The Unconquered Mage by McShane Melissa

Author:McShane, Melissa
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy
Publisher: Night Harbor Publishing
Published: 2017-05-23T04:00:00+00:00

“I should have pushed harder,” I said. “I knew we were drifting apart, but part of me was selfish and believed because I was exhausting myself, you should be the one to make the effort. So I never did anything beyond trying to stay awake until you came to bed.”

He smiled. “You don’t know how many times I thought of waking you,” he said. “But I knew you needed your rest, and I told myself there would be time, eventually.”

“I wish you’d woken me,” I said.

“I wish I had too,” he said, kissing me. “But we have nothing but time now.”

“Even if Lady Radryntor decides to evict us from Pfulerre?” I said.

Cederic gestured, and a heavy chair flew across the room and wedged itself under the doorknob. “She will need several men with large axes to do that,” he said between kisses, “and if she is able to get past that door, there are more chairs in this room I will use as projectiles.”

I started unbuttoning his shirt. “Are you sure your concentration can be divided like that?” I said.

“No,” he said, sliding his hands under my shirt and unfastening my breast band, “but I thought you might like the reassurance of knowing I am so committed to making you cry out in pleasure I would attack the servants of one of our vassals to ensure it.”

“That is the most romantic thing you have ever said to me,” I said, and then we were done talking.

I love him so much.

We made love, then we held each other, and talked, and made love again, and part of me wanted to feel guilty that I could be so happy when nine of my friends were dead, but I know it’s foolish to think that way, because my being miserable isn’t going to bring them back. And I needed this so much.

I told him about Roda, about what we’d said to each other, and he listened intently and held me close, and this time I didn’t cry. When I finally wound down, he stayed silent, just played with my hair the way he does sometimes when we’re lying close together. Eventually, I said, “Well?”

“I was not sure whether you wanted my opinion, or just a listening ear,” he said.

“I—actually, I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I want reassurance.”

“If you are looking to me to tell you whether or not to forgive your sister, you will have to ready yourself for disappointment,” he said, “as I think it is not my place to tell you what to do with your pain. But I think you are wrong in believing that forgiveness means behaving as if the sin never happened.”

“Then what does it mean?” I said.

“What did it mean when you forgave me the cruel things I said to you in the palace?” he said.

“That was different,” I said. “That wasn’t years of pain and abandonment. Besides, I was in love with you and I wanted a reason to forgive you.”

He laughed. “The two may be different in, let us say, intensity,” he said, “but the principle is the same.

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