Bastian’s eyes were troubled, but he acquiesced with a nod before letting his attention slide to the glass clutched in my hand, and then to the bottle on the side table, still open and waiting for me to pour myself more.
I made my way to that bottle and did precisely that.
“You’re going to have a hell of a headache in the morning,” my brother commented.
“I’ll manage.”
He didn’t reply right away. A minute passed before he took a step closer and said, “Aveline tells me this is becoming a concerning ritual with you.”
“It’s hardly that concerning in the grand scheme of things.”
“There must be something else you can use to help you get some rest.”
“I’ve tried everything else.”
He sighed. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
I stiffened. “I wake up sober enough. And I haven’t missed a beat outside of this room, have I? I’ve attended every meeting. Every training. Every diplomatic dance. What does it matter what I do behind my closed bedroom doors? I’ve played my role perfectly outside of them, despite what Lord Renvar and Marius and all the other naysayers think. So what does it matter?”
“It matters because I don’t stop caring about you the moment you lock yourself away behind closed doors,” Bastian said, his voice gentler now. “I don’t care about you being perfect, either. Whether outside of this room or otherwise.”
I made a face, lifting the glass to my lips, inhaling the wine’s bittersweet aroma—but I stopped short of taking a sip as my eyes met Bastian’s.
Cursing to myself, I clenched the glass tighter and walked to the window, staring out into the darkness.
“Don’t be angry with me,” Bastian said.
“I’m not angry.”
“No?”
“No,” I said, truthfully. “This sort of thing is just…strange.”
“What do you mean?”
“Having so many people care about me. My life before, in the Above, it was just…different.”
“You had Orin, didn’t you? He cared.”
“Orin.” I scoffed. “Who mostly left me to my own devices, and who…”
Bastian said nothing, patiently waiting for me to find the words.
I exhaled slowly. “Who lied and withheld so much from me. And who abandoned Thalia—his own daughter—years ago. All of which makes me question every ounce of affection I ever felt from him.”
“…He’s a complicated man,” Bastian admitted.
I snorted, looking back over my shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“You don’t have to, then.”
Nodding, I took a sip. Habit, at this point.
It really was becoming a habit.
I heard Bastian circling the room behind me. Biting his tongue a little harder, I imagined, every time I started to lift the wine glass to my lips.
“Drinking is the only thing that keeps his voice from getting in,” I said after draining the last of the soothing liquid. My words were quiet, tight from the effort of not breaking. “Lorien’s, I mean. And…and sometimes Aleksander’s, too.”
