“You’re desperate, sir, there’s a difference.”
Riffling his fingers through his hair and feeling a knot beginning to swell on the back of his skull, he shook his head. “She would be ashamed.”
“I doubt that, sir.”
Momentary insanity fled, Rumpel made his way to his knees. Giles was already shrugging on his coat and brushing his mussed hair back.
“Shall I call the maids?”
“Aye.” He glanced at the shattered evidence of a life he’d one lived and loved and lost, then turned on his heel and walked away. Caratina was gone, never to return, but he still had a job to do.
The problem was, he was letting the siren affect him. He couldn’t have that. If she failed, she’d be gone. Period.
Wiping at the blood on his swollen lip, he made plans for her second test.
“Master, have you considered that perhaps the girl is not here for Euralis at all?”
Clenching his jaw, Rumpel said, “You are a friend, Giles. I will accord you mercy where I wouldn’t with anyone else. Do not ever speak such blasphemy to me again.”
Bowing low, Giles nodded. “Sir.”
Days rolled into a week, a week into two, and now here she was the day before the next test. Shayera paced the length of the room that now felt so much like home to her. Ever since that night in the library, things had settled down into something more comfortable.
Rumpel no longer made passes at her; in fact, he was extremely formal. He kept his distance, not cold, but no longer teasing and tempting her.
Stopping before the large bay window, she stared out at the brilliant sunrise. Now that she knew how to control the landscape she saw around the castle, she’d settled on a scene of rolling green hills and swaying purple heather.
It reminded her a little of home.
Touching the cool pane of glass, she rested her forehead against it and sighed. She was restless and twitchy. It would be a terrible lie to say she didn’t miss his teasing even a little, the way he’d make her feel breathless and twitchy.
It was nice not to feel the pain of unfulfilled desire, but the emptiness of nothing might even be worse. Most of her nights were spent reading the tomes, and apart from learning, in great detail, about the rise of the great demone war, she’d learned nothing really new of the man.
But the history was fascinating, so she continued. She neared the end of the second tome and hoped that maybe somewhere in the next three she’d learn something of the man himself.
To say her fascination with him only grew as the days moved on would be a terrible understatement. Anytime Dalia was near, she was tempted to grill the poor maid about what her master liked, who he’d been when he lived in Delerium, was he always like this or had coming to Kingdom changed him somehow… There were so many questions that constantly burned at her.
Growling, she shoved away from the window. Her skin felt too tight this morning, itchy. Scratching herself, she grimaced as the tingling rush of trying to contain her charms made her ache.
“Miss.” Dalia’s gentle voice came from the corner.
Turning toward the girl, who was dressed as she usually was in her maid’s outfit, Shayera smiled. “Dalia!” she practically cried. “I’m going crazy.”
“Oh no, what’s the matter? Come here, sit.” She marched to the vanity and pulled out the seat, patting it.
Moving to sit, Shayera plopped down, shoulders drooping as she stared at her too-pale cheeks. Her hair was wild and untamed, a mass of riotous curls framing her heart-shaped face. The freckles stood out in bold relief, the skin under her eyes was a definite shade of purplish blue. “I look like a wreck.” She touched her cold cheek.
“Nows you mention it…” Dalia smiled sympathetically. “You do look a bit, umm…”
“It’s all right, you can say it. Awful.”
Grabbing a rope of Shayera’s hair, Dalia gave it a gentle tug. “You need to go out. You’ve a test tomorrow—getting yourself this worked up the day before is no good.”
Just then Dalia’s pinky scraped her collar and if Shayera had had better control of herself, she’d have been able to clamp down on her charm, but that slight touch caused her to flare.
The maid’s eyes went wide and she inhaled, not with fright, but with desire. Shayera saw the bloom of it shine through the red of her eyes.
“Oh, no!” She jerked away, keeping a safe distance from the girl and holding out her hand.
Dalia grappled with her confusion. She was hugging her pinky to her chest and blinking rapidly, as if warring with herself internally, knowing what she felt was a result of Shayera’s magic and not of her own making.
“Dalia, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m not feeling well today at all—maybe it’s best if you just kept your distance.”