Page 46 of Serpent and Shadow

I hated his casual comments about the magical bond between me and Bones. I hated his constant implication that everything that happened to Bones was somehow my fault, and not only because I had to fight those feelings already. What right did Blackstone have to act like the marriage and everything that came with it was something either of us had done on purpose? He acted like it was something we’d planned and plotted to achieve, rather than primarily a result of Bones’s magical condition.

In any case, neither of us could control what it was doing to our magics now. Belittling our connection was like mocking someone for needing water, or food.

Blackstone’s own magic didn’t exactly help me to trust him.

Some of my reaction to Blackstone’s Oracle sight felt nearly animalistic.

I could tangibly feel my magic distrusting his.

“I. Don’t. Care,” Blackstone bit out coldly.

He somehow managed to loom over me, even from five feet away.

“You need to detach from how you feel about me, Shadow… and about him. You must detach from whether or not we succeed, what we see if we do succeed, your reactions to what we are doing, your reactions to the possible risks. Magic feeds on emotion, in good and bad ways. If you can’t control that, you will never master your craft. Never.”

I could feel the truth of that.

It still annoyed me, maybe because it came from him.

Also, I was trying to do those things. I just wasn’t succeeding.

I couldn’t seem to control the part of me that went after Bones.

In an attempt to distract myself from thinking about him, I glanced around the room.

Blackstone’s office always looked and felt dark, but usually I came here during the day, when natural light from the tall window next to Morag’s perch usually penetrated a portion of the shadows. Today I didn’t come until after the sun had set, and I found myself in his chair beside a tall bookshelf in the pitch dark, fighting not to sneeze from the dust and dense smells of herbs and the endlessly bubbling cauldrons around his work table. I frowned at Blackstone’s angular form when he moved to stand between me and the room’s only fireplace.

It was cold in here, too, even though the days had been slightly warming of late.

Blackstone watched me, his pale eyes unmoving, the firelight glinting off the silver and emerald stones wrapped around his ear.

Before I could try again to clear my mind, he lifted his weight abruptly off the heavy table, and straightened to his full height.

“There,” he said, clicking his fingers impatiently. “You clearly cannot relax while hiding from me in the corner.”

I looked to where his bony finger and knuckle pointed.

In the corner nearest to him, behind Morag’s perch and a table covered in stacks of papers, an antique-looking chaise lounge with a rosewood frame and midnight blue upholstery stood. It looked to be in pristine condition, and I wondered that I’d never noticed it.

As much as I hated the idea of lying down and opening my magic to him even more, I could see the logic in it. We weren’t going to get anywhere like this, with me backed into a corner and half-gearing my magic up to fight him.

I rose to my feet and walked stiffly over to the lounge.

I sat on one edge long enough to remove my boots, then rolled my body sideways to stretch my legs out on the velvet upholstery. I folded my hands over my sternum and leaned my head back on the one pillow, which was a spotless cream.

Then, with a great deal of reluctance, I closed my eyes.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Blackstone didn’t say anything.

Somehow, that felt like progress, but probably wasn’t.

I could still feel my magic screaming to go after Bones. I tried not to react to the frantic feeling there, or to read any meaning into it.

It doesn’t mean Bones is dying, I told myself firmly. It doesn’t mean he’s in any particular danger right now, or worse danger than he was before.

I adjusted my spine on the velvet, and did everything I could to focus on my breath.