It’s new, him letting me see his desire so openly. But I sense that it’s fueled by an unsettled current—an undercurrent of turmoil that seems to have taken up residence inside him ever since we came back from the Zonor. He wants to kiss me in the same way he kisses Basyl. Like he kisses two other men I’ve caught him ensconced with. For escape. A diversion.

And in my case, in secret.

And that’s not the Vothe I yearn to kiss, because what I feel for him is beginning to run too deep, futile as it might be.

I want the impossible.

I want a Vothe who declares himself for me openly. In the middle of the city square.

“I’m not leaving until I find someone to sell to me,” I say as I move back from his longed-for touch, frustrated beyond all reason. Feeling like I’m trapped in my own skin, desperate to break free.

I can’t be this false version of myself anymore. It’s vital that I not be this anymore.

This Gardnerian.

“Mage, come here!”

Surprised by a woman’s jovial, arch tone, I turn and see an elderly, black-clad Zhilon’ile merchant smiling at me, her onyx face covered in swirling crimson tattoos, black horns spiraling up from her head. She’s standing in front of a tattoo and clothing shoppe. Her long white hair is artfully braided, scarlet and black gems woven through it, and her skin is infused with lightning, just like Vothe’s.

“Come here, Mage,” she says again as lightning leaps in her eyes and her lips tilt up. “Trystan Gardner. I want to speak with you.”

Vothendrile

“What do you seek?” my renegade great-aunt asks Trystan.

She holds one black-taloned hand out to him in dangerous offering, her nails filed to points and stained with tattoo ink. Bright black metallic hoops decorate her eyebrows, pointed ears, nose, and the side of her mouth. A scarlet dragon tattoo depicting Vo’s warrior goddess manifestation twines down her arm.

“This is my great-aunt, Sithendrile,” I tell Trystan, wishing I’d more carefully avoided my fully empathic great-aunt, having thought her visiting the Salishen Isles. I’ve always been close to her, but right now, I don’t want her reading my feelings for Trystan or learning what’s going on inside his mind. I throw a lash of water power out to her, willing her to look my way. She gives a short laugh and eyes me slyly as she effortlessly throws her own storm aura around mine and presses my magic down until it’s flat on the tiled ground, a cloud of white vapor briefly forming around the three of us. She narrows her sharp gaze at me and does not lower her hand.