Spark of Chaos (Spark of Chaos #1)

Chapter 3

Sunshine should never be wasted, so Isiilde returned to her beach while Marsais bathed. She hummed as she balanced across the slippery rocks to explore. A tiny crab skittered across the rocks, moving with a lopsided gait caused by one claw that was larger than its carapace. She watched it, captivated, until it crawled into a crevice.

Isiilde checked back on the cottage, and her ears perked up. Marsais strolled along the beach. She quickly hopped from rock to rock, and slipped, falling into the tide pool and splitting open a toe. She scrambled upright, climbing over the rocks to the safety of the sand.

Blood dripped from her big toe. The sight and smell of blood made her lightheaded. Her vision narrowed, the world tilted, and her eyes fluttered open to find Marsais dusting sand off her face with his sleeve. She was lying on her back.

His long hair shone in the sun, falling past his shoulders as he crouched at her side. "You fainted."

She groaned. "My toe is bleeding."

"Not an uncommon occurrence," he mused.

"For me, or in general?"

"Both."

Isiilde stuck her bloody toe in his face. "It hurts."

He studied the wound with grey eyes that always twinkled for her. They reminded her of stars.

"I'm no healer, but I believe you'll live." Marsais produced a pristine handkerchief and carefully wrapped it around her toe.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Marsais dropped his worn rucksack next to her and stretched on the sand, propping himself on his elbows to gaze at the sea. She wanted to reach across the leather pack and poke him to make sure he wasn't a dream.

"Do I pass inspection?"

Isiilde took her time looking him over. She had never seen hair so vibrant a white. It wasn't white from age and the Keening's touch, but possessed of an otherworldly glow, like the paintings of the Guardians. With his pointed ears and hair like freshly fallen snow, she wondered if faerie blood ran through his veins. He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

His shirt was patched, and the laces of his collar hung in tatters, revealing a tanned throat. She leaned closer to sniff at him. The fishy odor was gone, leaving a whiff of soap that mingled with his familiar scent. He always made her think of a hot summer day.

"You smell much better," she said.

"I caught up on some interesting reading during my bath. I can't say I've ever been so entertained."

Isiilde's heart sank as he produced an impressive stack of letters, all stamped with the familiar sigil of the Wise Ones: an open palm bearing a watchful eye.

"You've been busy."

She was too busy poking at her toe to catch the quirk of his lips. "You don't have to read them," she finally said.

"You're right, I don't."

Satisfied, she stretched out beneath the sun. Ocean waves tugged her towards sleep as heat seeped into her bones. She drifted in a place without time. It was bliss.

Isiilde eventually stirred, stretched with pleasure, and opened her eyes. Marsais was still reading through her letters of misconduct.

"I missed you," she said.

"Apparently," he agreed, gesturing at the stack of letters. "I think I like this one best. Thira accused you of setting Crumpet on fire."

He arched a brow in question. But it didn't mean she had to answer.