The calm quip has my jaw falling and brows raising. Eve bursts into laughter as Cyran stops beside me, along the backside of the couch, and offers me a small obsidian box.
Aringbox.
Eve’s eyes race from the box to me, her laughter fading.
“Gladir would like to know your thoughts when you have the time,” he says, his voice quiet.
I reach for the box, my fingers curling around cool, smooth obsidian. “Is he still here?” I ask.
Cyran shakes his head. “No, my lady,” he replies. “He’s returned to his shop.”
“I’ll have to thank him another time then,” I say, mostly to myself.
“Let me know when you’d like to return, I’ll be happy to escort you,” Cyran says as he heads toward the door. “Eve, when you’re able, find me. There are a few things I think we should discuss.”
“Of course,” Eve says with a small sigh and a nod.
I offer the stoic Captain a meager smile as the door closes behind him.
“Anything I should be worried about?” I ask.
Eve shakes her head. “No. I’m sure it’s updated protocols following yesterday’s incident.”
Incident.
Is that what we’re calling it?
“While you’re with Lilith I’ll go see what he wants,” she adds with a shrug.
I groan.
Lilith… Of course lessons would be expected to continue as per usual. I’ve no desire to leave my quarters. Though I suppose sitting here tormenting myself with yesterday’s sequence of events is proving useless. I’m no closer to understanding what happened than I waswhenit happened.
Eve gives me a rather wry smile. “This is it,” she says and I lift my gaze to hers. She juts a chin toward the box in my hands. “You escaped the hells, bested a god, returned to the land of the living,and your reward… the freedom to choose him.”
My fingers tighten around the obsidian, polished and smoothed corners dig into my palms.
Is it a choice?
Or is it simply the scheming of a god building upon an eons old web?
I heave a sigh, giving Eve a small smile.
“I do choose him,” I say softly. “For as long as he’ll have me.”
Loosening my grip, I turn the box over. Flashes of deep crimson and burning oranges streak across the glassy surface. My brows furrow.
“What is it?” Eve asks, dragging her gaze from my face to the box in my hands.
I shift the box again, lifting it between us, pinched between my forefinger and thumb. The colors sear through the darkness and a dry scoff escapes me.
“Hellfire obsidian,” I whisper with a small toss of my head.
Eve leans forward, studying the box with narrowed eyes.
“Is that different from obsidian?” she asks with an arched brow.
“Yes,” I laugh, lowering the box. Holding it flat in the palm of my hand, I tilt it toward the light cast by the fire.
