The Lightning-Struck Heart (Tales From Verania 1)

“That and the running for our lives,” I agreed.

“Seems to happen to you often,” he said, flipping casually through the Grimoire.

“I tend to spark a certain reaction amongst people who want to see me dead.”

“Lartin the Dark Leaf.”

“Eh. I don’t know if he wanted me dead as much as he wanted to ransom me for pounds of gold.”

“I wouldn’t have paid it,” Morgan assured me.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite,” I said.

“And his death was the only way out?” Randall asked.

I shrugged. “For Tiggy, it was. He’d trussed us up in vermilion root, and Tiggy doesn’t take too kindly to his family being threatened.”

“Vermilion root,” Randall said. “Fairy rings. Truth corn, as you call it. Maybe instead of learning how to be a wizard, you could start teaching people all the ways it takes for you to not be a wizard.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” I said, glancing at Morgan. “Randall’s got jokes. I would have thought any sense of humor you had died centuries ago.”

“He’s always been funny,” Morgan said.

“Really.”

“I’m hysterical,” Randall said, voice as dry as his skin. “You just fail to see it.”

“I made your nose a dick,” I said. “I see the humor just fine.”

“Got those urges under control now, have you?”

“I’m twenty years old,” I said. “Of course not. I’m made of hormones and an overactive imagination. Be thankful nothing else has been dicked out since you got here.”

“I thank the gods every day for your restraint,” Randall said, and I got the feeling he didn’t mean that at all, the bastard. “The Grimoire, though. It is not something you can neglect, Sam. It is important to your education.”

“I know,” I said with a sigh. “But between the Prince and the godsdamn cornerstone bullshit, I haven’t even thought about it. That’s on me. I’d like to say I will make it a priority, but I can’t make many promises until the wedding is done and over with. I’ll be able to focus better then.”

Randall studied me for a moment, then said, “Morgan, would you give us the room, please.”

Morgan looked to argue, but Randall shook his head once. Morgan bowed slightly and left the labs, the door closing behind him.

“You’re foolish,” Randall said.

“Past the niceties already,” I said. “That has to be a record.”

He ignored me. “You are a foolish boy. You think too much. You talk too much. You’re never serious. You fight your way with words more than the magic you were given. You argue with Morgan at every possible turn. You disobey direct orders. You think you know more than anyone else. And sometimes, I get the feeling you think you’re above this. The training. The lessons. After all, what could two old wizards possibly have to teach you?”

I stayed silent, because the words hurt and because they were true.

“And yet,” he said. He shook his head and traced his fingers along the Grimoire. “Your heart is bigger than anyone else’s I’ve ever met. You are smart and fearless. You are talented and compassionate. You, by right, could be locked up in your room lamenting as to how unfair the world is, how unjust after everything you’ve done, but instead, you’re here, head held high, listening to me at first talk shit about you, and then unfortunately gushing about your more tolerable qualities.”

“Tolerable, huh?” I managed to say because Randall never said anything nice. About anyone. But especially me. I didn’t even think he was capable of doling out compliments, even if they were slightly backward.

“Barely,” he said. “And in small doses.”

“You like me,” I said, starting to smile, my fingers itching to hug him.

“Like is such a strong word.”