What really hurts, though, is my pride.
“Just leave me alone,” I grumble.
“Can’t. I promised the others I would stick with you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, all right?”
“Look, we need to discuss what happened back there. And I can’t let you go off on your own half-cocked—”
“Thanks for the concern, Prof, but I’m not going offhalf-cocked. I was on my way to the lake.” A lie. I had no damn clue this led downward, although maybe water calls to my blood, what with it being my element and all. I can’t fucking believe I have an element. “I need to think and seeing the water helps.”
“Okay. Okay. If you really want to see the lake, I’ve got a better idea.” He points to a painted wooden door set into the stone wall back at the top of the stairs.
I would go down the trillion steps just to spite Adrien. Iwantto go down them to spite him. But there’s a real possibility that, in my current state, I’ll keel over and split my head open. Wherever that door leads seems like a safer option.
“Fine,” I mutter, trudging back up the three steps I’ve already taken.
The door opens onto a garden terrace. Instead of flowers and shrubs, scraggly sticks poke out of windblown mounds of snow. A dirty path of footprints leads to three green benches that face out over the edge of the ramparts and onto the fog-cloaked lake.
Though it’s a water view, it’s nothing like the one from my apartment. There, everything is drenched in color, from the cerulean of the sea to the ochre wash of the buildings to the glowing halo of the sun. Here, it’s all in grayscale—a placid steel pool, ashen sky, cottony smog, leaden fortifications. Even so, staring down at what I can see of the liquid expanse makes me feel more at home than I’ve felt since stepping foot in this fucked-up town.
Adrien tugs at his wool overcoat and settles on the first bench. I stay standing, knees locked and arms crossed.
He pats the lacquered wood. “Have a seat, Roland.”
“I’m good.” I’m not; I’m just not sure my joints can fold. My body feels stiff and achy, the tinman in need of an oiling. And by that, I mean I need a drink. And yes, I know it’s eight in the morning, but my life sucks that hard.
Adrien lifts an eyebrow. “You don’t look too hot.”
I snort.
“Which is normal.” He brushes his fingers over the tweed leg of his pants. “You saw someone you care about—a lot—in the well. You thought they were drowning.”
Someone I care about a lot?An insane laugh bubbles out of me, and I bite down on it, shoving it back. I care about Bastian. About my cactus and my bank account. How the hell did Cadence de Morel scale the ladder of my stunted emotional hierarchy? The memory of her panicked face under the ice makes my whole body seize up like I’ve been tased.
“I’d be a mess too if I’d given in to my urge to look down.”
But he didn’t, because he’s not weak like me.
“Whodidyou see?” Adrien asks.
I narrow my eyes. Like I’d tell him. “Does it matter?”
“No. I guess not.” He cuts his gaze to the water. Despite the wind lifting his hair into a rooster comb, he manages to still seem elegant. Poised. Serene.
Is that why Cadence likes him so much? Because he’s so composed and grounded?
He looks back at me. “What was it like? Did you feel like you weren’t yourself? Like you were acting out of character?”
“It was fucking terrifying. I really believed she—” I swallow thickly, cutting myself off before I slip and admit whoshewas. “I felt like I was . . . drunk. Like the world was tipping, and everything but the person in the well was out of focus. I suppose that was the magic.” I squeeze the wet sleeve of my pea coat, frigid water still dripping out. My hand and wrist don’t feel cold, but I sense that’s a side-effect of the ring that’s still radiating heat. “How did you know what was happening back at the well? That I was seeing . . . someone in there?”
“Because that’s what happened last time. Well, not a person; a thing. A coveted thing. It was in the lake, not the well, but Gaëlle’s father and my mother both saw something they really wanted bob atop the lake.” Adrien’s mouth twists. “It was Gaëlle’s father, Pierre, who went into the water, hooked onto a rope to reel him in. Pierre understood he was facing dark magic, fought it, and got the piece, but because that piece wasn’t his to get, he died. Drowned on dry land. Apparently, it was gruesome. My father still gets agitated when he remembers. And that’s saying something considering he couldn’t even see what they’d seen.”
Sounds like Adrien’s life isn’t a hundred percent perfect, and that makes him somewhat more likeable, like he might not deserve his new nickname even though it’s quite catchy.
Every inch of me hurts. Even my nose hairs are sore. “I wish it was a thing this time, too.” I shift my weight to lean against the low wall of the terrace and wince as my elbow bumps the stone. The elbow Adrien slammed his fist into.
Yeah.He’s staying Professor Prickhead.
