“I’m just naturally talented,” she informed him loftily. “And I wasn’t going to murder you. Just chop you into miserable pieces.”

“Wouldn’t that have the same effect?”

“Not if done correctly. I have ways.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Wise of you. Meanwhile, why am I gazing at a sea of fog?”

“You’ll see,” he murmured in her ear, taking the opportunity to trace the shell of it with his tongue, sending delightful shivers through her. His hands spanned her waist, pressing her back against him, slowly smoothing upwards to caress her breasts over her gown with teasingly light touches, too fleeting to satisfy.

“Are we having sex?” she asked, feeling like she needed to know. He’d gotten far too adept at teasing her and leaving her hanging, all in the ostensible name of building up her magic and keeping her healthy.

“Even in Meresin this is known as fooling around,” he replied, lips finding the pulse point under her ear and nuzzling there with erotic effect.

“That’s a no,” she decided on a wistful sigh. The knowledge didn’t do any good. It wasn’t as if she had it in her to put a stop to his caresses, nor could she force herself not to react. The desire washed over her, sweet and lazily warm in the aftermath of her tirade and subsequent crying jag. “I wonder if it’s partly the pregnancy,” she said aloud as it occurred to her.

“That we’re not having sex? I can promise it’s because the fog is clearing, and at any moment, we’ll be clearly on display to anyone who cares to look.”

“No, that I’m so emotional. I never used to be like this.”

His hands stilled, then he wrapped her in his arms, leaning his cheek against her hair. “Or it could be that you’ve been living through extraordinary changes. We both have. Unless I can blame the pregnancy for last night?” he added with a hopeful note, as if excited by the possibility.

She giggled. “You are the great and powerful wizard Phel. You can do as you like and no one will question it.”

“Except those things the Convocation doesn’t like,” he reminded her.

“True.” She sighed, feeling safe in his arms and knowing it for an illusion. “Gabriel, we should discuss the probability that my father will arrive to retrieve Alise, in force. That’s likely to happen first, and—”

“Shh.” He kissed her cheek. “No war planning yet. I want this moment with you. Watch.” He gestured over the sea of fog, glittering and billowing in soft blues and ivory as the sun rose over the trees. A chorus of birdsong rose in greeting, the air suddenly filled with their music and the scent of rain-washed vegetation. Tendrils of Gabriel’s magic stirred the mist, encouraging it to stream away.

Revealing a meadow of deep crimson blossoms.

Nic gasped as the flowers stirred, lifting their petals to the sunlight in an almost audible susurrus of movement. The color stood out vividly, almost shockingly, against the misty green of the shallow valley and the rounded hills surrounding it.