He scoffed, then tossed the wrench aside and shoved up from the bed, worsening the headache and sending the room spinning. He threw out a hand, bracing himself on the wall until it passed. Anger burned like a furnace, fueling his movements as he pulled on fresh clothes and headed down to the pub. He desperately needed a drink.
When Felix made it to the bottom step, he stopped, his grip on the railing tightening. August was behind the bar, an apron around his waist, wiping a rag across the bar top and pretending not to notice Felix, despite the far from stealthy descent down the stairs.
Why was he here? Why hadn’t he gone home?
Aesling.
Felix worked his jaw, waging a quiet war with himself. He wanted to shout, to shove August out the door and tell him not to come back. But his curiosity burned as bright as his anger, and he had so many questions.
August had done nothing but lie to him since they met. Felix had picked up on it from the very beginning, but he never would’ve guessed the extent of the deception.
He was an Ellingwood. His family, his ancestors, they were responsible for the laws and the oppression against wielders.
But he was also a wielder himself. One with an extraordinary power Felix hadn’t even known existed, and still didn’t understand.
He had lied over and over.
But he’d also saved Felix’s life.
Curiosity triumphed, but the embers of anger still smoldered. Felix crossed the room and slipped into the kitchen. He considered his options, sorting through the cabinets. There was only one that felt right.
“Hot chocolate?” he called to August. It was an indulgence he rarely allowed himself, given the cost of good quality chocolate.
A second later, August joined him, leaning against the counter the way he always did when Felix cooked for them. Attentive and curious.
Felix took that as a yes.
He grabbed two heavy ceramic mugs and set them on the counter, then plucked a bottle of fresh milk from the icebox.
“Leave it to my ma to make the heir aesling scrub down her bar.”
August pushed his dark curls back and stole a glance at Felix before his gaze dropped again. He shrugged. “I offered.”
“How long was I out?”
“Nearly a full day.”
Felix shuddered at the answer. What was that place, and what had it done to him?
He dragged a crate to the far end of the room and stepped carefully onto it, reaching for the high cabinet. He dug out the chocolate a baron’s son had bought him as a birthday gift, then climbed back down and lit the flame of the cooking range.
Beside him, August shifted uncomfortably, his expression drawn with what Felix assumed was guilt.
Good. Heshouldfeel guilty.Liar.
When the hot chocolate was finished and the mugs were full, he slid one to August, put out the flames, and went back to sit at the bar, grabbing a bottle from the shelf on the way.
August joined him a second later, standing at the end of the bar.
Felix added a splash of the rum to his cocoa and took a sip, and the warmth breathed life back into his tired body. It tasted like winter nights by the fire, playing cards with his ma while rain lashed the windows. It smelled of comfort, of warmth, of the few people he cared about enough to make the drink for.
His gaze jumped from August to the empty tables.
“Why is the pub so quiet?”
August stared at his own mug, turning it in a circle without lifting it, still refusing to sit.
“Your mother kept it closed today, probably so she could sleep. She was up all night at your side.”
