A Touch of Death

Chapter 25

Aoife hated dance lessons.

Out of all of the things that Tarran wanted her to do to prepare for the court meeting with other enchanters, this was by far the worst. She felt like a trussed-up wedding cake in the dresses the wardrobe provided for her. It was difficult to balance while wearing so much fabric, though Tarran insisted that if she could dance in those dresses, she could dance in anything. Unfortunately, she certainly could not dance in those dresses.

"We'll be at the castle for two weeks, so you'd best prepare yourself to do some dancing within that time frame. You aren't yet established enough to shirk the responsibilities of socializing," Tarran said, guiding her out into the now mostly dust free ballroom.

"Is anyone really going to want to dance with the bringer of death?" Aoife complained, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"You aren't a bringer of death, you're a conduit for life."

"A conduit for life is a rather gentle way to say that I can cause death."

"Aoife, you have to stop letting that be the defining element of your magic," he snapped. "As long as you define yourself as related to death, that is all you will ever be."

"What if that's all I'm capable of?!" Aoife's voice echoed around the lab.

"It isn't," Tarran said firmly. "Just yesterday you touched an herb without causing it to wither. You're making progress. Soon you'll be able to touch people."

Aoife was silent.

"Try it."

"What?"

"Try it," Tarran repeated, holding out his hand. "Take off your glove."

"No."

"You'll never be able to do it without practice, and I have much more energy to spare than the average human. You won't hurt me."

Aoife's fingertips gingerly brushed Tarran's, and she immediately pulled back. He stood stock still, eyebrows raised.

"Easy does it," he said flatly, still waiting.

Aoife reached out again, hesitantly, and placed her fingers on top of his. For two blissful seconds, she made the lightest contact with Tarran's skin.

It was over quickly, though.

Tarran cringed, letting out a slight grunt as a trickle of blood dripped from his nose. Aoife pulled away with a gasp, hands covering her mouth.

"I'm sorry!" she squeaked, biting her lip.

"It took longer that time," Tarran said, gritting his teeth. "That's still progress. Now, see if you can use my weather magic."

"How?"

"The same as before. Just let go. Relax."

A gust of wind whipped through the room as Aoife concentrated, attempting to somehow release the pent-up energy inside her.

"Good. At least we know now that our hypothesis was correct, and you siphon off a little of my magic with the life force you take."

"That's... a bit disturbing." She sighed, shaking her head. "Why couldn't it be easier to give life to things instead of take it away?"

"You've spent most of your life poor, alone, or on the run. Sometimes more than one at a time. It's only natural that your magic would have developed as a trauma response. It's trying to protect you by storing up life energy for when you need it most, and it takes from anywhere it can, especially when you're upset or tired. You'll just have to learn how to fight the instinct."

"Right..."

"I didn't say it would be easy." Tarran wiped his nose with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket and tucked it away again. "Gloves back on, then. Let's move on to the real reason we're here."

"I hate dancing," Aoife whined, but she took Tarran's hand in her gloved one when he extended it.

"Who hates dancing?"

"Me. I do. This isn't like peasant dances. This is too structured to be fun. I have to remember where my hands and feet go and converse with my partner! It's a mental exercise as well as a physical one, and I'm terrible at it. I should be exempt from dancing on grounds of having the coordination of a newborn deer."

"You are far more coordinated than that," Tarran said, rolling his eyes.

"Not by much."

"You're improving, though. It's just like your combat training- ouch!" Tarran winced as Aoife stepped on his foot.

"Sorry!" she said quickly, wincing. "You're saying that dancing is combat?"

"I'm saying that learning self-defense is important for your health, but political battles are often won on the dance floor."

"Do you- whoa!" Though the room was mostly clean, there were still a few spots on the floor that were slick with dust, and Aoife happened to step on one of them with her full weight. She careened to the side, or almost did, but Tarran adjusted to keep her from falling.

She felt a sudden pulling sensation and realized it was her dance partner bringing her in closer, so close that their chests were touching. She could feel his breath on her skin as she stared up at him, wide-eyed.

Tarran's hand was warm and solid on her waist, keeping her upright as her balance failed. Aoife was struck by how strange it felt to be supported like this, by how strange it was to be close enough to breathe the same air as another person. A wave of warmth came over her cheeks as she struggled to regain her footing, inevitably grabbing onto Tarran's shoulders for support as she did so.

"Thank you," she mumbled, unable to make eye contact with him for some reason.

"You're welcome," he said softly, clearing his throat. "Watch out for the dusty spots."

"It's all a dusty spot, Tarran," Aoife said, shaking her head as she finally let go of his shoulders to stand upright. She brushed herself off even though she didn't need it, desperate for something to do with her hands.

"It's certainly better than it was," he insisted. "Now, come on. Where were we?"

Aoife felt different this time when she placed her hand in his. Even though her gloves, she could feel the warmth of his body, sense his beating heart next to her. Perhaps it was her magic acting in her favor, allowing her to sense the life nearby. Perhaps it was something else entirely.