A Spark in the Shadow

Chapter 7: A Spark in the Shadow

​By late afternoon, the grey fog outside had turned into a relentless, icy downpour that lashed against the high stained-glass arches of the Northern Citadel.

​I lay stretched across the velvet chaise in Joss’s inner study, wrapped in a thick wool blanket that smelled intensely of cedar and his warm skin. A low, carved mahogany table sat beside me, cluttered with half-empty tonic vials, a bowl of untouched spiced broth, and three freshly decrypted parchment scrolls detailing the troop movements of the Southern Guilds.

​My body felt strangely heavy, as if my bones had been swapped for lead.

​Master Edwin had visited an hour ago, leaving two more bottles of dark crimson medicine and a stern warning, the second month of an Aethel-Core bond was when the child’s magic began to anchor itself to the mother’s core, drawing twice as much energy as before. If I didn't rest, my own magic would destabilize, causing severe fevers and fainting spells.

​Mother.

​I shuttered my eyes, my jaw clenching at the term. I was a spymaster. I had spent my youth learning nineteen different ways to kill a man with a silver pin, how to brew lethal nightshade tinctures, and how to disappear into a crowd without leaving a shadow. Being held hostage by my own changing body was a torturous kind of prison.

​The heavy door to the study creaked open, admitting the soft, crackling light of the hallway torches.

​Joss walked in. He had discarded his heavy formal doublet and sword belt, wearing only a loose black shirt tucked into leather trousers. His dark hair was slightly damp, falling over his forehead in untamed waves that softened the harsh, angular lines of his face.

​"You're awake," Joss said, his low voice cutting through the quiet room.

​He didn't wait for a response. He walked straight over to the chaise, setting a small wooden chest down on the mahogany table before dropping to sit on the edge of the cushions beside my feet. The mattress dipped under his weight, bringing his intense, golden gaze level with mine.

​"I am trying to read," I rasped, lifting one of the parchment scrolls to block his view of my face. "The Southern Guild has dispatched a secondary courier team along the eastern ridge. If we intercept them at the pass, we can cut off their supply lines before the mountain snow freezes the trail."

​Joss reached out, his long fingers casually wrapping around the top of the parchment and pulling it down.

​"The eastern ridge is already handled," Joss said softly. "I sent a detachment of shadow-riders an hour ago based on your notes from this morning. The pass is secured."

​I stared at him, my dark eyes narrowing with deep suspicion. "You acted on my intelligence without double-checking it?"

​"I trust your intelligence, Gawin," Joss replied, his tone devoid of mock or arrogance. "You are many things,stubborn, lethal, infuriatingly arrogant but you are not sloppy."

​He reached for the untouched bowl of spiced broth on the table, picking up the silver spoon. "Now eat."

​"I am not hungry," I grumbled, turning my face toward the back of the velvet couch.

​"Master Edwin said your core magic is fluctuating," Joss said, his voice dropping into that quiet, absolute tone that left no room for argument. "If you don't keep food in your stomach, your body will start feeding on your own reserves to keep the baby stable. Eat the broth, Gawin, or I will feed you myself."

​I glared at him over my shoulder, taking in his calm, unyielding expression. I knew from experience that he wasn't bluffing.

​With a bitter sigh, I pushed myself up into a sitting position, pulling the blanket around my waist. "Give me the bowl."

​Joss handed it over, watching with quiet satisfaction as I took three slow, hot spoonfuls of the broth. The spices cinnamon, star anise, and roasted marrow warmed my throat, settling the low, churning ache in my stomach almost immediately.

​"What is in the chest?" I asked, nodding toward the small wooden box he had brought in.

​Joss reached out and flipped the brass latch open. Inside lay two polished silver wrist-bracers, intricate runes carved deep into the metal, glowing with a faint, pulsing blue light.

​"An extension of my core," Joss explained, picking up one of the heavy silver bands. "Master Edwin and the court enchanters forged them this afternoon. They are infused with my blood-magic."

