At which point, he whipped around and stomped down the corridor. He made it as far as the glass hall before remembering how ridiculous he was being. Back and forth, a little further, a tad closer…
Great. Now he was pacing like an idiot.
He wanted to do something nice—something anyone would like—to express his gratitude for everything she’d done. So what if he’d planned it in a way that only she, perhaps, could appreciate?
There was no reason for her to linger now that Baldrir was healed, and he and the others were leaving for Glynmor in a few days. If he didn’t see her now, he might not get another chance.
Why, in the stars-forsaken realms, could he not bring himself to just knock on the door?
Only the Sisters knew how long he was there, repeatedly convincing himself that he was a total prat before reminding himself of the opposite.
A low laugh in the near distance penetrated the fog of his mental acrobatics and he froze—until the thought of someone seeing him there, like that, spurred his feet in the opposite direction.
He had to escape. Couldn’t be seen acting like a?—
Brand skidded to a stop, kicking himself for his cowardice. Why should he, an Imperial Son of Bordoroth, care whether someone witnessed him there? People paced all the time. He could do whatever he bloody well liked.
Nerves steeled for the hundredth time, Brand turned back. He was tempted to practice on the countless rooms he passed—just to prove to himself that he did, in fact, remember how to knock on a damned door—but refused to be deterred this time.
He rounded the final corner, and?—
No. Still not ready.
Fucking ridiculous.
He was already mad at himself for earlier. He hadn’t had the faintest idea of how to respond to his uncle’s obscure drivel about fate, and she’d clearly been uncomfortable.
Weeping shite, they’d all been uncomfortable.
Of course, his temper had gotten away from him too, but he was sick unto death of the mystery surrounding Meliora’s illness. It wasn’t helping anyone to keep it secret.
Brand rubbed a hand along one of his horns and dragged it down his face.
Maybe hewasan idiot.
Or maybe Lunara would be willing to enlighten him. As long as Caius hadn’t sworn her to a binding oath, the information was hers to give.
Unfair? Perhaps. But it didn’t hurt to ask.
Just one more reason to stop his faffing and get to it.
With the millionth deep breath he’d forced into his constricted lungs in the last quarter hour, Brand gave himself a shake.
This was it.
He was doing it.
What he did not expect, as his knuckles were about to make contact, was for the door to swing open on its own.
Or for Lyriat to be standing on the other side.
Brand forced his face into a bland mask. Hard to do, when he was standing here with a spear of white-hot jealousy ramming itself down his throat.
Lyriat shooed Brand away as he stole a glance back over his shoulder, gently pulling the door closed behind him.
The soft click of the latch was deafening.
It was the sheer disappointment of it that gutted him. All that wasted time trying to work up the nerve just to talk to her, and it was his own best friend with her instead.
