The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(39)
Her breath caught, and her pulse quickened. She tilted her face up to see if he’d noticed, and found his dark eyes pinned to hers, a strange expression on his face. Her heart gave an odd little flutter, and she took a hasty step back to resume dancing.
What was wrong with her? This was Kellan. She didn’t get heart flutters over Kellan. She especially didn’t get heart flutters over Kellan when he was about to be betrothed to someone else. It was time to recover both her equilibrium and the thread of their conversation.
“You were a full-time job when I was younger,” she said and cursed her voice for sounding breathless. Clearing her throat, she continued, “I take all the credit for the fact that you made it this far in life without breaking your neck.”
He blinked. “What about the time I was planning on lighting a bonfire in the ballroom so my friends and I could roast sugar puffs?”
“A cover for the sorry excuse for a lean-to you and your friends built in the woods outside the castle grounds. You just wanted to be handed a supply of sugar puffs and told to stay well clear of the castle for the rest of the day.”
His brows rose. “We were going to light a fire in the lean-to instead but—”
“The wood was all wet. Such a shame.” She grinned at the memory. It had taken her five trips to and from the little creek that ran through the castle’s forested groves to soak that wood, but it had been worth it to hear the inventive stream of profanity that came from Kellan’s mouth when he discovered there would be no lighting anything on fire that day.
And of course it was also worth it to make sure the foolish prince didn’t burn down the grounds and kill himself in the process.
He gave her an appraising look. “How about the time I was planning to steal my mother’s newest stallion when I was twelve?”
She snorted. “A ruse to get them to put extra guards around the best of the horse stock and leave you free to take one of the ponies and trade it for coin in the most questionable part of the Roche quarter. I don’t know what you wanted to spend the coin on—something your mother didn’t want you to have, obviously—but you never made it to the Roche quarter.”
He shook his head, admiration on his face. “No, I didn’t. Instead, there was a man waiting just outside the castle grounds with enough coin to buy the pony and make my friends and I feel rich until we spent it all on candy and fizzy cider. You did that?”
“Being the daughter of a shop owner has its perks. I knew our regular supply man could easily move the pony, and it was far safer for him to deal with the brokers than for the prince to be seen there.”
“You are far sneakier than I realized, Blue de la Cour.”
“Someone had to make sure the heir was alive to inherit the throne.”
“Not all the plans you ruined were my backup plans. Sometimes you got me in far more trouble than any of those plans were worth.” His brows drew together, but the warmth stayed in his eyes. “You were a thorn in my side.”
“I take my joy where I can find it.”
He grinned—that charming, easy Kellan grin she’d always thought was as shallow and useless as he was—and she found herself grinning back before she realized what was happening.
“I still don’t like you,” he said softly, his dark eyes on hers in a way that made her traitorous heart flutter again.
“I still don’t like you either,” she replied in a voice that sounded breathy and soft and very unlike herself.
“It seems I really do owe you my life,” he said quietly as he pulled her close enough that she could feel the heat from his chest against her cheek. Releasing one of her hands, he placed his finger beneath her chin and gently raised her face to his. “How will I ever make it up to you?”
Her foolish, treacherous heart whispered several very tantalizing ideas, and she locked eyes with him as her breath quickened.
Before she could close the distance between them and do the kind of monumentally stupid thing she could never take back, the pub door burst open and a man stumbled inside. Black flames danced along his skin, and agony twisted his face. Screams rose as he turned toward the bar, hoarsely calling for water.
Blue jerked away from Kellan as they whirled to face the door.
“Magic!” a woman cried, and the crowd of people stumbled over each other, trying desperately to put space between themselves and the man. The music jerked to a halt.
The flames writhed like shadows made of wet ink, and the man dropped to his knees, his voice hoarsely calling for someone to help. Blue watched in horror as the flames licked up his arms and twined themselves around his throat like a necklace made of snakes.
Screams echoed throughout the building as people pushed and shoved, trying to get to the door without coming close to the man and his flames. Kellan wrapped one hand firmly around Blue’s as people jostled against them and shouted, “Stop in the name of the queen!”
Obeying the prince was a reflex even the terror of magical black flames couldn’t overcome. The crowd froze for the blink of an eye, but that was all the time Kellan needed. “Barkeep, throw some water on that man. You can keep the counter between you to protect you from the flames.”
That was smart. Blue studied the inky fire, curiosity threading through her fear. Who knew how these flames would respond to water? Would they leap for another victim? Die out like regular fire? Or would the water make any impact at all?