The Scribe - Hunter Elizabeth (библиотека книг бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

He didn’t let go of her hand. Her cheeks flushed, and she pursed her lips as if she was holding back words.

Rhys said, “It’s Friday night. Are you sure you can get a table for three?”

If Rhys wanted to tag along, Malachi could work with it. “I’m sure. Ava?”

He finally set her hand down, letting his fingers trail over hers as he drew back and crossed his arms across his chest, flexing his forearms and the intricate spells he’d worked over them. He’d seen her looking at his talesm many times. He knew she was fascinated by them. Her eyes grew wide before she looked away.

“Yeah, that sounds fine. Table for three?”

“Of course. I should have taken you out before. I’m sure you’re tired of the kitchen here. It can be rather simple food.”

“It’s been fine.” Her voice was a bit rough and the color on her cheeks was heightened. “Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll put my stuff away. Meet you two in the garden?”

Rhys said, “Good idea.”

They both watched as Ava gathered the bag with her laptop computer and left the library. When she was a suitable distance away, Rhys turned on him.

“I see someone has finally removed his head from his posterior. Congratulations. You’ve thoroughly pissed her off at this point. Hope you like a challenge.”

He shrugged. “I’ve never backed away from one.”

“Good.” Rhys stood. “Neither have I.”

“Rhys.” His friend froze halfway to the door. “I’m not backing away again.”

The scribe shook his head and grimaced. “You changeable bastard.”

“She doesn’t feel that way for you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I do.” Malachi rose and walked toward him. “The same way I know she’s for me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Rhys’s eyes met his in challenge.

“Absolutely sure.”

The three met in the garden as the sky took on the deep, midnight blue of the evening. It was late, but Malachi had already called the restaurant, reserving his favorite table in a corner of the balcony. They walked toward town, Ava between them, and Malachi forced himself to remain casual, even when the scent of her perfume drifted to him on the breeze. It held notes of jasmine and smoke, a sweet fragrance with hidden depths he knew would be even stronger at the curve of her neck where he had kissed her before. Kissed her neck. Her mouth. He imagined nibbling on the skin that peeked from above her waistband when she wore the green shirt he liked.

Malachi let his mind wander down sensuous paths, knowing she would hear the tone of his thoughts even if she couldn’t understand them. Ava turned around, eyes wide and color high. He simply smiled before he shrugged and kept walking, letting their hands brush casually on the uneven sidewalk.

“What kind of food does this restaurant serve?” she asked, obviously trying to ignore him.

“Turkish, along with some Cappadocian dishes that are very good. There is a lamb dish I think you would like.”

“I love lamb,” Rhys said. “Quite the delicious fluffy animal, don’t you think?”

Ava gave him a mock scowl. “Do you dine on kitten, too?”

“Only if they’re prepared with the right sauce, love.”

The two joked all the way to the restaurant. Malachi tried not to let it bother him, but they had obviously become familiar over the past week. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Ava to like Rhys. He was one of Malachi’s closest friends, after all. But he also knew the look on Rhys’s face, and it was one he hadn’t seen in two hundred years. The Irin was infatuated with the woman. And Malachi had thrown them together.

He really was an idiot. He could only hope that his gut feeling was correct, that Ava didn’t feel for Rhys the same way she felt for him. They had none of the electricity that charged the air between her and Malachi. When Ava gave Rhys’s shoulder a friendly jab, Malachi tried to hide his smug expression.

The restaurant was bustling that night, but Malachi nodded to a waiter he recognized and they were shown to a private balcony looking out over the town. Low lights and candles flickered. It was an unmistakably romantic setting that he hoped would impress her.

It did.

“Oh! This is so beautiful. Look at that view!” Ava’s eyes glittered with delight as the waiter held her chair for her. Rhys gave him a dirty look.

The table where they were sitting was private enough that he knew they didn’t have to worry about being overheard, which let him relax as Rhys and Ava began chatting about Irin history in the region.

“You were born near here, weren’t you?” Ava asked him. “I’m sure it’s changed a lot over the years.

He smiled. “This area? No, but I remember visiting here with my father as a child. The cities change more, of course. Cappadocia can almost feel like a time capsule. I was born west of here. It’s still a very rural area. The village where I was born in is no longer there.”

Malachi thought he saw a troubled look filter across her face. He wondered if she was thinking about the Rending.

“I have many happy memories from that retreat and the one in Germany,” he added, hoping to ease her mind. “Both were wonderful places to grow up.”

Rhys distracted her with a joke about Malachi, and within moments, the troubled look left her face. He would have been resentful if he wasn’t so grateful.

Malachi watched them at dinner, trying to discover her feelings. It was clear she liked Rhys, but Malachi was still convinced that his and Ava’s connection was unique. It had to be. Even when he was young, he didn’t remember being drawn to one woman the way Ava drew him. Of course, he’d had his flirtations and even a few brief relationships with suitable Irina when he’d been young, but nothing like this. He could spend hours just watching the subtle play of emotions across her face.

They’d been eating for over an hour, and the wine had brought a flush to her cheeks, and then she asked the question.

“Hey guys, I’ve been wondering. There’s this phrase I hear repeated a lot in people’s minds. It sounds kind of like… Vasha—”

Rhys slapped a panicked hand over her mouth as Ava’s eyes widened. In the next second, it disappeared as Rhys’s arm was twisted away and shoved to the side. Malachi bared his teeth as Ava gasped.

“You do not silence her. Ever.”

“But the magic—”

“Never.” Malachi’s grip tightened around Rhys’s wrist and the man winced. “Warn her if you will, but never attempt to silence her again.”

“Let go of my arm,” Rhys growled.

“No one is looking.”

“They will be if you don’t let go now.” Rhys warned Malachi with a glare.

Malachi released him as Ava let out a breath.

“What on earth just happened?”

Rhys cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Ava. I was concerned and I overreacted.” His eyes cut toward Malachi. “As did your defender.”

“What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Malachi said. “You asked a perfectly reasonable question.”

“But you must be very careful, Ava,” Rhys added, his voice dropping. “Remember that the words you hear are in the Old Language. The eternal one. It is the same language we use to cast spells. For scribes, those spells must be written down to have power. But for singers—”

“Ooooh.” Her own eyes widened. “They speak them, right? So if I say something—”

“You could be performing magic you have not been trained for. Rhys is correct about that,” Malachi said softly. “We start to manifest power near puberty. It is why we start training then. But for you, who has no training in magic, even repeating a simple phrase you hear from the mind of a human could be quite dangerous. You do not understand your own power yet.”

He saw the curious gleam in her eye.

“But I can learn? Even though I’m older?”

Rhys and Malachi exchanged a look.

“Irina magic is always taught by other Irina,” Rhys said. “What we don’t know outweighs what we do. Still, there has to be a way. There are Irina in the world, though they are mostly in hiding. We will find a way to let you unlock your power, Ava. I promise.”