“Are fine,” she assured him. She and Allaster had met with the lord and lady of the house before they’d left. Allaster’s grandniece was a kind-faced woman who had brought them tea and cookies.
Relief swept through Warrin, but the tension didn’t leave him. “Was this because of Allaster?”
The bitterness in his voice surprised her. Her instinct told her it was a thread to unravel, but after the events of the day, she didn’t have it in her to pull. “I think you should talk to Allaster about that. He’s with Ambric in the infirmary. Do you want me to take you there?”
He nodded, and she transported them both to the portal room, though Kasira didn’t follow him into the infirmary. She only leaned back against the wall with a heavy breath, content to let it hold her up for a moment.
“What are you doing?” Allaster stood in the hallway. He was still in his bloodied uniform, though he’d unbuttoned it, and his hair was a tousled mess. There was a lack of focus in his eyes that told her the flush in his cheeks wasn’t from heat, though the glass held between two ring-laden fingers made that clear enough.
“I brought your nephew,” she replied, scanning him openly as she walked toward him. He held himself still beneath her gaze, as if aware of every line her eyes traced. She reached out, slowly enough that he could have stopped her, and pressed a finger to the torc around his throat. It sucked the heat from her skin, and she felt her magic pull away. “Why do you wear this?”
His free hand closed around hers, rough and calloused and warm. “You ask too many questions.”
Her eyes tracked his touch. “You never answer them.”
“And yet you keep asking.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I told you. I was curious once. Perhaps I am again.”
He turned her hand over, revealing the scar marring her palm, and brushed his thumb along it. It was such a gentle motion, so entirely at odds with the storm settling across his brow. She wanted to smooth it away.
Eye to eye, hand in hand, the heat of him radiating from his skin—she thought, for one wild moment, of telling him the truth. Of damning the consequences and risking everything, if only to carve away that exhaustion that lived in every line of him, to absolve herself of the blood now coating her hands.
Your precious Librarian, Thane had called him, and she suppressed a shudder.
If she told Allaster now, with his trust already broken, it would be the end of everything. Her life at Amorlin, her freedom, her future. Her dream of the cottage would die alongside what remained of her soul, because she would not survive in Belvar’s darkness. If she ran, would he let her, or would he hunt her down for what she had done to him, for breaking him twice?
In the end, he released her, sliding back into the shadows of the hallway.
“Thank you,” he said. “For coming with me today.”
Then he was gone, and she was alone.
CHAPTER 33
ALLASTER
ASALLASTER RETREATED INTO THE INFIRMARY, THE TOUCH OFKasira’s hand still imprinted on his own, he couldn’t shake the disquieting feeling that she had been about to tell him something important. Perhaps another truth she had kept hidden from him, something he couldn’t fairly fault her for.
Maybe if I thought for a second you were telling me everything, I would do the same.
She had been right, of course. He hadn’t told her the full truth. He wanted to, but more than anything, he could not. Not until Nyelle returned with the information he sought.
Not until he knew for certain.
Ambric looked up from his conversation with Warrin as Allaster reentered. Summoning two drinks, Allaster handed one to his brother, who sat up in his bed to take it.
“You’re not old enough to drink,” Allaster said to Warrin’s questioning look.
“I’m twenty-one, Uncle,” Warrin replied stiffly, and Allaster blinked at him. Was he really? When had that happened?
“But your kathiel—” Allaster began.
“Was four months ago.” Warrin’s fingers curled into the loose cloth of his uniform, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson. Kathiels were the closest to religion the Miravi got, an age ceremony that symbolizedthe transition to adulthood, when Warrin would have chosen a patron saint to guide him in his endeavors.
And Allaster had missed it.
Had they even invited him, or had he lost track of it in the chaos of everything else? He couldn’t bring himself to ask.
