Page 55 of Ash and Roses
“Pain comes in many forms.” I suppose she’s right. Now if only she had a tea that could take away this numbness.
“Please tell me what you meant.” My body has relaxed significantly, and it seems my tone has too.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t felt the bond between you two. I wasn’t certain of it at first, but when you fell ill and he refused to leave your bedside… He moved whenever you moved, breathed when you breathed. Mating bonds are rare, but I’d stake my life on it that you two share one.”
My head is absolutely swimming now, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the cup still clutched in my hands. Mating bonds, magic, curses. It’s all too much. None of this is talked about in Lunae. I’ve seen enough proof that curses are real, but what else? The dragons of old and Marein sirens may as well exist, too. Is anything truly impossible?
I should be caught up on the existence of such a bond, but a different question forces its way out. “Can more than one bond exist at a time? I’m not sure if I believe any of this, but…”
“Someone you lost?”
I nod before lowering my head so she can’t see the reddening of my eyes. If Quinn and I share some sort of magical bond, then logic would dictate that the only other person who made me feel this way was also connected to me in some way. “From the first moment I saw him, something clicked inside me. From then on, I could always feel when he was close.”
“Bonds are magical. They only exist when at least one person is something more than human. Was this man—or woman,” she adds with a smile, “human?”
The question takes me off guard. “Of course he was human. And so am I.”
“Then a bond is unlikely. But yes, I suppose bonds could overlap. It doesn’t mean anything, you know. The bond. You don’t have to accept it. Ruben and I didn’t. Not entirely, anyway.”
“You and Ruben?” That shouldn’t come as a surprise to me. How many times have I seen them share only a glance and feel like an entire conversation had passed between them? They always seem to know where the other is, so they must be able to hear each other’s thoughts just as Quinn sent his words to my mind. I wonder if he would hear me now if I tried to speak with him.
I shut that thought down as quickly as it comes. I’m not ready to talk to him, and I’m not entirely sure I ever will be.
“He lost his wife, and I my husband,” Tess explains. “We’d been friends for years, and when the curse took us… We chose to remain loyal to those we’d lost, so the connection we share became one of friendship and comfort. It made for keeping an eye on Quinn all the easier too.” She laughs. “Your will is your own. You don’t have to let magic dictate who you hold in your heart.”
“Quinn knows about this, right? If we have amating bond?” Gods, that feels so ridiculous to say.
She hesitates, as if knowing her answer will only get the prince into trouble, but in the end, she chooses honesty. “He absolutely would. He’s the non-human, so the magic that cursed him is the magic weaving threads between you now. He should have told you.”
I down the last sip of my tea and scrape the bottom of my bowl for one last spoonful of stew. It did nothing to quell the storm of emptiness swirling within me, but filling my belly was a relief in its own right. I can’t talk about mating bonds and magic anymore, but I don’t think I could bring myself to sleep either. Quinn is still out there, and he may not even be human. I’m going to have to face him eventually, but that’s the last thing I want to think about now. I need a distraction.
“Quinn said something about you being a storyteller.” That’s not exactly what he said, but asking if she’d filled my head with tales of Dragoria is pretty much the same thing.
Her laugh is almost musical, and she looks as if with that one question I transported her back to a precious memory. Perhaps one where she’d told Quinn some of the very stories I’m looking to fill my dreams with now. “He did, did he? Well, it was my grandmother who was the true storyteller. I can’t tell them as well as she could.”
“Could you tell me one? I should get some rest, but my mind won’t slow down. I don’t think any amount of your tea will fix that.”
Her smile is warm, and all traces of the earlier sadness in her eyes seems to have vanished entirely. “Nothing would make me happier.”
She takes the bowl from me and moves the table away while I slip under the covers. Bedtime stories are usually told by a mother to a daughter, so it’s an experience I never thought I’d have. I may be an adult, but I don’t think it’s possible to be too old for this. I’ll have to tell Tess tomorrow just how eternally grateful I am for the kindness she continues to show me, but for now? I’m going to lose myself in stories of other people’s lives. Let them slay the dragons, navigate mating bonds, and break curses. My own problems can wait.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
ABBY
Idon’t know if it had to do with Tess’ stories or the knowledge that one less monster breathes, but I awoke this morning feeling more refreshed than I have in ages—and without a nightmare to speak of.
I still don’t know where I stand when it comes to Quinn, but thanks to the peaceful night of rest, I feel as if I can stomach talking to him. It goes beyond what he is now. After what Tess told me about the bond growing between us, I need to figure out exactly what he is tome.
After slipping on a pair of simple brown pants and an off-white lace shirt, I head downstairs with purpose. I’d meant to burst right through the castle doors on the warpath to speak to Quinn, but Tess’ voice catches my attention and has me striding to the usually empty dining hall instead.
Tess is standing in the center of the large room, a flurry of activity around her in all directions. She barks orders at everyone she sees, giving them various instructions ranging from the re-fluffing of curtains to the correct placement of tables and chairs. I make my way over to her—at great personal risk to myself—and tap a finger on her shoulder. “Tess?”
She startles, and spins around to face me, hand flat against her chest. “Oh, Abby. You startled me. Is there something you need?”
“How about an explanation?” I say with a laugh as Ruben walks by carrying six chairs in his brawny arms, wooden legs poking out in all directions. He glances at Tess and then nods once before changing trajectory and moving to a different part of the room to set down his chairs. I don’t need to ask that she’d given him instructions silently through their bond, and seeing it work in such a casual manner is almost a relief. I have the freedom to refuse whatever it is that’s growing between Quinn and me, and perhaps one day, we could be just like Ruben and Tess.
“It’s going to snow tonight,” she says with so much joy that I must be missing something. What does snow have to do with fancying up the dining hall?