I’m losing Malach.
Even with his hand in mine, I sense it. The soul-deep certainty that something is wrong. The headaches, his withdrawal. It settles in the middle of shoulder blades—an itch I can’t reach or wait out.
I clear my throat and glance around the table. “We need to talk about the plan.”
Riven nods. “Timing will be critical.”
“Do you have a witch stone that can get us close to the portal?” Luca sounds awkward, but he’s clearly trying to be civil.
Riven shakes his head. “I have one to access my rooms at the arena, but I’m sure they’re being monitored. Using it isn’t worth the risk.”
“If we try to walk, that big ass alligator will have us fordinner.” Ciprian clanks his fork against his plate for emphasis, and I wince. I’m not interested in fighting the tracking monster again either. He doesn’t have a weak point, and unless I keep sawing toes off until he tips over, I’m not sure how to beat him.
“Crag also comes with a small army,” Riven says.
Ciprian snorts. “I still can’t believe that motherfucker’s name isCrag. Did his mother hate him?”
Riven’s lips twitch. “We’ve never discussed his mother, but if I run into him again, I’ll be sure to ask.”
“We need to time the patrols,” Alistair cuts in. “Combine them with the eclipses and then build a plan around both. They were searching the forest in a grid pattern.”
“If we walked the whole way, how long would it take?” I ask.
Riven purses his lips. “Too long. I’ll work on an alternative.” We all look at him expectantly. “What?” he demands, face glitching.
“Trust runs thin,” Malach says. “We need communication, not vague guarantees.” I squeeze his hand gently. He’s right, but the delivery could use work.
Riven sits up straighter in his chair. “So what?” he snaps. “You don’t trust me, therefore you want to hear every thought in my head?”
“Fuck no,” Ciprian mutters. “But have you ever heard the expression show your work? That would be a good place to start.”
Riven’s fingers clench around the edge of the table, then he nods slowly. “I will share the details as soon as I’ve thought of a reasonable workaround.”
“We appreciate that,” I say firmly, looking around the table with narrowed eyes.
A reluctant chorus of grunts follows my warning, and my lips curl. We’re not working with much, but we’ve got plenty of stubbornness to go around. It’s taking a lot for the guys to play nice with our jailer.
Riven is hard to figure out.
He’s the ultimate lie, but he carries horrible pain. When he’s not masquerading as someone else, it’s written in every line of his body—easy to recognize if you’re used to carrying your own burdens. And his pain is made worse by his magic.
It must be exhausting.
One problem at a time, Celine.
Once dinner ends, I pull Malach into the bathroom. I don’t want to ruin his evening, but I can’t wait anymore. I need answers, and I need him to assure me that my concerns are off base. I can’t shake the dread on my own.
Malach looks at me, his handsome, chiseled face lit by the bobbing witch light. From the dimple in his chin to his bright green eyes, I know him.
He’s Malach and I’m Celine, and it’s time we had a heart-to-heart.
“Something’s wrong,” I say. “But you’re not talking to me about it. The headaches, the quiet—I don’t know what to think, Malach.”
A shadow crosses his face, but it disappears too quickly for me to be sure if it’s a trick of the light or an actual change in his expression.
“The last few weeks have been stressful,” Malach admits. “I don’t want to worry you.”
He sounds serious, but there’s a pit in my stomach. I would never use my truth on him—our vows to each other forbid it—but I’m tempted. It has been a horrible few weeks, though. Maybe I’m being paranoid.
