Flames dancing in my eyes, I finally turned away.
She wasn’t a Second Ringer. She wasn’t allowed to live up here. Now, she wouldn’t.
I strolled quietly through the halls to the front door and opened it from within. Stepping out onto the street, into the cool night air, I headed down the walkway. I left the door open behind me, let the sound of the crackling flames linger in the night, and waited for someone to notice. It wasn’t until I’d reached the stairwell that they did.
Men in their pajamas came running with buckets of water and hoses that wouldn’t reach that far. Women gasped and tossed them more from windows and walkways. Somewhere, an alarm began to ring.
I simply took the steps two at a time back up to the First Ring, hoping little miss rebel would get the message I’d intended to send.
The Bexleys were fucking off limits.
Chapter Twenty-One
Milo
Isat at my desk, staring at the plate of eggs and toast a servant had brought me hours ago. It was cold by now, probably rubbery and stale, but my stomach was growling, my hunger having finally caught up after a long, sleepless night.
The first part had been my fault. I’d remained awake for far too long reading through Adelaide’s diaries and trying to find some correlation between the events unfolding within them and Eximius’ own rantings. When I’d finally managed to pull myself away from the books long enough to trudge down the hall and join my wife in bed, I found myself awakened less than an hour later by Pax who claimed there’d been some sort of fire on the Second Ring. I’d sent him off to Jude who’d only just returned word that everything was taken care of. It had been an uninhabited home so no one was inside but it had burned nearly to rubble before they’d managed to put out the flames. They’d evacuated the neighbors on either side of the house just in case but those families had since returned to their homes. And one of those families, apparently, was Adrian’s.
There was more to those events than I knew, I was sure of it, but a night without sleep was not helping my focus. The way I’d been staring at my plate of eggs for the last half hour was a good indication of that.
I would ask Olympia if she knew anything about what had happened, if she’d seen anything during her late night escapades. I’d hoped she would be spending her nights out guarding the Harrison boy as I’d asked but I wasn’t sure she’d even been down to the Third Ring in the weeks since the Culling. I would need to remind her of her duty the next time I saw her and that should be soon. I’d sent her to research something for me at the House of Harlowe. What was it?
“Husband.”
My eyes finally left the eggs to travel up to the doorway where I found my wife. Her copper hair was draped over one shoulder as she cocked her head to the side and watched me. I blinked, rubbing a hand over my face.
“Do you want to know how long I’ve been standing here watching you stare at your breakfast?” she asked, that little lilt in her tone which I already knew meant she was hiding her concern with annoyance.
“Not as long as I’ve been watching my toast,” I murmured, leaning back in my seat and exhaling.
Isla stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind her. Her blue skirts swished against the hardwood as she crossed the length of the study to stand before my desk. I’d told her she didn’t have to wear the Avus color, not since she was also her House’s Heir, but she’d claimed she didn’t mind it. Apparently, the red had always clashed horribly with her hair.
“You think I didn’t notice you slip in after midnight last night? Or how you were up again only forty minutes later and out of the room with Paxon never to return?” she asked, crossing her arms in the way of a nagging wife she’d perfected overnight.
“There was a fire–” I began.
“I know about the fire. I also know the Minor Houses had it handled and no one was hurt. It wasn’t your concern, Milo. You don’t have to singlehandedly care for every soul in Sanctuary, you know.”
“I wasn’t trying to–”
“Next time, unlessyouare on fire, stay in bed.”
I blinked at her and she softened only slightly, only enough for someone who knew her very well to notice, but she did.
“You need your rest,” she added, quieter.
I slid my chair back from my desk, just a little, but she knew what it meant. Isla strode around my workspace until she stood in the space between my legs, her back against my desk, facing me. I reached out and took her hands.
“Thank you,” I told her, “for caring, for noticing, for nagging.”
She smacked my chest.
“I’m notnagging,” she snapped.
As tired as I was, I felt a little more awake in that moment as my lips spread into a grin.
“Should I return later?” another voice spoke from behind my wife.
