The feather had looked like fire.
But that didn’t matter when I had a habit of pocketing small things—usually metal, but the feather looked like molten metal. And it wasn’t just painted with flame. It had been alive with it. A wisp of living combustion caught mid-bloom. I’d swiped it from Ardorion’s trunk when no one was looking, half-curious, half-opportunistic. It hadn’t burned my fingers. Wasn’t even warm. Just pulsing, quiet magic. I’d used it to open the library portal for us today. The portal ate it, the feather spent. But today wasn’t about fire.
It was about metal. And about being fae. And secrets. And Orivian.
The tunnels beneath the library were darker than I remembered. Quiet in a way that made you feel like you might be trespassing in time itself. He walked behind me, his usual grace still intact, though his silence had a weight to it.
We didn’t speak much. The tension between us had a different charge tonight. Like static before a storm.
I could feel his gaze on my back.
When we reached the narrow corridor that branched toward the Docilis Vault, I stopped and looked over my shoulder. “Almost there.”
He arched a brow. “So this is where you bring all your dates?”
I laughed softly. “Only the ones I’m trying to seduce.”
“You trying to seduce me, Whispermetal?”
I was of two minds with his response.
I took it for teasing, which is how I meant the conversation to go. But him calling me by my surname meant something else.
He might not have meant to call attention to it, but somehow, I doubt that was true where in the world of the Metal Fae, your surname was synonymous with your identity and social standing.
My surname wasn’t handed down through one of the Forged Guilds, the Mountain Citadels, the Crystal Cities, or one of the Gemstone Courts like Orivian himself. Hells, my name didn’t even come from one of the lesser Wandering Caravans.
My surname was my own. One I gave myself instead of taking my mother’s human family name.
I hated the naming rules the Metal Fae were fond of, so I made my own.
I was the Metal Fae all the others whispered about everywhere my mother and I ran from.
Part Metal, part whisper, but all my own.
What would Orivian think of that?
Whatever he thought, and his reasons for saying my surname, he continued to follow me without hesitation.
The tunnel air was cold and still, tasting of damp stone.
“This is the path Halven walked?” Orivian’s voice was a low murmur beside me.
“We believe so,” I said, my own voice tight.
The hum of the fated bond was a low, constant thrum between us, a wire pulled taut in the silence. It wasn’t a hostile presence anymore. In the weeks since the dance, we had settled into a fragile truce, exploring the connection between us in stolen moments in the Scriptorium, in quick, hungry kisses in empty corridors. He’d whispered promises against my neck of what he wanted to do when he finally got me alone, and my presence here was the answer to that unspoken dare.
As we walked, the pull became unbearable. I felt his gaze on me and stopped, turning to face him in the soft glow of the tunnel’s magic. He didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, his hands finding my waist and pulling me against him.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” he breathed, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that was all coiled tension and desperate need.
I answered him with equal fire, my hands sliding up his chest, my fingers tangling in the silver-steel strands of his short silver hair. It felt alive, shifting against my touch like fine, metallic filings. For a moment, the mission, Halven, all of it faded away, replaced by the solid, grounding presence of him.
We finally broke apart, breathless. My body hummed, wanting more.
Soon.
“The Docilis Vault is just ahead.” My voice was huskier than I intended. “Let’s see what secrets it’s willing to share with you.”
When we reached the vault door, Orivian pressed his palm to the handprint and the door slid open with a low hiss. Inside, the black mirror waited, seeming to absorb the light.
“It’s your turn,” I said, gesturing him forward.
He stepped up to the console, his back to me, and he keyed in his student ID. I watched as the mirror shimmered, but unlike when I had seen Halven, this time the surface remained blank for me.
Orivian, however, saw something. I couldn’t see his vision, but I saw its effect on him. His perfect posture went rigid. The bronze light of his magic flared erratically around him, and for a split second, the skin on the back of his neck shimmered, turning the color of polished platinum before returning to normal.
When it was over, he stumbled back, his face pale, his green-gold eyes wide with something I couldn’t read. Shock? Fear? Pain?
“Orivian? What did you see?” I asked, stepping toward him.
He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t meet my eyes. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
A lie. A clean, sharp lie from a man who prided himself on honor. It stung more than I expected. My vision of Halven had been a clue we all shared. His was a secret he was already keeping.
“I thought we were partners in this,” I said quietly.
“We are,” he insisted, but his gaze wouldn’t meet mine.
I decided to push. “Let me use your ID card, then. Shara said it’s possible. All I have to do is to touch the fingerprint first, then key in your ID number, and I’ll see a new vision. Maybe I’ll see something to give us another clue about how to free Halven. You can use mine in return.”
He finally looked at me, and his expression was closed, shuttered. “No.”
The single word was a wall between us. The hurt was sharp, but my frustration was sharper. If he wouldn’t let me into his head, then I would find another way in.
I closed the distance between us, my hands coming up to his chest.
“Fine,” I whispered, my voice a low challenge. “Keep your secrets.”
I kissed him then, not with the hungry desperation of before, but with a demanding fire. It was a kiss that said, You can lock me out of your mind, but you can’t lock me out of this. He responded instantly, his control snapping. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me so tight I could barely breathe.
I loved that kind of pressure.
“Gods, Garnexis,” he groaned against my mouth. “I want to feel your skin against mine.”
An idea, reckless and thrilling, sparked in my mind. “What about now? Right here?”
He pulled back, a reluctant heat in his eyes as he glanced around the cold, sterile vault. “How often do people come down here?”
“Almost never,” I said, though I didn’t really know. The risk was part of the thrill. That’s when I remembered. One of the tunnels didn’t lead back to the library. It led out.
A slow, wicked grin spread across my face. I grabbed his hand, the cool, metallic feel of his skin sending a jolt through me. “I know a place.”
What begins as defiance becomes something else entirely. Something magnetic and irrevocable. On the frozen edge of Wintermere, Garnexis finally stops running. Choose how far you want to follow:
Closed Door: The kiss, the promise, the danger of belonging, without the explicit.
Spicy: Metal and magic collide. This is how bonds are forged. Follow them into the fire.