Nocren stared at the glass. A part of him screamed to find a map, to charge back out into the night and… and what? There’d been something fatalistic in Eren’s eyes, and even if Nocren stooped to very un-Sentinel ways to glean answers, he wasn’t sure the Rhellian could give them.
The other side of him, the wearied, rational part, knew it was futile. And not only because he imagined Froley would intervene if he meddled in their business.
Froley gave him a knowing look. “Tread carefully, Lowe. It won’t take long for the Coalition’s mages to realize the good Magister is gone.”
Nocren sat heavily in a chair and knocked back the drink. He coughed as it burned all the way down. “This is shit.”
Froley snorted. “Not a celebration. I don’t break out the good stuff for moral victories.”
He looked at Zhenya. “Do you want to come with us to find the site?”
She shook her head, worry creasing her brow. “I can’t. We need to take the healing tea back to the village in the morning.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “We’re trying to let Eunny sleep as long as she can.”
They lapsed into silence, each wallowing in their thoughts.
Froley took a measured sip, eyes on Nocren. “You going to tell your Helm girl, or shall I?”
“She’s not mine.”
“Sure.”
Nocren declined any more of the foul brew. “I’ll tell her.”
“Hang on.” Froley grimaced. “I’m sure she’ll want to go haring off first thing.”
Nocren said nothing. Answers were finally within reach. His Sentinels’ mission and her company’s interests, intertwined. But if only one could succeed, how would he choose? And would Calya even wait long enough to consider anything beyond her own goals?
Sentinels or Helm Naval, Nocren or the company she was determined to rule. Would it even be a choice?
Chapter Seventeen
Waking up alone was nothing unusual for Calya. The norm, really. Her other casual arrangements knew better than to stay overnight, and that was her preference. At least, usually. Opening her eyes to find the space next to her empty, Calya felt a pang of emotion alarmingly like sadness. An intolerable notion, one which she quickly dismissed.
“This is why you never stay the night,” she muttered to herself.
She sat up, casting about the room for any sign of Lowe. A fresh waterskin that hadn’t been there when they fell into bed stood on the nightstand. So, he had ventured out to obtain creature comforts and then vanished again. Unless perhaps he’d gone out to hunt down food. Provide for her. The thought held a certain appeal. Not domesticity, but pampering.
He was thoughtful, her ranger.
Her ranger. The notion was still a strange one, but the vehement rejection she’d felt before didn’t materialize. Instead, she was filled with… consideration. Maybe. A cautious playing out of what such a scenario would look like. Surely she would tire of it within a week. Days. Nothing so formal as a relationship. Mutually agreed exclusivity. It was a topic she wouldn’t mind broaching.
But first, clothes. She went to the pile he’d left on the stool the night before and hastily dressed. Judging by the quality of the light peeking through the window, it was still early morning, though a steady drizzle of rain kept the sky gray.
Calya was slowly buttoning her shirt, contemplating the relative merits of leaving on her own versus waiting like a sad, hopeful puppy for Lowe to return, when a soft knock sounded on the door.
Before she could determine if it was appropriate to bid someone enter when it wasn’t her own room, the door opened and Lowe stuck his head in. “You’re awake.”
“Well spotted.” Calya took a sip of water. “My thanks for this.”
He barely cracked a smile.
She peered at him, taking in the shadows beneath his eyes, the tired set of his shoulders. “Did you sleep?”
“A few hours.” His gaze wavered, dipping to her partially exposed chest before he made himself look away.
Calya raised her arms, indulging in a lazy stretch that let the fronts of her shirt fall open. When he turned away, ignoring her and going to his travel bag on the ground, she frowned.
“Having morning regrets?” Her tone came out sharper than she’d intended. Foolish, Calya. Don’t let him think you care.
