Ice & Ivy (Mages of the Wheel Book 4) by J.D. Evans

Author:J.D. Evans [Evans, J.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Whippoorwill Press LLC
Published: 2023-08-29T04:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Six

Ihsan stared at the little plant on his desk. He turned its pot one way, then the other. His lack of sleep was making his faculties fail him. He knew that only a small turn ago it had been near death, if not dead. Amara had even commented on it. But today it had new leaf buds, emerging from the juncture of its shriveled stem. Another shoot had poked out of the too-dry soil. He regarded it in suspicion.

Something was happening to him. He collapsed into the chair at his desk, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. His power was erratic, with unusual, hard-to-control flareups that had nothing to do with his emotions. Or rather, were more powerful than they would usually be. Kuhzey and Deniz told him that his ice had spread farther and thicker during his nightmares than it had in more than a Cycle.

Was this because of the Sultan? Because Ihsan could not cope with his emotions? Because he was not sleeping and so lacked control? Because of her? Being in his space, upending the habits that helped him manage himself?

The door to his office swung open. He startled, whipping his head forward.

She stood there, eyes rounded in surprise, hands together, skin pink in embarrassment, breath fast. Wheel save him. She was the last thing he could deal with. He let his head fall back again. He did not know how to look at her. They had not spoken since she’d cried on him, then ran from him. What was there to say?

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly, then, “I am owed a stipend.” She paused. “And I would like to collect it.”

Ihsan stopped a bitter laugh by adjusting his jaw so it popped. Then he raised his head to look at her. “Of course you would.”

Her brow twitched, but her chin was set in determination. It must be her temper that made her eyes seem to shift from muddy hazel to a greener hue, a trick of the heat that also colored her cheeks and made her freckles stand out. He straightened so he could fold his arms on his desk. All his frustration, all his uncertainty and confusion roared up, and slipped from him before he could rein it in. Ice shot across the surface of his desk, and the pot containing the resurrected vine shattered, spilling dirt and pot shards everywhere.

She jumped like a startled rabbit, eyes flaring wider with fear. His flux disappeared as quickly as it had reared up, and shame left him colder than his ice. He stood without a word.

“I will arrange it,” he said in a dull voice. “If that is all?”

She was owed a stipend, of course. He’d already arranged for the money due her father to be sent regularly. She was within her rights to ask for hers. But it rankled, being seen as a purse for someone. It especially rankled because there were moments between them where he could feel earnest, easy truth.

She knelt beside his desk, though he had not noticed her cross the room, and began picking up shards of pottery.

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