but the silences were warm and comfortable compared to the hollow chasm of yesterday.
The fresh powder added to the drifts already in the pass and Anora was grateful it was not her feet sinking into the nearly knee deep snow. The shaggy pony did not seem to mind as it dutifully marched through the cold wetness. Mal was folded up on his pony again, his bent legs making it look like the pony had wings. She couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out as his legs bounced in time with the pony’s gait. He turned in his saddle, his face showing curiosity and warmth.
“Your legs are flapping like wings,” she admitted. He grinned at her and she nearly melted from the joy that lit his face. He turned back and started to chuckle.
“Fly little pony,” he crooned, purposely flapping his legs as if they truly were wings. She almost fell out of her saddle as she was overcome with laughter. She hadn’t expected his playfulness and wondered how often he was able to express it living alone in his secluded tower. He was probably lonely, she realized, her heart aching for him. There had always been a wicked sorcerer living in that tower according to the villagers, but she couldn’t imagine this boy to be the source of such rumors.
“Have you always lived outside of Larne?” she asked when they had made it through the pass and stopped for lunch. She was once again plastered to his side and could feel the shaky breath he took in response to her question.
M
Mal took a shaky breath and steeled himself before answering. He knew he could just say yes and let it drop, knew she wouldn’t push him, but he didn’t want to hide his past from her even if it hurt to relive it. So he told her everything.
It was his father’s tower, built from his magic and protected by a wall tied to his blood. His father had been part of the king’s court and Mal’s mother had been a lady of high standing when her beauty had caught his father’s eye. Though he was greatly feared for his ruthlessness and powerful magic, it had been seen as a good match.
Mal was their only living child, his three older siblings either being stillborn or dying as infants. His father had not bothered to learn any healing spells so they had to rely on the court healers. The toll of each death was visible on his mother’s gaunt face, her eyes always seeming distant and sad when she didn’t notice him watching her. When he had thrown a small tantrum and accidentally lit the tapestries on fire with magic his father had begun lessons.
It had been the only time he had seen his father look proud of him and even his mother had chuckled at the destruction her six year old son had wrought. Lessons had started off much like those of his other tutors, those for reading, writing, and sums. When he showed a consistent inability to summon his magic on command though, his father had turned to harsher methods.
Mal barely registered Anora’s gasp as he recounted those harsher methods, lost in the memories of pain and failure. It had taken years of struggle to be able to conjure the little magic he could and his father had been disgusted by it. At court however, his father hid it well, maneuvering constantly to make a powerful alliance with Mal as the bait. Court ladies were thrown at Mal in an attempt to win favor with one lord then another. His feelings had not mattered to his father and his mother’s arguments over the lessons and court treatment were long nasty bouts every night.
She had vanished one night after a louder than usual fight with his father. Mal had watched from his window after hearing the front door slam. Cloaked against the rain, she had stormed off into the night, the thorn wall lifting one last time for her. His father had been furious and had hunted for her across land and sea. Mal had been left alone at home for longer and longer stretches, but he found comfort in books. Eventually, his father had returned after his longest absence, haggard and wan, and collapsed in his bed. He had not been able to rise from it, a strange wasting sickness the healers had no cure for. After tending to his father day and night for five days, Mal woke to find his father dead. He hated himself for the relief he’d felt.
He had been modifying sections of his home and property while his father had been away, building up his mother’s garden and creating an orchard from the apple tree his mother had planted when he was little. He continued the work after his father passed away, adding chickens and a small beehive. The king had offered him his father’s position, but he had no desire to return to the politics and schemes of court. Instead, he spent his days in solitude, splitting his time between reading and tending to his property. It was lonely at times, he admitted, but he had gotten to know a number of the merchants in Larne and the two other nearby villages well enough to not feel completely alone.
His story done, he sat quietly beside Anora, awaiting her response to his rather bleak tale. He hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed to learn he was not actually some powerful sorcerer like his father, but just a boy with a few measly tricks up his sleeve.
