“I thought you might want to see the tree up close,” he said.
“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes, I want to see it.”
There was a twinkle in his eye that might have been the start of a smile—but whatever it was, he quickly suppressed it.
We didn’t have to wait long before it was our turn, and we were crowded onto the platform with the next batch of people. There were about twenty of us, pressed up against each other and the rails like sardines, and before I could let myself think too much about the safety of this contraption, it jolted and started to rise.
I swayed, but I was able to keep my balance—not that there was anywhere to fall. The sturdy rail came up to my ribcage, and on every other side of me the passengers were packed in so close I could practically smell what they’d had for dinner. The man on my left seemed to be suffering from some sort of indigestion—several seconds into our ascent, he let out a belch that made my still-recovering stomach heave.
Then a second belch.
I leaned the other way, holding my breath to keep out as much of the stench as possible. Already, my insides were lurching, and the urge to dry heave was hard to fight down.
Behind me, Alastor shifted, moving so that his body provided something of a barrier between me and the belching man. His hands closed around the rail on either side of me, as if he was preparing to grab me should I lean over the rail and start vomiting again.
It was a surprisingly considerate gesture, and I was just about to twist my head around and tell him so when I caught sight of someone in the crowd below.
Octavian.
He stood with Talon and Ary and several other members of the crew, and though most of them were laughing and drinking, he was looking straight up.
At me.
And at Alastor behind me, his arms on either side of me like we were lovers standing at the bow of a ship.
39
The Tree
Octavianhadspottedme—spottedus, me and hisbrother, looking all cozy together at the rail of the elevator.
I couldn’t read his expression, but I could feel the intensity of it from here, burning deep down into me.
You’re the one who rejected me!I wanted to shout.You’re the one who pushed me away!But that didn’t stop my stomach from twisting with guilt—and with half a dozen other emotions that I didn’t want to look at too closely.
All I knew was that I couldn’t keep looking at him—not if I didn’t want to implode into a thousand burning pieces.
I twisted away from the rail, forgetting about how packed we all were until I found myself staring right at Alastor’s chest, the deathless rose tucked snugly between us.
He was frowning down at me. Of course.
“What’s wrong?” His brows were drawn together again. “Are you going to be sick?” He pulled back as much as he could—which was only a couple of inches, given the press of people around us.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that his primary concern seemed to be avoiding any vomit that might spontaneously spew out of me. I shook my head, assuring him I wasn’t going to ruin his clothes. “No, nothing like that.”
Something about my tone made his eyebrows rise again, and his gaze suddenly flicked past my shoulder—to the crowd below.
I glanced back, stomach clenching. Alastor had already thought the worst of me when he'd caught me with Radven. I could only imagine the lecture I’d get if he found out everything that had happened with Octavian today.
But I could no longer spot his brother—or anyone I knew—among the crowd. As the platform rose higher, the people below became little more than a sea of bright colors and flurried movement.
I glanced up. We’d nearly reached the huge branch above, and now that we were close I could see the wooden walkway built atop the branch’s broad, twisting length, widening at the end where our elevator would dock.
The platform jolted again as it eased into the dock, knocking all of us off-balance—and someone fell into Alastor, throwing him into me. I was pushed back against the rail, with Alastor’s tall, muscled body pressed against me and the deathless rose trapped between us. A couple of ribbons from his flower crown fell over his shoulder and brushed against my cheek.
This close, the scent of him—that earthy, masculine cedar with a touch of spicy citrus—was overwhelming, drowning out even the smells from the Festival below. He’d gone very stiff, and when my eyes flicked up to his—so close to mine—his expression was hard, guarded.
“Don’t worry,” I assured him, bracing my free hand against his chest to keep some distance between us. “I’m not getting any ideas. I know you’re not coming on to me.”
