He spoke the truth, just as her father lied to her. The man before her was unwavering, and she had the impression of everything she was not and everything she needed to be whole. The ache within her deepened at the idea of trusting someone for the first time in her life, and the energy flowing between them grew more intense. Jule wouldn't hit her as her father did.
But there was another reason she dared not leave her father, one she feared voicing even to the man before her. Her father was planning something that depended on her magic. If she was the only one who could help him, she was also the only one who could stop him.
"I can't do it, Jule," she said. "What I want doesn't matter."
He broke the barrier between them and touched her face. Her breath caught, and he pulled her into his body. She braced herself for a flood of his power, but it didn't come. Instead, the sense of a shared soul and magic returned. Her tortured thoughts went to the thousands of men, killed by the only family she'd known, whose souls were trapped for eternity beneath the ground.
Suddenly, the cold roar of the wind gave way to warmth and quiet. She lifted her head from his chest, surprised to find them back in the cottage. The pot-bellied stove crackled with burning wood, and a light in the corner made the cottage feel even cozier.
Jule forced himself to put some space between them. It took more effort than he thought to break the otherworldly connection binding them. He felt cold as soon as he stepped away, and the urge to touch her again thrummed through his body.
The Magician looked around, confused, before recognition crossed her features. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her green eyes showing her torment and her magic like a halo around her. One of her eyes was black from a blow, and the sight infuriated him. They'd both changed dramatically in the two days they were apart, and he wasn't sure it was for the better. At least, he was finding it harder to resist her strange magic every time they met. She sat on the couch, and he sat opposite her in the armchair. While only three feet apart, the space felt immeasurable. Her pain was raw, yet there was mettle in her backbone if she'd gone to Sean's funeral, fully knowing her own father killed the Guardian.
"I thought we should talk," he started. "I'm beginning to understand why the … why your father wants you. It's not gonna be a good thing, if you stay with him."