“That’s strong,” she coughed, and I laughed, taking a healthy sip.
“It’s coffee from the Southern Territories. Of course it’s strong,” I said. I still never made my own—especially after the fiasco with Torin—but I enjoyed drinking it periodically.
“Can I ask you something?” Ellowyn blurted. I nodded as I set my cup down, mirroring Ellowyn’s posture as she leaned back in her chair once more.
“Peytor’s here with me,” she began, and I nodded slowly, already having seen her brother. He was an emotional and mental mess, and Ellowyn had dragged him with us for the first half of the day. Peytor had bowed out after she purchased her dress, citing complaints of a ‘headache.’
“Do you think I should take him to see our parents?”
The question was completely unexpected. I was certain Ellowyn was going to address why Peytor wasn’t acting like himself, but perhaps that was too personal an invasion. Or maybe this was truly what was plaguing my friend.
“What are you hoping to accomplish with that?” I asked as the boy came back, giving each of us a plate of chicken served with a variety of sauces and a flatbread. The scents were almost overwhelming, and I groaned as I bit into the warm flatbread stacked with chutney and meat, flavors bursting across my tongue.
“Good, right?” Ellowyn asked. “It’s the one thing Torin still appreciates from his southern heritage. He asks the Lishahl cook to make something like this once a week. They can never get the flavors just right, but at least they try.”
I hummed as we lapsed into silence, both of us too enraptured by the delicious lunch.
“I think he has a right to know,” Ellowyn finally said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “They aretrulyhis parents and, despite the fact that they will die in those cells, I think he deserves to know who they are—make peace with them if he needs to.”
I swirled the last of my bread in a spicy sauce, licking my fingers to catch anything residual.
“And if he wants them freed? Thinks they’re deserving of forgiveness?”
Ellowyn’s features darkened before smoothing once more.
“Then there will just need to be stipulations announced ahead of time. They’re not leaving those cells, Fay. Not for me, not for him, not for anything. Rotting in the dungeon is the only mercy I’ll bestow upon them.”
I said nothing as we rose from our seats and I deposited a few coins on the table—more than enough for our food and drinks. Perhaps it was the endearing qualities of the boy or the lingering sense of responsibility I felt that their lives were upended because of my decisions.
“Do you think it will help him?” I asked, looping my arm with Ellowyn’s once more as we left the middle district, heading toward the Academy.
Ellowyn answered without hesitation. “Yes. I do. Maybe it will help him find a way to parse through his emotions with . . . everything else, too.”
Chapter Forty
Peytor
“Say that again,” I said, struck dumb by the words that came tumbling from my sister’s lips. The silence hung heavy between us, punctuated only by the incessant ticking of a clock in the guest room she’d claimed.
Ellowyn winced but tried to wipe away my concerns with a lazily waved hand. “Alois kept our parents here after their . . . alliance with the rebellion. They’re still?—”
“Beneath the Academy, in the dungeons. Yes, I caught that part,” I finished, my tone borderline caustic. “But what I was confused about waswhyyou kept this information from me?”
I’d felt better, more like myself, as soon as we left Lishahl a few days ago. The air was cleaner, and it no longer felt like the walls were pressing in at all angles, threatening to choke the life from me completely. I’d been in a fog for weeks in Lishahl and was no help to anyone, let alone the woman I had professed to love.
I missed Folami endlessly, but meant what I said when I left; she deserved to have time to digest the weight of her decision and come to a conclusion without my cloud hanging above her head.
My only regret was that it seemed Folami thought I might leave her completely; that her choice was between Lex and Ilyas or me.
As honorable as it would have been to simply walk away and concede, I had no intention of that. I’d return, intent on making Folami mine in whatever capacity I could.
The trip with Ellowyn had at least provided that clarity.
Now, though, it seemed it was destined to be muddled even further.
“Did you intend to tell me at all?” I asked. Ellowyn’s eyes—so very much like my own—shifted to everything in the room but me.
Even without opening her mouth, I had my answer.
