Damn, he’s right. I’m overwhelmed. Astonished. I don’t know why, come to think of it, but I never expected Olm to actually stand in front of me like a living person. Since he hadn’t shown himself in all this time, apart from that faint outline, I assumed he couldn’t do it.
Although he had sent the serpent. Olm isn’t powerless. I should be careful.
Stupid,I tell myself.How terminally stupid, Aline. Roane may be right, insisting you shouldn’t go out wandering alone. You have shit for brains.
“Can I touch you?” I reach out a hand. “Are you tangible?”
He steps back. “Don’t.”
“Why not? Will you… will you hurt me?” I whisper.
“Hurt you?” The shock in his voice sounds genuine. “Why would I want that?”
“Because I brought you here? And you’re as trapped as I am?”
“We’re trapped together. You stood up for me, didn’t let me be shackled. You…” He flickers, turning. “Wait.”
“What is it?”
“Someone is here,” he says and simply vanishes, winking out.
No pop, or hiss, or fancy theatrics. Here and then gone, the space he had occupied for long moments now empty.
And then a familiar male voice says, “There you are.”
It’s Roane.
Like every time, he seems to appear out of nowhere—much like Olm had done. Only Roane is absolutely solid and real, his presence sucking all the air out of the room, his scent wrapping me up in a bow.
He leans against a pillar and folds his muscular arms over his chest. His chin dips and he regards me from under his dark lashes. “Are you all right?”
I’m shaken, but I’m not telling him about Olm’s appearance. That would give him yet another argument in his favor, so he can proclaim the book terribly dangerous and demand I hand it over.
Not going to happen. Not yet. I still need to interrogate Olm about that picture of the sanctum he showed me.
So I pretend to ignore Roane and grab the satchel to pull out the calendula I managed to grab on our way back. I stuff pieces of it into my mouth and start chewing them, wincing at the bitterness.
“What are you doing?” Roane asks after long moments of silence.
“What do you think? Making a poultice.”
His expression changes. “Poultice. Are you hurt? I asked you earlier and you said?—”
“It’s nothing serious.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he snarls, pushing off the pillar.
I give him an unimpressed look. Chewing the plants is unpleasant. I shoo him and turn around to unlace my vest. Myfingers are stiff. In fact, I’m stiff all over, my muscles locked and aching.
Unlacing the vest isn’t as bad as taking it off, though. The moment I stretch my arm back to remove it, I hiss. Just my luck that the bruise and cut, as well as the new slice in my arm, are all on the same side.
A hand grabs my shoulder, and I jerk. “Be still. Let me help.”
I shove at him and spit out the poultice into my palm. “I need to put this on the bruise. It will help heal it.”
“Let me see.”
“What? No.”
