“That’s about it,” he whispered.
“Where are you going to go?” I asked, suddenly worried that my brother would be turned out into this volatile world, brimming with emotions he couldn’t contain. It would almost certainly lead to something we couldn’t pull him out of.
“I was hoping you all had a suggestion.”
I bit my lower lip as I made eye contact with Torin again. He raised his eyebrows expectantly and nodded his head once.
“Thank you,” I mouthed, hoping my face showed how grateful I was for him.
Torin just inclined his head toward me with a small smile.
“How about you come with me to Vespera?” I asked lightly. Peytor cracked an eye open, both hands still braced on the back of his head while his face was tipped toward the ceiling.
“For what?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I need a wedding dress, and it’s not like I can readily find something here. Plus, I want to see the Academy now that it’s been a few weeks since the attack. Don’t you think it would be nice to get away for a while?”
I could see the decision warring in Peytor’s eyes before they cleared, peaceful and hopeful.
“Yes, Ellowyn. I think that would be great.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Folami
Days had passed since Peytor left and I’d broken down behind the closed door, all of my jagged parts raw and exposed.
It felt like a death knell when the door to our room shut, like he was closing the connection we’d fostered and grown over nearly a year together.
A piece of me shriveled and died when he left—a piece I’d given Peytor and didn’t want back for anything. Not unless he returned with it, ready to be fully devoted in our relationship once more.
But how selfish was that of me? To require Peytor’s unwavering love and sole devotion when I was seeking the affections of—falling in love with—two others.
I scoffed with a shake of my head as I made my way through the manor and down the stairs to the Bondsmith’s room. I’d visited Torin earlier this morning to discuss our plans for . . . everything.
It felt like we were balanced on a knife’s edge waiting for something—anything—to happen. We all agreed Solace would strike soon; it was just a matter of when and how. We had a thousand plans and contingencies, training nearly from sunup to sundown almost every day, but it still never felt like enough.
The waiting, coupled with losing Peytor, had me itchy and doubtful—two words I never would have used to describe myself in the past—and I could credit most of my growth to Peytor and, more recently, Lex.
He and Ilyas were like breaths of fresh spring air after a long, grueling winter. There was something so easy about my interactions with Lex, something that instantly soothed the jagged pieces of my soul and made living all that more bearable.
I just wished Peytor could see that—could see how well they knew me and helped me, could see the looks Lex sent Peytor’s way that were not so covert, could see that we could all have thattogether.
Growling in frustration, I knocked on the Bondsmith’s door, perhaps a bit louder and harder than necessary.
It opened instantly, almost as soon as my fist left the wood, and I jerked back in surprise. The Bondsmith, usually partial to earth-toned pants and tunics, was wrapped in a flattering sapphire dress in the northern style with a boatneck and flared skirt. Her curls were characteristically piled on top of her head, a few loose and swaying with her sudden movement, and her feet were predictably bare against the grey stone floor.
“I like your dress,” I blurted as soon as she opened the door. Color rose in my cheeks as I mentally admonished myself for the outburst.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. . .
“Thank you, Folami. I’ve been trying on a few different options for Torin and Ellowyn’s wedding. Would you like to help me?” Her invite was innocuous enough, but the speed at which the door opened made me believe she’d known I’d visit.
I stepped cautiously into the room before toeing off my boots, not wanting to track mud and grime into her relatively pristine bedroom. Apart from the mess of books and oddities, her space was clean and tidy. Itanya’s art dotted the walls, nearly covering them in the same way as our bedroom. That small touch had a smile pulling at my lips and relaxing my shoulders instantly.
“This is my first option. I think it complements my skin tone well, don’t you?” the Bondsmith called as she retreated farther into her room, veering toward the two armchairs that comprised her adjoining sitting room.
“It looks lovely,” I admitted, following the half-goddess with my hands clasped behind my back.
