“We need fire,” I reply. My fingers are so stiff they hurt, my joints throbbing.
I know my friend is struggling. I am too. But she didn’t even offer to help. Didn’t even try.
“We’ll get fire, Raina.” His voice is as soft as the falling snow. “Even if we have to conjure it ourselves.”
After a tug of the blanket tighter over his shoulders, he tries building a fire with the contents of the tinder box again. The cold is so intense without Helena and Tuck’s heat that the pain in my fingers spreads through the rest of me. Even though Hel has the gambeson, I can’t imagine how she’s lying there so very still. Even Alexus’s fingers tremble as he fumbles with the flint and wool to no avail.
He closes up the tinder box and scrubs his arms beneath the blanket. “I can show you how to summon fire. You might not like it, but I can show you. One time, that’s all it takes. After that, with some practice, you should be able to seek out fire threads for yourself.”
I’m so frigid, yet heat rises inside me, warming my face.
“I know what must be done to see them,” I manage to tell him.
So much in our world of magick is about connection. Connection to the universe, our inner selves, our inner peace, the world around us.
And connection to each other.
Alexus’s eyebrows dart up. “Yet you don’t know how to summon fire? Who taught you how to see the threads but didn’t take the time to help you master them? Or is this another skill I had no idea you possess?”
He considers me and then glances at Helena, and I can read his mind. But it wasn’t her.
I would never admit this—to Alexus of all people—but I helped Finn numerous times, back before I realized that he could harvest fire threads well enough without my aid. He only wanted an excuse to be close to me, and it worked. He never offered to teach me anything.
“Not a skill, and I cannot see them,” I clarify. “I only know what is necessary to do so.”
“Or you think you do,” he replies, one brow still raised. “I fear you might’ve had an inadequate experience.” He opens his arms, holding the blanket like wings, and spreads his bent legs. “Come here. Let me show you.”
Gods. This is as bad as sleeping next to him, and the very last thing on all of Tiressian soil that I want to do—except die. So with reluctance in my every move, I get up and go to him.
Alexus slides until his back is against the stone behind us, and I fit myself between his legs. As if it’s the most natural thing to do, he folds me in his arms, covering me with the blanket, which isn’t much guard against the cold. It’s coated in frost like everything else.
At first, I think there’s no way this will work, but soon, a fragment of warmth builds between us. Even that sliver of heat is utter bliss.
“You can relax.” His voice is low, quiet so Helena can sleep. “This is far easier if you’re not stiff as a tree. As long as you don’t try stabbing me like you did that scarecrow.”
I glare at him, then jerk a hand from beneath his blanket and sign. “I am frozen.”
What I wouldn’t do for a wolf skin right now.
He lets out a small laugh that rumbles into me. We both know my discomfort isn’t just from the cold. I simply don’t want to be this close to him.
“Frozen or not,” he whispers, “we need heat or fire if I’m to help you harvest the strands. So you might as well get comfortable. Body heat it is.”
I glance at the lamp and widen my eyes. That seems like a better idea for harvesting fire threads than cuddling with the Witch Collector. I eventually figured this out with Finn, though I can’t say the closeness from his beginner fire magick days didn’t lead to us becoming more than friends.
“No lamp,” Alexus replies. “If it blows out, we’ll be in total darkness, and believe me, collecting fire threads from body heat isn’t something you want to do in the dark if you’re worried about touching me. Now sit back and cooperate. The faster we gather the threads, the faster you can warm yourself by a fire and not against me.” He leans close, lowering his voice even more. “Since I’m clearly so horrible to be near. Your friend is a wretch and smells like an unemptied chamber pot, and you chose to ride with her anyway. I’m not sure how to feel about that.” I glare at him from over my shoulder, but he just smiles and gently takes my shoulders and tugs. “Come on. Stifle your pride. It’s bitter out here.” When I still hesitate, he says, “Am I truly so awful that you would rather die than be near me?”
Does he not know who he is to me?
With a roll of my eyes, I give in and lean back against him, but only because our shared warmth makes me needy for more. We’re both shivering, but the shaking eases once we’re closer.
He touches my arm through the cloak and rubs his hand from wrist to shoulder to create more heat. I turn to my side, doing the same to him, if stiffly. I want this over, but as the heat between us builds, the urgency to be away from him isn’t so strong.
Finally, I do relax, all to the rhythm of his palm making soothing circles on my back. Around us, the wind howls, and every now and then, snowflakes swirl into our little shelter. He curves protectively around me when they do, and I hate that I find it such a kind action.
“Close your eyes and keep them closed.” His voice is still so low and deep. “Then touch my chest. Right over my heart.”
I lift my hand but pause. Finn and I never did this. He always said he only required closeness, body heat. Granted, there was touching. Plenty. Not that I minded at the time.
But there was never any talk of hearts.
After a moment of hesitation, I rest my hand in the dip at the center of Alexus’s chest. His pulse pounds steadily beneath my touch.
“Imagine strings,” he says. “That if you move your fingers delicately, like playing the harp, you can lure those strings right through my skin and into your grasp. You can do this with flames too. Some witches, mages, and sorcerers can even harness fire threads from storms. There’s much power in the air during a storm. Heat and light. Fire threads can even be gathered using glass and sunlight. You just have to focus and summon them. They will come.”
My magick has always been so hidden. It’s strange to share it—with the Witch Collector of all people. I’m letting him teach me, and though I’ve never cared much about expanding my knowledge before, I now find that I want to learn, even under his guidance.
I flutter my fingers against his chest, delicately, like he said. The movement is simple, not that I’ve ever played the harp, but I’ve seen it done, and so I mimic the flow through my fingertips, focusing, noting how the connection between us grows warmer and warmer.
Looking up at Alexus, I’m reminded of when we rode together in the vale after the attack, how his heat comforted me even then.