“And yet, you avail yourself of them. Hypocrite,” I could not resist adding. “Isawyou drink from one of Wilder’s vials.”
“I—” His mouth snapped shut. A maelstrom of conflicting thoughts swirled behind his eyes, and I watched him struggle, clearly grasping for a response that would defend his honor and prove me wrong, yet also be truthful. “You do not understand what you saw,” he finally said, speaking through teeth clenched not in anger, but in…something more complicated. Something that looked very much like a struggle for control. “And frankly, that is none of your concern.”
“Asthatvial is none ofyours.” I grasped for it again, and again he lifted it out of reach. When I rose onto my toes, I found myself pressed against him, one hand curled in the fabric of his shirt while the other pulled at his arm like a small child losing a game of keep-away with an older sibling.
And Iwaslosing. Desmond was too strong and too tall to be moved.
But…he did not feel like my sibling. Not with his firm, broad, warm chest pressed against mine, his shoulder grazing my cheek as I stood on my toes.
“Give it to me,” I demanded, and to my dismay, my voice sounded breathy, less like I was demanding what I wanted than like I was…begging for it.
Desmond’s breath hitched. He groaned, but the sound died in his throat before I could even be sure I’d heard it. Though…I’d felt it. I couldstillfeel it, caged up in his chest, echoing against every shallow breath he took.
I uncurled my fingers from his sleeve and lowered my arm as I stepped back, desperate to reclaim poise as I smoothed the front of my dress. As I composed my expression.
Desmond stood like a statue three feet from the closet doorway, his arm in the air, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity I’d never seen in my entire life.
That I could remember, anyway.
If he was breathing, I could not tell.
He stared at me as if I were a spirit returned from the grave to haunt him. As if he could not be certainwhatI was, or whether I was real.
As if moving might break the spell and banish me from his presence.
Shame flooded me as I regained myself. I cleared my throat. “I apologize for—”
“Don’t…apologize.” His words were sharp, but not cruel. He lowered his arm but did not offer me the vial. “What is this?”
“It…it elevates the mood.”
His brows rose; evidently that was not what he’d expected to hear. “Why would you require such a service?”
“Because I’m frustrated.” I huffed, dropping my gaze. “This afternoon has been anutterfailure, and—”
“We all get frustrated, Amber. That’s no reason—”
“No,” I said, my gaze snapping up to his. “Don’t trivialize this as the standard academic strain. I’m in an extraordinary situation, and you know that. I’m not the Amber I used to be, and—”
“Yes, you—”
“Desmond!” My fists curled in frustration. “Stop assuming you know what I’m going to say, andjust listen.”
He blinked at me. Then he exhaled. “I apologize. Please go on.”
“Maybe the Amber I used to be got everything right on the first try, or maybe she had plenty of time to work through her mistakes, if she made them. But neither of those is true forthisAmber. Tomorrow, I’m going to swallow poison. And if I can’t identify it in time to make an antidote—which I mustalreadyknow how to make—I will die. In an inglorious pageant of failure that will outlive me and likely become Alchemary legend. My humiliating legacy.”
I smoothed my hands down the sides of my skirt, resisting the urge to clutch the material. “I thought I had a handle on this. I thought I’d at least gottencloseto the level of my classmates. But every antidote I’ve made today has failed, and I haven’t theslightestidea why, or how to fix it. And all I want in the whole wide world is to rant, and cry, and throw things. To break every vial and beaker in this room. But alchemy isn’t about how I feel.”
Desmond’s expression went suddenly, startlingly blank. Not as if he had nothing to add, but as if he wanted to hide his thoughts on the matter. Likely because I’d told him to just listen, for once.
“Frustration will not serve my ambition,” I continued. “Which means I cannot afford to waste time wallowing. I need to rally so I can focus on something other than the greater-than-average chance that by this time tomorrow, my corpse will be in the back of a carriage headed straight for Innswood. And Wilder, for all his unapproved and unorthodox methods, is the most practical alchemist I’ve ever known.”
One corner of Desmond’s mouth quirked upward. “You’re a student. The only alchemists you’ve known are your professors.”
And my mother. Had he forgotten about her?
“And yet I feel like my statement has merit,” I insisted. “And IknowWilder’s elixir does. So kindly return it.”
