CoS31

## Chapter 31

**Chapter 31** of **City of Spells** follows **Wesley**.

## **Full Version**

TAVIA’S HAIR SPREAD ACROSS the pillow as she played with the mirror doll.

Wesley watched her.

He’d been unable to take his eyes off of her for the past few hours, but now that she had the mirror doll he definitely couldn’t stop staring. They were his least favorite kind of magic and though Wesley dealt in many things that were deadly and devious, he found nothing quite as eerie as a puppet for somebody’s life.

They varied from maker to maker, but the dolls were consistently dreadful. Made from buttons and badly stitched thread, or tree bark and twine, they began as a jigsaw person, barely formed and off-kilter, their black-spot eyes ready to change with the flick of a charm.

Only then did they become person-like, their form dislocating from the makeshift to the harrowing reality, tree bark turning to rotten skin and patches of hair growing from the twine, their button eyes hollowed out to mummified pits and jagged nails sprung from their new fingertips. Once blooded, they transformed into corpse-like versions of their victim.

For now, Tavia held a puppet.

Soon, she would hold a body.

Tavia stroked her hand over the doll’s head tenderly, like it was some kind of a pet.

“You know, that’s really creepy,” Wesley said. “Why do you keep that thing by your bed?”

“Oh, relax.” Tavia waved him off. “It’s not like it’s linked to anyone yet.”

“I think that makes it worse.”

An absent vessel, a body without a soul, a puppet without a master, waiting for Tavia to shape it into whoever she wanted.

Wesley didn’t know what Crafter had thought up such a thing, but he was glad that whoever they were was long gone.

“Seriously, put that thing away,” he said.

He reached over the covers to grab it from her, but Tavia jerked it away.

“Worried I’ll slip some of your blood over its smile?” she asked.

Wesley scoffed, but the way she looked over at him, amused, unsteadied his heart.

Tavia nudged him with her elbow, grin dangerous, and Many Gods, it made Wesley want to kiss her again. Truthfully, he never wanted to stop kissing her now, or to get out of this bed, but that didn’t seem like the best plan with death on their doorstep.

Or perhaps it was.

Perhaps, Wesley should test the theory, just in case.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said.

No, not talk.

*Kiss.*

Kiss first, and then ask if she still planned to run to Volo when the battle was over, like she’d always dreamed of. They hadn’t had the chance to talk about it yet and Wesley didn’t want to push his luck.

He hoped Tavia would help him rebuild Creije. He wanted them to stay in the city they had grown up in so they could continue growing there together. But just because things had changed between them, it didn’t mean Tavia had changed her mind about what she wanted for her future.

“It’s about what we’re going to do after we kill Ashwood,” Wesley said.

Tavia put down the mirror doll and turned to him. “Let’s not talk about after,” she said. “Let’s just focus on now.”

She reached over and curled her hand around the back of Wesley’s neck, pulling him to her. His lips locked onto hers and with Tavia’s free hand she squeezed his, like she was pressing some of her strength into him.

Wesley pulled the bedsheets backs over their heads and Tavia laughed loudly. Gods, he couldn’t get enough of that laugh.

And then there was a knock and Wesley paused.

He pulled the sheets back down and looked to the door.

“Are you expecting company?” he asked.

Tavia shook her head. “You get it,” she said, stretching. “I’m comfortable.”

Wesley rolled his eyes and reluctantly pushed himself up from the bed, throwing on the suit trousers that were slung over the chair.

“Whoever it is, just kill them and come back to bed,” Tavia called over to him.

Wesley smirked and opened the door, ready to do just that. Until he saw Saxony’s amja standing on the other side.

Wesley cursed to himself.

That family had woeful timing.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” she asked.

*Yes*, Wesley thought.

Out loud, he said, “No, it’s fine.”

“Can we talk? It’s important.”

Wesley cleared his throat, suddenly aware he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “Sure.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Just give me a second.”

He quickly closed the door and shot Tavia an apologetic look, but she was grinning.

“Did your amja just interrupt us for a quiet little talk with her grandson?” she asked. “Because that’s hilarious. All we need now is for your sister to come in wanting to borrow a cup of sugar.”

“I’m failing to see the humor in all of this,” Wesley said, grabbing his shirt from the floor. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

“It’s fine, go.” Tavia stretched out farther amongst the covers, burying her face in the pillow. “I’ll be glad for the space, if I’m being honest.”

“Funny,” Wesley said. “But don’t get too used to it.”

