“Who fathered her son is of no real consequence, of course,” he continued. “Not if he is born into magic.”
Because, in the end, the capacity for magic—be it earth, air, or personal—mattered more than bloodlines or relationships. It was the reason why so many of the children born into ruling families had Sifft blood but possessed no magic. In the past, they’d erroneously believed that shifting was a form of magic, when it was nothing more than complex DNA coding.
“Is her husband coming here to escort her back to Winterborne?”
“That task has been conferred to me.” He shifted back in the chair, but one hand brushed my hip as he did so. Despite the sheet that lay between my skin and his, awareness surged and pleasure rushed through me again.
Why on earth was I in such a hyper state? Why was this weird, unwanted rush of desire even happening, first with the older woman and now with this man—a man who was obviously here for reasons other than what he’d stated?
He was still watching me far too closely and I had a vague feeling he was very aware of my sensitive state. Which, erect nipples aside, should not have been the case. He wasn’t Sifft, and shouldn’t have been able to scent desire.
“Whose idea was it to dig an earth shelter?” he asked, after a moment.
“Mine.” I paused, feeling rather like a wildebeest caught in a powerful spotlight, knowing trouble was coming but unable to see or move past the glare of the lights. “Why?”
“Because while air witches can control wind and weather for as long as their strength holds out, the earth is not theirs to command.”
I frowned. “But she didn’t command the earth. She merely asked the wind to cut into it.”
“Even that should not have been possible. Earth and air are two completely different elements and a witch who controls one cannot impact the other.”
I shrugged, trying to ignore the confusion within as much as the questions that rose at his statement. “Maybe the wind sensed her desperation.”
“Maybe.” He studied me for a moment then pushed to his feet and held out a hand. “I would like to officially thank you on behalf of the Rossi clan.”
I hesitated, not wanting to touch him but knowing he’d consider it offensive if I didn’t. But the minute my fingers were encased in his, energy surged, a wave of heat that prickled across my skin like desire and yet had a far darker purpose. Lord Kiro might possess a very powerful and seductive type of personal magic, but he was also a reader—someone who had the ability to touch the flesh of another and draw out his or her innermost secrets.
I had no secrets—nothing other than a tiny fraction of magical ability I wasn’t supposed to possess. And as far as I knew, readers weren’t capable of uncovering such information—that was the job of auditors.
“Believe me,” I said, keeping my voice even. “No thanks are required.”
“Many would disagree.” He frowned down at our hands, as if confused, then said, “Saska would like to see you when you feel up to it. Tonight, if possible, but certainly before we leave tomorrow.”
Because of course a common Nightwatch officer would not be transported in the same vehicle as those from a ruling house—even if said Nightwatch officer had saved one of their asses. I pulled my hand from his and said, “Sure. I’m just waiting on dinner now, but maybe afterward?”
“I’ll let her know.” He gave me a half bow, then turned and strode from the room.
But the tension that rode me didn’t leave, even after he’d well and truly departed. Something was happening, something over which I had no control and no understanding. Something that involved that man, Saska, and perhaps even the ability I wasn’t supposed to have.
Restless and uneasy, I flicked off the sheet and swung my feet off the bed. The scar on my leg was as puckered and ugly as the one on my arm, though at least it was no larger than a babe’s fist. I eased down onto my left leg then carefully switched my weight to my right. A niggle of pain ran across my nerve endings, but the leg seemed to hold up. I took a step, then when nothing happened, walked over to the window and looked out.
Just in time to see a huge ball of flame arc over Blacklake’s curtain wall and smash down into the courtyard.
3
Almost immediately a high-pitched wail cut through the silence and made the hair on my arms stand on end.
It was the attack alarm.
I spun and ran back to the locker at the base of my bed. Saska’s bracelets and all my weapons were inside, but my clothes weren’t; instead, there was the brown uniform of a Blacklake officer. I guessed mine had been too damaged to repair. I hastily dressed, then clipped on my utilities belt, weapons, and knife.
“Whoa there, young lady,” Treace said as she stepped back into the room. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“We’re under attack—”
“Yes, and our people can handle it. You can come with me to the raid shelter—”
“Sorry, but I can’t.” I grabbed one of the meat patties from the tray she was carrying. “I’ll eat the rest of that later.”
I raised the patty in salute then ran out into the hallway, eating it as I paused to get my bearings. I had no idea how this place was laid out, but to find the curtain wall all I had to do was listen for the sound of fighting—and that was coming from the right.
I spun and ran down the hall, weaving my way through the men, women, and children going in the opposite direction. The doors opened as I approached and I paused again, my gaze sweeping the courtyard ahead. The hospital appeared to be situated against the inner bailey wall, and just in front of a massive but empty moat. Between it and the main curtain wall lay the outer yard, much of which was currently on fire. To my left, there were steps leading up to the barracks, under which lay machinery sheds. To the right, what looked like workhouses, kitchens, and a mess hall. Directly in front of me was the great tower, a massive metal construction that was undoubtedly the command center. If I wanted to join the fight, I’d better head there and ask for a station. To do anything else was not only disrespectful to the Blacklake battalion, but also dangerous.
I spun left and ran for the drawbridge. There were several men stationed near it, ready to draw it up should the outer wall be breached—but it wouldn’t be, surely. While an Adlin’s claws might be able to pierce stone as easily as flesh, the metal used on these walls—like the metal used at Winterborne—was slick and thick, and impervious to anything the Adlin or even the Irkallan might throw at it.
A soft whistling had me looking up. A ball of fire the size of a head was coming straight at me. I threw up my hand, as if to ward off the heat of it, and called on the wind to divert it. She answered surprisingly fast, gusting briefly but fiercely, changing the course of the flaming ball just enough to smash it into the ground several feet away. Fire chased my heels as I raced across the yard and then into the great tower. Surprisingly, there were no guards there. I gripped the metal railing and began to climb, my footsteps echoing in the vast, shadowed space.
From up above, a voice said, “Who goes there?”
“Neve March, Nightwatch officer, seeking permission to join the fight.”
There was a pause, then, “Permission granted to come up.”
Which was not permission to join the fight, but better than being sent packing to the raid shelter. I raced up the remaining two flights and came to a large landing area. Several heavily armed men were on watch here; only one of them acknowledged me.
“This way.”