Vow of Magic Outtake: A Quiet Moment
Warning: Spoilers ahead! If you haven’t read Vow of Magic, come back to this later. :)
This is yet another scene from Vow of Magic that didn’t make it into the final draft because of pacing issues that arose after editing. In the previous draft, there was a fairly long time lapse between certain ship-related events that allowed for scenes like this one to exist in the narrative. When I made the final pass, there were a number of fluff scenes that had to go, but luckily, I’ve saved them for you here! Happy reading!
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(Setting: Caitir’s new chambers - on her sofa. You’ll notice that some of the sequencing of knowledge & events is different in this scene - that’s because I made significant sequencing changes on the final pass to tighten up the flow of the story. In the previous draft, several weeks passed between the archive kiss and the day that Caitir & Eremon finally give in to their feelings - so this scene fell right in the middle of all that tension. As you’ll see from the end of the scene, this part of the story eventually inspired the finalized scene where Caitir essentially tells Eremon to stop beating himself up and calls him out on his loud emotions - although who could really blame him?)
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“If I had something to throw at you, so help me, I would,” Caitir grumbled. “I thought about a shoe, but look at how swollen my feet are. I’d spend half an hour just trying to take one of them off.”
Eremon scrutinized her feet, then leaned toward her abruptly, grasping one of her ankles with a light touch and giving it a tug.
“Stop!” she cried, drawing her feet closer. “What are you doing?”
“Stretch out your legs,” he said, coaxing her to rest her feet in his lap.
Caitir’s stomach fluttered as Eremon gingerly removed one slipper, then the other, and tossed them onto the floor. She bit back a groan as he began to gently knead one of her feet, letting her head drop back against the high arm rest.
“What are you doing?” she repeated, melting into his touch.
“Removing your slippers from your person so they can’t be used against me in a fit of rage.” He chuckled. “Protecting my royal head from shoe-slappery. How’s that?”
“Is it treason to slap the Rí with a shoe?”
Eremon smirked. “Now you’ll never know.”
Mortal gods. She might have said it aloud; she didn’t know. What right did he have to be so disarming? So fiery and intimidating one moment, but nurturing and gentle the next?
Eremon wasn’t making it any easier for her to keep her distance. Not when he kept closing in like this. Reaching for her. Making her forget where she truly stood with him.
His hands were beyond perfection. But why was she letting him touch her?
He made a soft pass over the arch of her foot, and she shivered. Well, I’m not stopping him now.
The silence that formed between them was heady, filling the room with a tension she wasn’t sure they should explore. It was unnerving, this sense of normalcy between them, and the fact that Eremon was touching her of his own volition. One thing was certain: his rejection among the clan army would be instant and guaranteed if they found out about this.
Caitir shoved the thought down, forcing herself to release the tension that had begun to draw her shoulders up. It wasn’t a crime to enjoy herself, just this once.
“Shall I make an even greater fool of myself?” Eremon asked after a long while. “I haven’t told you everything I intended to.”
She cracked an eye open as he moved to her other foot. “I can’t promise I’ll stay awake for it, so keep it interesting.”
He cut his gaze up to her face. “We think Aila may have Lira’s pendant.”
Caitir’s mouth went dry, and her eyes widened as she sat up straighter, gently pulling her feet away and curling them beneath her. She instantly regretted the loss of contact, but didn’t attempt to reestablish it. “Why would you think that?”
Hesitantly, Eremon described the nightmares Lira and Skelly had been experiencing. He’d known the pendant was missing—because of course he did, the dirty sneak. Caitir’s mind bounced between what he was telling her, and what she remembered of Aila’s ambitions in regard to Lira’s magic.
“Mother wanted Lira’s magic so she could manipulate the memories of the continent itself,” Caitir said, her words tumbling out in a breathy rush. “Through dark magic, it’s possible to corrupt the power of the Witness Tree and alter the memories of the people. Her first plan was to install me as Raní, and rule from the shadows. Manipulate us both until we couldn’t tell her ideas from our own. Over time, she would erase the people’s memories and replace them with her own designs. Essentially, erase history.”
Eremon’s jaw tightened. “Do you know anything about the immortal girl your mother is holding captive?”
Now it was Caitir’s turn to tense. “What immortal girl?”
“Then I assume the answer is no.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “As I understand it, Iteloria has methods for holding immortals hostage—immobilizing their powers, somehow. I don’t know how it works.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
Eremon’s expression was pained. “So you didn’t notice that Fiadh was able to compel me to let go of her? You weren’t aware she could do that?”
“No,” Caitir cried. “I saw your face—I thought it was strange that you released her on command. Didn’t seem right.”
“It felt like my power winked out for a moment, while she was touching me.” Eremon leaned closer. “You know what that means: Fiadh may be spying for Aila, after all.”
“Do you think she’s the reason Mother has the immortal?”
“It makes more sense than any other explanation. Perhaps she is the one who gave Aila the pendant.” He crossed his arms and sighed heavily, studying the ceiling as though searching for his next words. “What is your mother, Caitir?”
She shook her head, incredulous. “What do you mean, what is she? She claimed to be your mother’s distant cousin, or some nonsense. Convinced Macha to gift me dark magic from your bloodline, and Aidryn to give me magic from my father’s clan.”
“What else?”
“She wanted to be immortal.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Why?”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “When you crave unlimited magic, why would you not?” Her gaze slid to him, and she laughed lightly. “It’s fitting that the one person who never pursued that sort of power is the immortal here.”
Eremon grinned, leaning his head against the back of the sofa. “Not that it’s welcome.” He closed his eyes with a sigh. “I feel so bloody worthless sometimes.”
“You are not.” The words leapt from Caitir, sharp and defiant enough that he opened his eyes again, his gaze piercing her.
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Read Vow of Magic (The Witness Tree Chronicles, Book 3) here.