Pressing her lips together, she held back the offer to sleep elsewhere, even though that made the most sense and would fit Convocation expectations. That kind of suggestion would only compound the problems between them, but what else could she say? He wanted honesty, which she realized in that moment, wasn’t something she’d been trained to give. She’d learned the ways of power and manipulation, behaviors that were only exacerbating the gulf between her and her wizard. Gabriel wasn’t a Convocation wizard and never would be, no matter how she tried to coach him to behave like one.
“You wouldn’t have bothered me,” she said on impulse, “because I wasn’t asleep. I tossed and turned all night, because I was upset also.” She waved a hand at the silver on the floor. “I just don’t leave as much of a trail,” she added with a wry smile.
He huffed out a laugh, quickly swallowed, then fastened his gaze on her, worlds of pain in it. “Vale said I was an ass.”
She took the peace offering for what it was, her heart feeling oddly tender, raw and stinging. “I may have behaved badly.”
He reached out and set a careful hand on her velvet-clad arm. “I think you had cause. I am brooding and prone to outbursts of anger. And you were spot on that I…” He swallowed, squeezed her arm lightly, searched her face. “I don’t like the things I feel sometimes, as if I’m battling some monster inside that I don’t dare give into.”
“I know that feeling well,” she replied softly, putting her hand over his. “Maybe we can work together to figure it out?”
His lips quirked. “That almost sounds like a partnership.”
“Yes, well.” She rolled her eyes and let out a sigh of the long-suffering. “My wizard is odd and demanding in strange ways. It’s incumbent on me to accommodate him.”
A muscle ticced in his cheek, and for a moment she thought she’d teased him too far, but then, with a sigh, he wryly acknowledged that. Sliding his hand down her arm until he caught her by the wrist, he lifted her hand slowly enough that she could pull away, bending over it and holding her gaze the whole time. When she didn’t resist, he brushed a kiss over the back of her hand, his wizard-black eyes intent on hers. “You honor me with your tolerance,” he said very quietly, and she shivered for no good reason, as if he’d said something else, something far more intimate.
“Shall we do some magic, wizard?” she asked with deliberate archness, not entirely comfortable with the emotional intensity.
Gabriel straightened, still holding her hand, his thumb passing over the back of it in a subtle caress, and regarded her with a considering look. No doubt seeing right through her. But he let her off the hook. “Yes, let’s try.” With a wave of his hand, nails flew out of the boards covering one archway, the planks and nails falling to the floor with a startling clatter.
She managed not to show her startlement and raised a brow instead. “Silver nails. Clever.”
“I thought so,” he replied with a smug smile, gesturing for her to precede him into the dank hallway that had been revealed. “They’re too soft for most uses, but handy for things like that so I can come and go without acquiring brawn.” He slid her a smile for that term. “Speaking of which, where are the workers?”
“No one has showed up yet. I assumed because you hadn’t told them to.”
He looked irritated, his jaw tight. “So noted.”
“You should practice using your magic without physical gestures,” she said, only partly to divert his attention, hoping the advice wouldn’t further annoy him.
He glanced sideways at her, unoffended. “Your father used his fingers to invoke magic, and the Convocation proctor even more so.”
“Showing off for you,” she explained. The floor beneath her feet gave soggily, but wasn’t underwater. They’d entered some sort of salon, probably one that had been used to entertain guests while they waited for dinner to be served. “In the first case, anyway. If Papa didn’t want you to see what he was doing, you wouldn’t have any warning. What magic did he work?”
“Forcing your mother into her alternate form,” Gabriel answered, a note of dawning realization in his tone. “Ah. He wanted me to know he had control of her.”
“Very likely. Papa doesn’t do anything by accident.”
“And the proctor?” They’d crossed the large and distinctly waterlogged salon to another boarded-over archway. Though he made no movement, the silver nails eased out, falling with the boards to reveal a solid door.
“Well done. Proctors tend to be into theatrics, and that one in particular. The ones assigned to monitor the Betrothal Trials and monitor the oracle heads are pretty low-level Hanneil wizards. The oracle heads don’t require all that much magic, barely more than a trigger, so their minders tend to eke out as much drama from the position as possible. Mine had guessed I was minded to run, so I imagine she was especially puffed up with borrowed authority.”
Gabriel snickered, flashing her a genuinely amused smile. Ah, that was good to see. “You have nailed it precisely, Lady Veronica.”
She shrugged a little, embarrassed by how much his approval warmed her. “Should I be concerned about what’s on the other side of this door that you haven’t opened it yet?”
“A lot of water,” he admitted. “I need to concentrate to hold it back.”
Holding out her hand, she raised her brows when he hesitated. “First rule of working together: don’t wait until you’re drained or desperate to use—that is, to call on my assistance,” she hastily rephrased when he frowned. “By preserving your own natural magic, you’ll be better prepared to handle any surprises, or to handle something on your own should we be separated. You might need to protect me, for example,” she added, which was exactly the right note to play, his frown fading into thoughtful acknowledgment.
Taking her hand, he interlaced his fingers with hers, more like a lover than a wizard drawing from his familiar, but she didn’t argue, especially when he gave her a quelling look. Some arguments went unsaid, she supposed. “Like I did with calling the couriers?” he asked.
“Yes. Start small, then work your magic, trying to use me as the source instead of your own reserves.”
“How do I know if I’m draining you too much?”
She nearly quipped that he’d know when she collapsed on the soggy floorboards, but she could just imagine his reaction to that. Look at her, learning discretion. How to Manage Your Squeamish Wizard 101 should’ve been a Convocation Academy class. But then, no one else had a wizard unwilling to use them to the hilt. “Maybe that’s part of my assignment,” she reasoned. “I’ll have to let you know how much you’re drawing from me—will that work?”