Page 19 of A Kiss of Flame
"I don’t know if they’ll trust me," she admitted, her gaze drifting toward the fire. "But I think they’ll overlook any hesitations if it means brokering the sale of the Heart Orb after all these years, especially since that half-fae in Paris boasted about having it in his collection until he was outed as a liar. There’s a buzz around it now. I think the plan will work." She looked at him, her eyes filled with determination.
Barith had promised to help her catch her thieves, and this did seem like the best plan to smoke them out. Plus, the number of days left before he had to return to return home was dwindling fast.
"What if Council finds out?" he asked, unsure how they’d react.
Levian pulled a face. "They could revoke my position as Ambassador, but I think they’d love an excuse to do that anyway."
"Have ye been that bad at your job?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Levian huffed. "I’m brilliant at it," she boasted, smoothing her skirts. "King Thurin is pleased as punch with me, and I’ve already brokered new trade contracts with the Winter Fae that will boost profits for his entire kingdom. I’ve overseen the establishment of a new High Priestess, and the island is thriving. The Temple is purged of Nestra’s dark magicks, and the zephyrs are softening to outsiders—granted rather slowly.”
Barith hadn’t realized how much she’d accomplished. Levian had a reputation for being difficult and indulgent, but Barith knew her better than that. The mage was among the most brilliant, clever, hardworking creatures he’d ever met.
"I’m happy for you, Vi," he said. "The zephyrs are lucky to have you."
She tensed at his compliment. "Yes, well," she replied dismissively.
Barith hesitated. A question lingered—one he’d asked before but had yet to get a straight answer. "These Black Masks—your thieves—what do you think they’re up to? Ye wouldnae be goin’ through all this trouble if you werenae worried."
Levian stood and began pacing before the fire. "Last year, with Gwen and Nestra, I told you I felt something else was going on. I already assumed someone else had to be involvedin helping Nestra unravel those Dökk spells, even before Merlin had mentioned it.”
Barith vividly remembered their visit to Tarchár—The Prison—to see her father. Going with Levian to see Merlin, who was imprisoned for eternity in an enchanted fae prison nestled deep beneath a mountain under a dark, frigid sea, had been a rather harrowing experience. He hated being below ground, and it was about as below ground as possible.
"You think the Black Masks were behind Nestra’s attempt to overthrow Thurin?" he continued.
"Possibly," she replied. "I’m not sure how much Nestra even knew. There’s a chance she was meant to give the thieves the items they ultimately stole from Thurin. It may have worked more in their favor that she ended up dead in the end if she might have gotten in their way.”
Barith grunted. He liked the sound of these thieves less and less. And the idea of staying to help Levian face them more and more. She was intelligent and capable but too willing to jump into danger at times—and she hated asking for help when it came to herself.
"To what ends—I still don’t know," she continued, her pacing relentless. "But they’re not just collecting for the sake of it. There’s intent behind it."
Barith hated to suggest it, but the thought slipped out. "Do you think Merlin would know?"
The mage stopped, her face twisted as if she’d bitten into something sour. "I’ll cross that bridge only if I must," she said coldly. Levian took a deep breath, turning back to him with a smirk.
His stomach knotted. "What?" he asked, not liking the amusement in her eyes.
She smiled. "I did a bit of shopping,” she confessed.
Barith frowned. "Aye?"
"I was hoping we’d get our invitation, so I took it upon myself to put together outfits for the occasion,” she chirped.
Barith groaned. This wasn’t the first time Levian had dressed him up for a harebrained scheme. "Please tell me it isn’t bloody mesh."
She scoffed, feigning offense. "It’s not that kind of club—or at least, I don’t think it is.”
Barith stood and looked down at the mage, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Levian loved an adventure and loved dressing up even more. If she got to dress him up, that was ten times better. Her joy brought him joy, and he was reminded why he was here—not just to help her catch her thieves but because he wanted to spend time with her. He reached into his back pocket.
Levian watched as the dragon reached behind him, and her breath hitched when he produced Beatrice. The egg shimmered with a radiant golden polish, delicate filigree winding across its surface like enchanted vines. Vibrant gemstones—emeralds, sapphires, and rubies—were encrusted into its shell, casting flickers of color as they reflected the light from the burning fire. Beatrice was just as she remembered.
Her heart thrummed with excitement as Levian brushed her fingers delicately over Beatrice’s cool surface. Barith quickly held it high above her head, out of reach.
She cocked her hip, her face twisting. "Are you seriously going to act like a child?" she snarled.
He shrugged. "I’ve done worse," he teased, a sly smile playing on his lips. Barith turned, placing Beatrice atop a tall decorative vase on the mantel.
"How many days until you go back?" she asked—she already knew but asked anyway.