A
Anora did not know what she had expected when she asked her question, but it had not been the heart-rending tale she received. Hearing how cruel his father had been to him, the brutality he had endured because he could not meet his father’s expectations, had her glad the horrible man was dead. She felt awe at Mal’s warmth and kindness, his ability to still smile and laugh after all the pain he had been through. She wrapped herself around him, hugging him tight.
“Your father was the failure, not you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, “it shouldn’t have mattered whether you even had magic or not let alone been powerful.” She felt him return the embrace, curling himself around her. She took his face gently in her hands, meeting his eyes. “You are amazing,” she said fiercely, tears beginning to fill her eyes, “and I love you just the way you are.” She kissed him, pouring every ounce of herself, her love, into it. She felt him respond to her kiss, not with passion and desire like before, but with a deeper hunger, a longing that seemed to call to her very soul.
Breathless, they sat together, bodies entwined upon the rock they had used as a seat. Her body tingled and her lips felt bruised as she leaned against him. She could feel a bond had formed between them, a deeply woven connection that thrummed like a second heartbeat within her. Her mother’s amulet felt surprisingly warm against her flushed skin, the blue stone now a rich purple when she glanced at it. Curious, she held it up to Mal.
“The stone,” he murmured gently holding the amulet, “it was blue before.” She nodded. “Not only a locator shield then.” Her eyebrows rose in surprise.
“My mother gave it to me before she died,” she told him, “she said it would protect me.” She watched Mal study the amulet, his long fingers turning it about.
“It is possible,” he whispered, seeming lost in his own thoughts, “though there’s been no record of one for nearly a century.” He shook himself, his eyes filled with wonder as he met her gaze. “I think this is a Hedronic Shield, a multi-faceted protection spell that shifts its shielding based on its wearer’s need. Has it been any other color before?” She thought back, not just when she wore it, but also her mother.
“It’s been green I think,” she admitted, “and once I remember it being red briefly, but I was very young and figured it was a trick of the light. Never purple though.” She watched him nod, his gaze fixed on the amulet.
“From the little I’ve read on them,” he explained, “the stone color represents the active shield and each will be tied to one of the branches of magic. Blue was a locator shield because when we met I was unable to track you with my magic. It makes sense since you wished to hide at the time. Blue is often tied to illusion magic. The green would likely have been tied to healing and red to fire.”
“What branch of magic is tied to purple?” she asked, fascinated.
“My father’s,” he said, shuddering. “He specialized in harnessing shadows and the void between. It’s how he traveled without teleportation.” She knew without Mal saying it that it was also how his father had punished him.
“How many colors can it have?” She knew paints could be mixed into a near infinite number of hues, but had no idea how many branches of magic existed.
“That’s a good question,” he admitted, shrugging lightly. “There are ten main branches of magic, but there could be different shields in the same branch in that amulet. Just because it’s looked blue doesn’t mean it’s been the same shade of blue and thus could have been a different shield.” She thought over his words and jolted at the realization.
“It has three blues,” she said, her voice excited, “I’ve seen it really dark blue and a light icy blue too. Both would be tied to illusion magic like the other one?” Mal nodded, smiling.
“If it has three blues it could easily have thirty different shields,” he replied, his own excitement evident. “Hedronic shields are ancient magic and much about them has been lost. I’ve only seen them mentioned in a handful of books. Did your mother say where she got it?”
“Supposedly it’s been in my family for generations,” she explained, “handed down along the female line. She once told me the story of its making. My ancestor forged it to protect her daughter from a demon, granting her the ability to flee its pursuit and find happiness. It seemed too unbelievable to have been true even as a child.” She stood, stretching her stiff joints. They should continue, she knew, light would not wait for them and while Mal’s cough had not become as bad as the climb to the lodge it still persisted. As they remounted their ponies, Anora glanced at the amulet, noting it had shifted color again.
Continue Reading: Part 5
What do you guys think about the relationship development? I’ve never been keen on traditional romance novels, but I’ve been reading Stephanie Garber and Sarah J Maas lately and find they do a lovely job of adding romance into their stories without making it into something shallow *cough* Twilight *cough*.
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Really enjoyed this part. The relationship is very sweet, and handled with tact. I like that they're testing the waters and getting to know each other rather than diving straight in.