I forced a slow exhale.
Gods. I wished I’d told Casteel I loved him. Just one more time in case things didn’t go as planned.
I wished for a lot of things as I bathed and then dressed. I wished for silly things: to swim in the sea and walk barefoot in the snow. To finish Miss Willa’s diary. I wished for this to be the last time I was forced to do something I didn’t want to do. To have a future where all my choices were mine. I wished I had time to know my father. To know Seraphena and Nyktos. To have a normal conversation with Millicent. To see Ian one more time. I wished I had done right by Tawny and told her what I’d done. And I wished I had told Casteel about the oath I had Kieran make.
I could only make one of those things happen.
Strapping the sheathed bone dagger to my forearm, I didn’t look in the mirror as I left the bedchamber. I knew what I looked like.
I’d donned all black—black breeches, a long-sleeve shirt, and a sleeveless waistcoat I had first thought was for Casteel but discovered it fit me perfectly, cinched at the waist.
It reminded me of something I’d seen Millicent wear.
It took an absurd amount of time to find some parchment and a quill—almost as long as it took to braid my hair. I’d gotten used to Casteel doing it.
I couldn’t think about that.
For some reason, what I searched for was stored in the liquor credenza in the dining chamber.
I quickly wrote what I needed to—what I knew—not letting myself dwell onwhatI was writing. I knew the letter was impersonal and a far cry from how the conversation should’ve gone, but I’d wasted too much time. It had only taken about two minutes when I finished. I read over it, hoping it made sense and wishing I had thought of going to Sven as I’d instructed in the note.
But as the quill hovered over the parchment, my veneer of control cracked enough that the drop of ink that splashed off the bottom of the letter wasn’t the only thing. I hastily wrote one more line.
I am so incredibly sorry.
Dragging in a shaky breath, I started to return the quill, then grabbed another slip of parchment. This letter was shorter and less destructive. Once I was finished and the ink had dried, I folded both and wrote a name on each. One to someone I felt like I’d known for most of my life, and another to someone I barely knew at all. I closed my eyes and focused on the image of the person I knew could deliver both. I summoned the essence and stepped through a tear into what I thought should be a sittingchamber, except it was absent of anything to sit on and was dark with heavy curtains pulled over the windows, allowing only a few thin gaps of light to sneak through.
“Fuck—”
I jerked back as a blade sliced through the air inches from my face. My head snapped to the right.
Malik stood there, breathing heavily and…sweating. His golden eyes were wide as he stared at me. “Do you know how close you came to me cutting off your nose?” he exclaimed.
“Sorry.” I took several steps back. “I wasn’t expecting you to…” I trailed off, staring.
Malik was shirtless.
But that wasn’t why I stared. Dark ink covered nearly the entirety of his damp chest and continued over the lean—almosttoolean—muscles of his stomach. Broad strokes disappeared under the band of his breeches.
I snapped my gaze up, not looking long enough to really know what I saw, but I was pretty sure I recognized hands and a face—a familiar face.
“I was training.” Malik turned sharply and bent, picking up a sheath. He shoved the sword into it and then picked up what appeared to be a tunic.
“Why are you doing it by yourself?”
“Easier that way.” He straightened and tugged the tunic over his head. “I assume you needed something?” He thrust a hand through his damp hair, shoving it back from his face. “That was so urgent you couldn’t knock.”
“Yeah, I’m new at this using-the-eather thing to find people. Sorry about that, too.” Shoving down what I’d seen inked into his skin, I stepped toward him. “I need a favor.”
He frowned and glanced at my hands. “Okay.”
“There is a chance I won’t return—”
“What the fuck, Penellaphe?”
“Poppy,” I corrected. “I know. It’s a small chance—”
“How about no chance?” His brows slashed together.