​I paused, the silver spoon hovering halfway to my mouth. "Why?"

​"Because I cannot stay in this room with you twenty-four hours a day," Joss said, his golden eyes locking onto mine with alarming intensity. "I have generals to command, borders to inspect, and a war to prepare for. When I am away from the Citadel, your Aethel-Core will crave my magic to keep the baby anchored. If you wear these, they will continuously feed a steady stream of my essence into your pulse points."

​I looked at the glowing silver bracers, feeling a sudden, suffocation-like tightness in my chest.

​"They're shackles," I whispered, my voice faltering slightly. "You're putting royal shackles on me so I can never escape your magic."

​"They are protection," Joss corrected fiercely, leaning in close until I could feel the heat of his breath against my cheek. "If you try to run, if your magic spikes from exhaustion, or if anyone tries to strike you, these bracers will instantly signal my core. I will know where you are, no matter where you hide in this realm."

​"I hate you," I rasped, staring into his molten gold eyes. "I hate how you take everything from me, my freedom, my body, my choices."

​Joss didn't pull away. Instead, he reached out, taking my left hand in his broad palm. His fingers were warm, steady, and unyielding as he slid the silver bracer over my wrist.

​The moment the metal snapped shut against my skin, a sudden, blinding rush of heat flared through my pulse point.

​I gasped, my head falling back as Joss’s magic flooded through my veins like liquid fire. It wasn't painful,it was overwhelmingly, terrifyingly soothing. The volatile, jagged edges of my core smoothed out instantly, resting comfortably against the steady, dark rhythm of his royal power.

​And then, deep within my lower belly, something shifted.

​It wasn't a kick,the child was far too small for that. It was a tiny, unmistakable spark of magic, fluttering against my inner walls like the delicate wing of a moth. It answered the silver bracer instantly, reaching out toward Joss’s magic with an eager, instinctual pull.

​My breath hitched violently in my chest. My hands flew down to my stomach, my eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated shock.

​Joss froze. His gaze snapped from my face down to where my hands were resting against my abdomen.

​"What is it?" Joss demanded, his voice laced with sudden, sharp anxiety. He leaned forward, placing his large, warm hand directly over mine. "Gawin? Are you in pain?"

​"No..." I breathed, unable to tear my eyes away from my stomach. "No, it's not pain. It's..."

​I couldn't finish the sentence. My voice caught in my throat as the tiny spark flickered again, warm and alive beneath our combined hands.

​Joss fell dead silent.

​His broad hand tightened against mine, pressing firm against my abdomen. I looked up and saw something I had never seen in the Lord of the Northern Syndicate before: awe.

​His fierce, golden eyes were wide, glowing with a raw, unshielded emotion that shattered his usual mask of cold authority. His chest rose and fell in heavy, shallow breaths as he felt the faint, miraculous pulse of his own bloodline vibrating beneath his palm.

​"It's... the magic," Joss whispered, his deep voice trembling slightly. "The child is acknowledging the bond."

​I stared at him, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs. For weeks, I had viewed the pregnancy as a curse, a weapon used by my enemy to chain me to a gilded cage. But feeling that tiny, fragile spark of life reaching out for warmth between us made a strange, painful lump form in my throat.

​I hated Joss Wayer. I hated his Citadel, his power, and his possessive grip on my life.

​But as I looked into his golden eyes,filled with a dark, obsessive devotion that seemed to swallow the entire room, I knew there was no going back. I was no longer just Gawin Caskey, the lethal assassin of the Southern Guilds.

​I was bound to the shadow, heart, body, and soul.

​Joss slowly leaned down, resting his forehead against mine, his hand still pinned firmly over my stomach.

​"You are never leaving me, Gawin," Joss murmured softly against my lips, his voice steady with an absolute, eternal vow. "Neither of you."

​I didn't answer. I couldn't. I simply closed my eyes, letting the heavy warmth of his silver bracer and the tiny spark in my belly pull me down into a deep, dreamless sleep.