Lysander inclined his head, and there was that beautiful, genuine smile again that coiled warmth through me all the way to my curling toes. "My thanks." Then his gaze softened. "They've alive; I feel it."
My chest tightened. Against my will, I glanced at Damelza, who was now pressed against the wall with a look of intense concentration like a constipated starfish.
I pushed myself onto my tiptoes, before pressing a gentle kiss to Lysander's bruised cheek. He gasped, staring at me in wonder. Then he pushed his fingers across the imprints of his guardian's palm that'd marked his face.
Had my kiss wiped away his uncle's touch?
By the way that his hand squeezed my hand tighter, I witching hoped so.
Flair's eyes narrowed in jealousy. "How long have we got before that witchy bitch pulls the broomstick out of her arse and frees the mage? I could peck off the fae's balls. It'd make a perfect gift for the mage: Prince's Balls as handy stress relievers."
I cringed, as Flair clicked his sharp bill.
"Stop talking nothing but balls." I shrugged my shoulders in a hint for my familiars to take their feathery behinds a safe distance from Lysander’s vulnerable (as well as impressively large if he was identical in all ways to Andro, his clone), privates.
Finally, the crows flew to the windowsill.
Lysander's expression morphed into naughty outrage. "It appears that I’m not the only one who’s talented at insults."
"Peck, peck, peck," Flair encouraged. "What's he even using them for? After all, you won't screw him, when he's dying for a fuck."
"I need the fae's balls, and I shall be using them soon," I blurted out.
Lysander's startled gaze met mine, and I reddened.
My witching goodness, was it possible that I’d forgotten the art of romance and courting? Once, I'd have announced my intentions with glove flirtation.
Was this what they called being corrupted by the modern world?
"One appreciates the advance warning." Lysander's tongue darted out and wet his lips. "My balls shall look forward to it."
Wait, had his privates just accepted my invitation...?
Before I could demand greater clarity on the terms, Damelza twisted to us. "Ah-ha! It appears that my theory is correct about how to break this spell."
I rushed forward, and my magic spread out like ivy across the surface of the wall, as if I could seep through and reach Fox. He was on the other side...alive...I could feel it the same as Lysander.
I knew it. He had to be. Please...
"Magenta," Lysander's voice was tight, "hold on. Just...a little longer. Control your magic, otherwise it won't be stable enough."
I should've hated him. For commanding and leashing me...for telling me the truth.
I closed my eyes, clenching my hands. Slowly, I wrenched my magic back inside. I hurt. When I glanced over my shoulder, Lysander was pale, and his breath was ragged. He hurt just the same as me.
"Thank you," I breathed.
He flushed, dropping his gaze, but not before I'd seen the spark of surprised happiness in his gaze.
Damelza waved her hand. "Now don't get your little hopes up. This is unprecedented. No mage has ever been released. They're our enemies, although clearly the new generation have a problem remembering that. Perhaps, I need to create new rules about fraternizing because there's a message in that somewhere. As one of my favorite mottoes states—"
"Take your mottoes,” Lysander drawled, “and stick them up your feathery behind."
Damelza's mouth fell open and then snapped shut in shock.
That was satisfying.
"It's funny how quickly you've forgotten that your guardian has authorized harsher methods," Damelza snarled. "My daughter always was one to have her head turned by a handsome boy. But I'll marry her into a respectable coven by Christmas and who then shall protect you, Dunce? You're nothing but a crush, who she'll forget like your entire kingdom has. If I were you, I'd remember your new position."
Lysander's lips thinned. "Thank my wings, you're not me."
"Open the wall and free my lover." My voice was hard and dangerous.
Damelza's eyes glittered, but she held her palm against the wall. "By the branches of the tree, free those who are no longer your enemy, blessed be."
I jolted. The incantation was so close to the invocation that Byron had said as he'd pressed his hand to this wall, after Robin had been walled up alive. Also, the one that I'd repeated. Had Hecate heard us...or had Byron been praying to someone else?
I'd hoped that it'd free Robin, but it hadn't.
Had Byron simply messed up one of the lines, or had he only known some of them? After all, he wasn't a mage.
Witches above, I missed Robin, Fox, and I missed father.
This time, let it work...
I held my breath.
Please, please, please...
I jumped, as a gaping chasm of black appeared beneath the mirror.
It was opening.
Yes, yes, yes...
Lysander dived forward, clutching my hand and crushing my fingers between his.
I wasn't alone this time. I hadn't been alone since I'd been resurrected. Yet could anyone survive so many hours walled up?
There was a tumble of violet feathers and bronze muscles through the hole. I stared down at Ezekiel's eerily still body.
Not dead, not dead, not...
Lysander wrenched away from me to crouch next to Ezekiel. He brushed Ezekiel’s hair away from his eyes and pushed him onto his back. Lysander’s troubled gaze met mine, before he leaned closer.
"Professor," he whispered, urgently.
Ezekiel's eyes fluttered open.
Thank Hecate.
"W-where's the p-pussy?" Ezekiel broke off, coughing.
That was no euphemism.
Lysander awkwardly cradled Ezekiel onto his lap, even though he was twice as large as him, patting him on the back like he'd never helped anyone in that way before.
I fell onto all fours and peered into the darkness. Why wasn't my Fox crawling (or falling out unconscious) after the professor? If he wouldn't come out, then I'd go in after him.
When I started to edge into the wall, however, Damelza let out a squawk.
"Hecate above, do you have no idea what impact your magic would have inside a spell such as this? Do you wish to tear this entire academy apart?" Damelza demanded.
Ah, rhetorical questions.
In fact, yes, I did wish it. Truly to the depths of my wicked heart I did.
Lysander raised his wing to Ezekiel’s lips. How inappropriate. Did the prince believe that now was the time to offer the professor an aphrodisiac as he had to Bask in the magical game of Russian Roulette in the traditional fae way? Hard pricks were not a conventional medical cure, unless they were in the twenty-first century….? This world nowadays was, after all, strange; cum could be the new penicillin.
Perhaps, Lysander had simply misunderstood the pussy reference…?
When Ezekiel licked Lysander's feathers, however, I realized that he must've offered him something far more refreshing.
What a handy spell.
Was he creating water? Lemonade? Witches above, could he produce tea on his feathers because if so, I'd never allow this fae out of my bed. Those tea-infused feathers would be mine alone to lick.
I choked on a sob. I craved to lick my raspberry scented mage. Without him, everything else would taste of dust.