Involuntarily, he shuddered, breaking into a cold sweat as his stomach turned threateningly. Seliah’s frown softened. “Is that what you—”
“Seen. Not heard,” he gritted out, unable to withstand a moment more. Seizing her by the wrist, he bodily dragged her to a torment that would no doubt scar her for life on every level. All his fault, his failure. He couldn’t save her from what would come, but he could spare her the chains.
“You want to let Sabrina Sammael just go home, on her own?” Gabriel demanded incredulously, wrestling his rising ire. Nic stood before his desk, meeting his gaze calmly, her emerald eyes assessing his mood, her magic twining around his with calming tendrils. He didn’t want to be calmed, however. Though the tedium of dealing with the tasks of being Lord Phel had settled his temper—exactly as Nic had predicted, which he wasn’t sure if he found reassuring or aggravating—the prospect of setting free the vicious teenage witch who’d gleefully caused so much pain to so many had him seething anew.
Nic folded her hands demurely, regarding him with regal poise. With the way she’d laced her fingers together, he could see that she’d decorated her nails again, wearing them long with glittering blue and silver gems, much as the first night he met her, only now she wore House Phel colors. No doubt if he looked closely, there would be tiny silver moons there. She also wore another of her new gowns, a more formal one, perfectly fitted as only Ophiel magic could produce, and also in their house colors. Her hair and makeup had been touched-up, too, crisply perfect.
She’d dressed up to meet with Sabrina, he realized, presenting herself as the glossy image of Lady Phel. “Correct me if I’m mistaken,” she answered with cool patience, “but I rather believed ensuring Selly’s safety is more important than either revenge or rehabilitation concerning Sabrina Sammael. You wanted to expedite the rescue and this is the fastest method I could come up with.”
“You’re right,” he conceded on a sigh, raking fingers through his hair, then scooting his chair back and patting his thigh. “Come here, my heart. Don’t stand there like a supplicant applying to Lord Phel for some favor or decision.”
She smiled with warm affection, happily taking him up on the invitation and settling her ripe bottom on his lap, winding her hands behind his neck. “A lot of correspondence, I take it?” she asked with gentle sympathy.
“You called it,” he replied grimly.
Hesitating, she glanced at the missives scattered over the desk. “Anything from House Elal?”
“Not yet.”
“They’re being too quiet,” she commented. “I don’t like it.”
“I understand. I don’t like sitting here dithering with business when I could be going after Selly.”
“Doing business isn’t dithering. You’re consolidating wealth and power which will do more to benefit Selly in the long run than recklessly haring off to antagonize House Sammael further.”
“They antagonized me first,” he growled.
“A legitimate point, but please believe me that all-out war with Sammael is truly the last thing we can afford, if only on a purely practical basis. It would be terribly expensive.”
“Sometimes your practicality can be an annoying hindrance to my fantasies of vengeance.” He burned to fight, to take action, to chop his enemies into pieces so tiny he could use them to fertilize the fields of Phel.
Nic smiled sympathetically, not at all bothered. “Good thing you love me anyway.”
With a sigh, he kissed her. “I do love you anyway.”
She urged him into a deeper kiss, lavishing him with her lush mouth and a generous flow of rose-red, wine-rich magic. He’d love to sink into that offering, perhaps to turn her to straddle his lap so he could lose himself in her body, love, and infinite comfort—but that wouldn’t save Selly. Withdrawing from the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I apologize for my snarling. Tell me your plan.”
“We create a debt with House Sammael by voluntarily returning Sabrina,” Nic answered promptly. “Preparations are underway for her to depart within the hour, unless you say no.”
“I trust you,” he replied simply, “and it’s a relief to be taking action, if only by proxy.” In truth the coiled, seething need to fight relaxed in him somewhat. Nic knew the Convocation and if she thought this was the way to extract Selly intact from House Sammael, then it was. “But do explain,” he added, curious now what her wily brain had concocted. “Your last take was that a hostage-exchange wouldn’t be enough.”
“That’s why the voluntary aspect. In return for her freedom, Sabrina has promised to represent Sergio’s death as self-defense on your part. The duel will be repainted as a much narrower victory than it was,” she added with an apologetic wrinkle of her nose, “with Sergio nearly defeating you and you lashing out with a desperation move, using a sword, that took him by surprise as no self-respecting wizard would stoop to a non-magical attack. I know it’s a blow to your pride, but…”
“But my pride can take the hit, for Selly’s sake,” he finished for her.
“I figured as much. Sabrina will also be able to spin her involvement in Sergio’s scheme however it best suits her needs and her father’s mood. She’ll assess Jadren’s status, and Selly’s. She promises to do her best to see them both sent home to House Phel and will communicate with us if she needs help.”
It could work, he supposed. But… “How do you know Sabrina will keep her word?”
“Hanneil magic,” she answered promptly, grinning at his confusion. “You didn’t tell me you accepted a Hanneil wizard minion during my unplanned absence.”
He frowned at her capricious description of her abduction and those agonizing days he’d spent recuperating and longing for her, not knowing if she was dead or alive. In truth, he hardly recalled much about those days, slogging through the work of House Phel without the one person who’d come to make it all worthwhile. He’d interviewed a number of applicants with dogged determination, knowing they’d need the numbers should it come to that expensive war with House Sammael, accepting pretty much anyone who would sign their non-disclosure agreement and contract, figuring he could always fire them later.
“Wizard Ziv,” Nic filled in with quiet amusement. “They are quite a powerful wizard and deft with their magic.”
He remembered Wizard Ziv, a soft-spoken, austere personality, who informed him they identified as gender neutral and asexual, mentioning that first in case Gabriel found that objectionable. He’d replied that it mattered to him not at all, though he privately wondered if other houses had objected and thus sent Wizard Ziv to House Phel. “That’s something they can do?”
Nic nodded, toying with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, a caress both soothing and arousing. “Recall the geas that prevents Convocation Academy-trained wizards from mentioning the enchantment embedded in familiars that allows the bonding to occur.”
