“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.”
“As do I.” Their eyes met in the flickering candlelight, and Malachi had a vision of Ava, her arms spread, her voice raised in song. Magic poured from her. He imagined her voice whispering secrets in his ear, the ancient words a mate would share. The most beautiful power imaginable that bound two into one. The thought brought a rush of emotion he hoped she heard. From the flush of her cheeks, he was guessing she did.
Chapter Twelve
Four days later, Ava was still thinking about Rhys’s words.
We will find a way to let you unlock your power, Ava. I promise.
Power. They told her the manic energy that had stalked her wasn’t illness or mania, it was power. For someone who had spent her life skirting around the edges of insanity, it was hard to fathom.
Excitable.
Emotional.
High-strung.
Hyperactive.
Troubled…
The descriptions from friends and doctors had slowly devolved as she’d gotten older. They’d gone from amusement to awkwardness. And though her mother had always cushioned the blow, Ava had known from the time she was a child that there was something different about her. Something that wasn’t good. Something that made her “too much” to deal with. Carl had only confirmed it when she’d reached her teens. His constant stream of classes and camps and internships may have given her a résumé most twenty-somethings would kill for, but Ava knew it had little to do with concern. She was a problem, one he preferred to farm out.
“Evren?” She turned to the old scribe sitting across the table from her.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Would you say that I’m… normal? For an Irina?”
Evren gave her a slow smile. “But what is normal? For any man or woman?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean.” He put down the pencil he’d been taking notes with and folded his hand. “You are who you were meant to be, Ava. I see nothing damaged or wrong with you. How you came to be who you are?” Evren lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Who can say? In Irin history, there is no incidence of any Irina being born in a human family. But you are here now. You are among your people. You are a wonder to us, not an oddity.”
“My whole life, I’ve never fit in.”
“Of course you haven’t,” he said. “I’m sure in the human world, you would stand out. Here? You are normal. You remind me very much of a girl I grew up with. She was so curious.” A dimple touched Evren’s cheek. “She was the favorite of our teachers in the village.”