“How are your injuries?” he asked, his gaze still fixed on the mesmerizing symphony of light and water.
“Completely healed,” she replied. “Your grandmother’s salve worked wonders.”And your magic in applying it, she added silently.
“I’m glad.” There was genuine relief in his voice. “I was quite concerned when I found you?—”
“Oh!” someone in the crowd exclaimed.
A rapid flurry of notes burst from the harp, resolving into a cascade of small, bright sparks that rained down upon the fountain’s surface—to the delighted gasps of the gathered crowd. Where each spark touched the water, concentric rings of colored light spread outward, overlapping and intertwining to create intricate patterns.
In the commotion, Jasvian’s hand brushed against Iris’s, his fingers grazing her knuckles. Neither of them moved away. A heartbeat later, Iris felt the edge of his hand nudge hers, the touch so light it might have been accidental. But then his hand shifted, his fingers sliding between hers with deliberate intent.
Her breath caught. She kept her gaze resolutely forward, staring at the shimmering, looping light as if her life depended on it, though she couldn’t have described the finer details ofthe performance if asked. Every nerve in her body seemed concentrated in the points where their hands connected.
Jasvian’s thumb traced a small circle against the side of her hand, the gesture so intimate that a shiver rushed through her entire body and heat filled her cheeks. Still, neither of them acknowledged what was happening, their hands now fully entwined at their sides, hidden from casual observation by the press of the crowd. Never before had Iris been so happy to have misplaced a glove.
The musician concluded his performance with a spectacular flourish that sent broad waves of indigo light sweeping over the entire fountain. The crowd applauded enthusiastically, and Iris agreed, though she silently acknowledged that no enchanted display, however wondrous, could compare to the simple, profound magic of Jasvian’s fingers laced through her own.
Chapter Thirty
As the crowdbegan to disperse, Jasvian reluctantly let go of Iris’s hand. “There’s something else I’d like to show you,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “Away from the main thoroughfare, if you’re amenable?”
Iris nodded, not trusting her voice. He guided her through the thinning crowd toward a quieter section of the market where smaller, more specialized vendors had set up their stalls. They passed displays of enchanted feather quills, mirrors that showed glimpses of faraway places, and contraptions that transformed spoken words into delicate floating symbols.
Finally, they reached a small clearing where several wooden benches had been arranged around a central fire pit. The pit was filled not with flames but with polished stones that radiated warm light in ever-shifting hues of amber, crimson and gold, mimicking the dance of living embers.
“This is where the storytellers gather later in the evening,” Jasvian explained as they settled on one of the benches. “The stones in the fire pit are a special variety of lumyrite. They respond to emotions, brightening when the tales reach moments of excitement or dimming during somber passages.”
“It’s beautiful,” Iris said, watching the lumyrite glow and fade with a soft, rhythmic light.
Far enough from the main market now, the noise dwindled to a distant hum, lending the space an unexpected privacy. A different sort of tension now stretched between them, no longer an awkward formality but something far more potent. Something that caused Iris’s skin to tingle with awareness of his proximity. Her cheeks heated at the thought of all she wished to do—to touch his face, to lean into him, to discover if his lips were as warm as his hands had been.
The lumyrite stones flared briefly brighter, responding to some strong emotion from one of them—or perhaps both. She channeled her restlessness into studying his profile: the strong line of his jaw, the way the pulsing amber light cast shadows beneath his cheekbones, the slight furrow between his brows and the twitch of his lips as he appeared to search for words that wouldn’t come.
“I never thanked you properly,” she said.
He met her gaze. “For what?”
“Not only for calming my magic when it was spinning so wildly out of control the other night, but also for coming to my defense in the Thornharts’ maze.”
“Of course,” he replied, as if his actions had been the most obvious thing in the world. “I must thank you as well.”
“Thankme?” Iris asked with a bewildered laugh. “Whatever for?”
“In recent weeks,” he began haltingly, “I’ve felt … a certain calmness I’d nearly forgotten was possible.” His gaze fixed on the glowing stones as he continued. “For years now, I’ve lived with a constant awareness—a vigilance that never truly fades. It’s faint, but even at this distance, I can sense the dormant magic of the lumyrite deposits, like a persistent hum at the edge of my consciousness. It had become so familiar I scarcelynoticed its burden, but since you entered my life—since you began … filling my thoughts—that pressure has diminished considerably. It’s as though your presence offers a respite I didn’t realize I needed until I experienced it. I feel I am almost … at peace.”
Iris felt her face grow warm at his admission that she had been occupying his thoughts, but managed to respond lightly, “At peace? You? I find that difficult to imagine.”
To her astonishment, Jasvian’s face transformed with a genuine smile—broad and unrestrained—that reached his eyes and softened every severe line of his countenance. Iris caught her breath, certain she had never beheld a smile quite so perfectly beautiful.
Their gazes held for a long moment. The market sounds around them seemed to fade further, leaving only the soft pulse of the lumyrite and the quickening beat of Iris’s heart.
Perhaps ask yourself why you are so eager to believe that connection must inevitably lead to loss of self. It is a rather convenient excuse for avoiding vulnerability, is it not?
Her conversation with the notebook returned unbidden to her mind. She had dismissed those words at the time, certain they were wrong. Of course she needed to guard herself—her thoughts, her feelings, her secrets. Especially the true nature of her magic, which even Lady Rivenna had cautioned her to keep private.
And yet, listening to Jasvian reveal parts of himself she suspected few were privileged to hear, something within her shifted. The wall she’d built between herself and others suddenly seemed less like protection and more like isolation. Here, in this quiet moment with Jasvian, she felt a sudden, startling urge to be known—truly known. Perhaps sharing oneself wasn’t surrender after all, but a kind of freedom she hadn’t allowed herself to imagine.
The thought sent a flutter of fear through her chest, but alongside it blossomed something stronger. Courage, and a curious sense of anticipation. What might become possible if she allowed herself this small vulnerability?
