The fire was high, the cauldron bubbled and steamed, and the sun blazed through all of the windows and skylights in Rowan’s apartment. The great room was already swelteringly hot when Lily joined Tristan and Rowan on the black square of silk in front of the hearth.
“It’s a sauna in here,” Lily complained. She flapped her hands, trying to wave a breeze into the robe Rowan had told her to wear to this afternoon’s ritual instead of the silk slip. “What are we making today? Deep-fried witch?”
Rowan and Tristan smiled at her joke, but neither of them laughed. Their eyes were hazy and their breathing slow. Their willstones heaved with sluggish light, indicating that they were in a half trance. Lily had seen Rowan and Tristan in a trance-like state before. Every day at dawn, they did a series of exercises that Lily insisted was a form of yoga, even though they’d never heard the word. At the end of their exercises, they both sat cross-legged and meditated deeply. But this was different. They’d never put themselves in a trance for a ritual before.
Today, they were both wearing white shorts, and sweat slicked their nearly naked bodies. Lily wished she could focus on Tristan alone, but her eyes always seemed to wander back to Rowan. In front of his folded legs was a small wooden bowl, filled with a bright red paste, and next to it, a paintbrush. Tristan sat behind Rowan and to his right. In front of him was a long strip of gauze folded into a large pile.
“What are we making today?” Lily repeated, seriously this time.
“We’re moving away from small magic and into the second level. Healing magic,” Rowan replied, his hazy eyes focusing on Lily. “Sachem needs anti-infection tabs. There’s been an outbreak of fever and lots of Outlander children are dying.”
“Okay,” Lily said with a firm nod. “What do I do?”
“Take off your robe and lie down in front of me,” Rowan said.
Lily balked. She was only wearing panties under the robe. After a bit of hemming and hawing, she met Rowan’s level gaze and sig
hed.
“Well, it is for the children,” she said, and shimmied shyly out of her robe, covering as much of herself as she could with her hands. Rowan couldn’t seem to help himself and cracked a smile, which helped to ease some of Lily’s nerves. She lowered herself to the floor and stretched herself out in front of him, arms still draped over her breasts.
Even though it was unbearably hot in front of the fire, Lily’s skin puckered with goose bumps. She could feel Rowan’s breath falling on her from above. His gaze felt like touch, skimming over her like the downy edge of a bird’s wing, over her belly, her breasts, and her thighs. Gently, he lifted one arm and then the other, and lay them by her sides, then picked up the wooden bowl and the paintbrush and positioned himself at her feet. Tristan stood and went to the fire, throwing a large cord of wood onto the flames. The fire roared. Lily’s willstones echoed the power of the fire, and the rose stone flashed with a bright light. Lily felt herself fill with heat.
“Boil out the fever. Sweat out the sickness. Burn out the rot,” Rowan chanted. He dipped his brush into the wooden bowl and began painting runes onto Lily’s skin.
Lily’s body flamed and roared like the fire. The cool touch of the brush made her shiver. The paint sizzled when it hit her feverish skin. Every stroke of Rowan’s brush sent cooling waves through her, and her sweating body rose up to meet the touch of the bristles. She could feel the paint oozing into her system, mixing with her sweat and changing. Growing strong.
Tristan followed behind Rowan, winding Lily’s painted flesh with the strip of gauze as if he were wrapping an injury. Sweat and paint and magic soaked into the wrappings, becoming medicine. Rowan painted all the way around one leg up to the thigh and stopped. Then he painted the other and stopped. The wrappings were removed and hung by the fire. Tristan lit a bundle of sage, flamed it out, and let the clarifying smoke waft up into the growing web of damp, red-blotted gauze. Rowan painted her arms in the same spiraling manner, with Tristan following in his wake with yard after yard of gauze. They stopped only to hang the saturated wrappings in front of the fire and to stoke the flames. Rowan eased Lily up to a sitting position and began painting her back. She could feel his breath on her drenched neck, could feel the paintbrush sliding and sizzling across her skin. More gauze was pressed into the design Rowan had drawn on her back, and then he laid her down again.
Rowan’s hands shook when he started the spiral out from her navel. His brush traveled up, across her fluttering ribs, wrapping around her breasts. Lily could feel the tight coil of the spiral sinking into her, the heat settling low in her belly like a knot of want. The teasing touch of the brush became unbearable. She reached up and brought Rowan’s lovely mouth down to her. His lips were so cool against her fire-bright skin that she sighed, drawing from them deeply as if she could drink him. Tristan’s hands lifted her, wrapping her, brushing against her body while she kissed Rowan. Both of their eyes slid closed, and their willstones glittered on their chests.
Rowan broke away and paused, swallowing hard. Lily’s hands were in his hair. He untangled them gently and moved determinedly to Lily’s throat. Concentrating, he painted a small design around her willstones. The spell sank into her lungs, filling them with fluid and cutting off her breath. Gauze followed before she had a chance to panic, soaking in the sweat and paint, and lifting the heavy spell off of her. Her skin cooled. Her lungs cleared. She took a deep breath.
“It is done,” Rowan said. His and Tristan’s willstones darkened. Rowan stood and got Lily’s robe, covering her immediately.
Lily sat up. The sun was down. The yards of gauze needed to dry before they could be cut into tiny tabs no larger than Lily’s pinkie nail. Just one tab under the tongue could clear all infection out of a sick or injured person’s body. Lily sighed, knowing that thousands could be healed by what they’d done in a few hours. The city sparkled in the darkness outside Rowan’s huge windows. Instead of feeling tired, she was energized, her body humming with the adrenaline of two kinds of hunger.
“Let’s go out,” she said. “I want to go out. Actually, I think I need to go out.”
Rowan and Tristan shared a look. “A crucible’s craving is her mechanic’s mandate,” Tristan said. “You’ve already ignored that once tonight.” There was a scolding note in Tristan’s tone, like Rowan had done something they both knew was wrong. Rowan dropped his head.
“I know I did. But I still think it’s too dangerous. Gideon has a man stationed right across the street, watching us,” Rowan said.
“It’s dark. I can use a camouflage spell, and he won’t even see me,” Lily said, standing.
“It doesn’t matter if you get past that one guard,” Rowan countered. “There are spies all over the city looking for the Outlander girl hanging out with me.”
“So I’ll bleach my hair blonde and go with Tristan,” Lily replied, as if offering the simplest solution in the world.
You’re not going to a bonfire without me!
Lily could sense that Rowan hadn’t meant to initiate mindspeak. The thought had flown out of him in desperation, breaking three weeks of silence, but he closed himself off before she could sense anything more.
“So. Who wants to help me dye my hair?” Lily said through a grin. “I’ve always wanted to go platinum.”
* * *
Tristan and Rowan were chemical geniuses. That, coupled with the fact that they also knew how to do magic, meant that two hours later Lily had white-blonde, pin-straight hair.