Page 47 of The Fae's Gamble
Calum jumped up from his desk and caught Fern before she hit the ground. His arm tightened around her waist, and he smiled down at her.
“Good morning.” The warmth of his voice made Fern shiver, and not from the cool weather. Calum couldn’t resist the feel of her in his arms and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Fern grinned into it before pulling away.
“It’s mid-afternoon, Calum.”
“Then it’s a good thing I made tea.” He nodded toward his desk, Fern’s eyes lighting up at the steaming mug waiting for her. She stepped over another pile of journals, grabbed the mug closest to the wingback chair, and sat down.
Fern raised an eyebrow in expectation as she took a long sip, waving towards Calum’s empty desk chair.
“Well? Come on then! You can’t expect me to wait any longer. What did the bean-nighe say?!” Fern was bouncing with excitement but sobered slightly when she saw the reaction on Calum’s face. His body tightened as he let out a small noise of assent and moved towards his desk.
Fern noticed his limp was more pronounced, and she wondered if it had to do with their encounter at Dunino Den.
“Are you okay?” She put her mug down as the rest of her excited mood evaporated. Calum sat down at his desk and eyed his cane, leaning against his chair.
“I am,” he assured her. “it’s my leg acting up after being so close to all that magic. It’s the most power I’ve felt in years.” There was something in his voice that was wistful, almost lonely, and it made Fern’s heart ache for all that he had gone through.
Fern waited for Calum to continue. He let out a deep sigh, resting his hands on the desktop and interlocking his fingers. His head turned towards the fireplace, and he almost seemed to get lost in the flames before he started speaking.
“The bean-nighe told me the whole curse.”
Fern sucked in a sharp breath. “The whole curse?”
“Aye,” Calum nodded. His voice was thick with emotion, making his accent more pronounced. “After all these years, we’ve only had half the translation.”
Fern had read the curse a thousand times over. Over the past few weeks, she’d been voracious for information about Scotland’s magical society; even though she told Calum at the start of the term that she didn’t want to have anything to do with breaking the curse, it was impossible for her to curb her curiosity.
“At the edge of conquest, close off our hearts… Let not a drop of power through, until Scotland stands apart.” Fern repeated the words slowly, feeling the dormant magic in her blood sparking in recognition. It knew the words belonged to her ancestor.
The books on the floor flew open, pages fluttering back and forth at the sound of her voice. Fern’s heart raced, but she temporarily forced herself to ignore the magical outburst and focus on Calum.
“Apparently, that was not the full incantation.” He coughed, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath. When he spoke again, his voice had changed. It sounded savage, like a distinct part of him had taken over.
“At the edge of conquest, close off our hearts… Let not a drop of power through, until Scotland stands apart.” Calum repeated the first portion back to Fern, and she jumped. The fire reacted, the flames sparking higher and licking the mantle. “And only when it stands alone it will kiss magic and atone. All will be right but only then.”
The fire blazed as Calum finished, and the books on the floor all shook, their pages flipping back and forth. The office erupted. A fierce wind whipped around the space, causing the kettle to shatter, as the coat of arms on the wall trembled.
“Calum, what—” Fern was dizzy as the magic in her body responded to the power that was manifesting in the air.
“Come here!” Calum yelled, his eyes turning gold as his face shifted. He looked more like the wild fae that Fern saw in the woods, the power flickering around him in such a palpable way that she could feel it. It called to her.
It sang.
Calum ran to Fern, and she clung to his shoulders as he pulled them both underneath the massive desk.
“What’s happening?” Fern whimpered, and Calum clutched her tighter at the sound. His hand came up to the back of her head, and he guided her to the crook of his shoulder.
“I don’t know.” Even with their proximity, he had to yell over the sound of the magic whipping its way through the office.
For a minute, Fern didn’t know if they were going to die. The flames were about to burst from the fireplace, and books and weapons were being thrown about the room. The magic that was thrumming in Fern’s body was unfamiliar, but she could feel it pushing her towards Calum, even then.
The wind picked up speed, going faster and faster, and Fern could hear a drumbeat picking up rhythm. The artifacts on the wall glowed and the weapons rattled, as if trying to go into battle themselves.
The drums got louder and louder, and the wind smelled like heather and grass. It echoed inside Fern’s chest—it was chaos, wild and untamed, like the essence of the moors themselves were trapped inside the small little office.
“Don’t move!” Calum commanded, giving Fern a squeeze before trying to gently push her off him.
Fern’s eyes got wide, and she tightened her grip on Calum. Her heart was beating against her chest—she didn’t know what was happening, but she knew that separating was the worst plausible idea.