Tavia wiggled her eyebrows and Wesley wanted nothing more than to jump back into bed with her. Unfortunately, family came with responsibilities. He just wished those responsibilities ended after sundown. Wesley turned back to open the door.

“Is everything okay?” he asked Saxony’s amja.

*His*amja.

She was Wesley’s too now, and he needed to at least try to get used to it.

Wesley shuffled out into the hallway and closed the door softly behind him.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Amja said. “I’m sure you want to spend this night doing something other than speaking to me. It’s just that we haven’t had the chance to talk about everything that has happened.”

“You didn’t need to come and speak to me,” Wesley said, clearing his throat to counteract the tense atmosphere. It was odd how unsettled he felt, being alone with this strange woman who shouldn’t have been strange to him at all. “I’m not sure there’s much for us to say.”

“I disagree,” Amja said. “I want you to know that I’m sorry for all I’ve done to wrong you, but I’m here for you now, Malik. As I always should have been.”

Wesley couldn’t help but wince at the use of his old name. It didn’t feel like his—the life that Malik had before Creije didn’t feel like his—and though the Uncharted Forest had carried a sense of home while Wesley was there, it still wasn’t quite Creije enough for him.

Wesley knew who he was and who he wasn’t.

And he wasn’t Malik Akintola.

He had been once, a lifetime ago, but not now. Despite the fact that he could see that Saxony and Amja so desperately wanted him to return to that boy, Wesley knew it wasn’t possible.

He could do a great many things, but not that.

There wasn’t enough magic in him for that miracle.

“I will do my best to watch out for you,” Amja said. “Like a real family would.”

Wesley swallowed. He didn’t know how to react to that.

Nobody had ever promised to watch out for him before.

“I’ve never much liked families,” he said, leaning against the wall as indifferently as he could. “Bad experience and all.”

“That’s fair,” Amja said. “I’ve not had the best experience with grandsons.”

Wesley couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“You mean that time you cursed your entire Kin to send your illegitimate grandchild across the realm to live with strangers?”

Amja let out a large sigh. “Yes. Though you could have said it with less of an attitude.”

“Sorry,” Wesley said, with a shrug. “I’m from Creije. Attitude is a requirement for survival.”

“Tact, then.”

“What’s that?”

Amja shook her head, though there was the spirit of a smile on her stern mouth. “We need to speak about your future, Malik.”

Wesley wished she would stop calling him that. He wished everyone would stop trying to mold him into who they wanted him to be, because he finally liked who he was.

“I already know my future,” Wesley said.

It was behind that door and in the city they would travel to tomorrow.

“What about your destiny?” Amja asked. “You were supposed to be our Liege.”

“Saxony is your Liege and she’s earned it.”

“And you should rule by her side once this war is all over,” Amja said. “That’s who you are.”

Except it wasn’t. So many people thought they knew Wesley, when he had been careful to spend a lifetime making sure the exact opposite was true.

“You might see me as a prodigy for your Kin,” he said. “But when this is all over, I’m going to stay in Creije, because that’s where I know I belong.”

“Vea didn’t intend for you to stay there forever,” Amja said. “She sacrificed her life to keep you safe, hoping one day you’d return to us. You can’t know what it’s like to care for somebody that much. To a love person so much that you would give up the world for them.”

But Wesley did know.

He’d known for a while.

“Does that busker girl mean more to you than your family?” Amja asked.

Wesley’s jaw ticked.

“Watch yourself,” he said. “Tavia *is* my family.”

Amja sighed again. “Perhaps I’m selfish wanting to keep you after this is over,” she said. “I just don’t want to lose my grandson so soon after getting him back. My dream would be for you and your sisters to be by my side forever.”

“I’ll get Zekia back,” Wesley said. “I swear it.”

“And then you’ll leave.”

Wesley hated the softness in her voice. This woman who had lived through wars and led a Kin, and Wesley was somehow making her feel fragile.

“I’m sorry that I can’t give you what you want,” Wesley said. “But that’s not what’s important right now.”

“Then what is?” Amja asked. “What do *you* want, Malik?”

Wesley ran his hand across his wrist, over his scars and up the lines of his tattoos, meeting the first of his staves. So many parts of his life now intertwined across his skin.

A past forgotten, a present lived, a future promised.

“What do you need?” Amja asked him.

Wesley’s fingers traced over the stave and he breathed, like he was breathing in the magic.

“To win,” he said.

Wesley would end the battle for Uskhanya and for Creije.

He would return home and fight like never before, with an army that loved him and an army that hated him.

He would win this war.

He could win back his home and have the life with Tavia that he’d always thought was out of reach. Nothing was going to stop him.