“I know.” His bow is so subtle it could be a trick of the dim light. “Yours is the last door down the hall on the left,” he says, before disappearing back to the bar.
The floor creaks in the hallway leading to the extra bedroom.
As I enter, Kiki turns with a tiny smile.
I shrug off my jacket and collapse onto one of the beds. “How will we make the raven black without paint?” I ask.
She gazes out the window and then comes around to the side of the bed and grazes her hands over my arms. I shiver with delight under her touch. Her eyes linger on some words and skip over others.
She says, “It seems we have some ink.”
Chapter 24
Ineke
Scriv, who I don’t trust as far as I could throw him, which probably isn’t far at all without using my power, did give me an idea about sourcing the ink we need.
I lift Soren’s arm and breathe on his skin. He shivers again.
“You’re cold,” he says, reaching out to hold me.
I exhale, gazing into the inner place where I can access my fae power. I gather the energy and then as I breathe onto Soren’s skin, I visualize drawing the ribbons of ink into the clay pot in my hands. I lift the letters of the word never one at a time, sending each of them dripping into the bowl like the rain running down the window.
I look up at Soren’s astonished grin. He brushes his finger over the bare patch of skin. “How did you—?”
“You told me fae can be healers. Vespertine said to trust my intuition. This doesn’t make any sense at all and yet it does. I had the idea after Scriv commented about you having plenty of ink.”
“But I don’t think it’ll be enough,” Soren says.
“There’s no shortage of ink-stained people in Raven’s Landing,” I answer. “I don’t trust Scriv though.”
“He delivered the wood. We’re good,” Soren says around a yawn.
Uneasiness washes over me. “What was all of that with you and your aunt?” I ask haltingly. “She didn’t seem to think it was wise to go in with him.”
He drops his voice. “Long ago, Scriv was an ally who conned her.”
“Revenge and rebellion are in your blood then,” I say.
“Or stupidity. She wouldn’t let you take her ink though. She wears it with pride. Says that it marks her disobedience. I was actually surprised to see she hadn’t been thrown in the ashpit by now.”
I playfully whack Soren. “She’s your aunt. Family.” I can’t let myself miss my mother yet. I can’t be vulnerable while there’s so much at stake.
Soren’s gaze dances to mine and he gently grips my arms, drawing me close. He inhales my hair. His nose brushes the spot behind my ear and then my neck.
“I think we get to choose our family,” he says.
His lips land on mine in a soft whisper, then trail along my jawline and to my collarbones until I can feel the thunder rolling in his chest.
“I believe both,” I whisper as my breath catches.
Our lips crash together in one momentous surge of desire.
I’m not flying, but it’s as though I’m airborne, falling through space, time, realms, reality, and into Soren’s arms, his lips, all of him.
Never have I felt so close to someone—at once so connected and right and thrilled.
His stubble scratches my cheeks in a way that lights me up. High voltage sizzles along my skin as I curl into the kiss, wanting more.
A husky sound escapes his throat and I am certain he’s enjoying this as much as I am. Maybe more.
The kiss deepens.
His hands tangle in my hair.
My heart races.
It’s as though we’re running to keep up with each other, to keep up with time, and with the looming deadline as life and the future weighs in the balance.
I could do this forever, but there’s work that needs to be done by dawn. I sigh softly as I pull back. “I have to stay focused and you need your rest.”
“So do you,” he counters.
I shake my head. “I don’t want to risk dreaming of ravens. Go to sleep,” I whisper.
But he already is.
I breathe onto the word cruel printed on Soren’s forearm. As before, I do the work of drawing the ink from his skin, drop by drop. It’s like reverse typing, deleting words from a page as I gather up the stories his skin tells. I move through more words: heartache, trickery, loss, dreams, bleeding each one into the clay bowl.
As the night draws on, where I expect to be drained of energy, I feel as though I could go on for days. I may have to, considering the ink barely covers the bottom of the bowl even though the skin on Soren’s lower arm is now smooth and unblemished.
A jolt of excitement shoots through me as I uncover my fae abilities, tapping into my interior senses in new ways.
As I continue, my mind drifts to my mother. She’d heal me when I was sick with a sniffle or an upset stomach, rubbing my feet with oil that reminded me of the pine trees at Inverness. When I was upset, she’d trace a finger over my forehead, humming, and I’d quickly feel at ease. If I was struggling with school, she’d place her palm against mine, mutter under her breath, and soon I’d have clarity.
My mother was fae. Memories form chaotic knots, but I pull them apart one at a time and realize how amazing she was but I can’t cry again. Not yet.
Soren stirs as the first light
