"Not anymore."
I turn away from her. My pulse roars in my ears as I cross to the door, every step feeling like a small rebellion. The Council's doctrine echoes in my head, painted in red letters across the walls of the Keep.Curiosity is a poison.
I pull the door open. If curiosity is poison, then truth is the only antidote. And I intend to find it, no matter what it costs me.
Chapter Sixteen
Asharp thump tears me from sleep. I jolt upright, disoriented, heart pounding. Afternoon light still streams through the windows. The clinic. I'm at the clinic.
The pounding comes again, urgent and relentless. The cages behind me rattle as I shove back from the desk and rush to the door. When I wrench it open, I find Draven on the other side, and the look on his face stops my breath.
His dark eyes are wild. He pushes past me without waiting for an invitation, scanning the room like he expects to find enemies hiding in the corners. I shut the door and watch him, unease coiling in my stomach.
His locs are tied back loosely, and he's dressed for movement: sleeveless tunic, dark trousers, boots meant for running. I've never seen him like this outside the training grounds. Never seen him look afraid. That's what makes my gut clench. Draven doesn't doafraid.
"Is it Jordi?" My voice comes out sharper than I intend. "Did something happen?"
"I know as much as you do." He whirls to face me, and those dark eyes pin me in place. There's always been something otherworldly about the way he looks at people, like he's seeingthrough skin and bone to whatever lies beneath. "I'm looking for Bain."
"Oh." I reach for the bond instinctively, exhale when I find it warm and intact. "The clinic is warded. If that's what you're worried about."
He shoots me a questioning look.
"I assume you're worried about silent guards." I gesture at the high windows near the ceiling. "Unless you expect Malachi to come crashing through those?"
The corner of his mouth quirks. "That would be a sight."
"Not for the one who'd have to rebuild the wall."
He shakes his head, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. He's quiet for a moment, then: "Do you remember the argument you and?—"
Pounding on the door cuts him off. I hold up a finger and turn to answer it. Malachi fills the doorway. The afternoon sun catches him from behind, gilding the edges of his dark hair, throwing the planes of his face into sharp relief. He's wearing a short-sleeved tunic the color of deep water, and his arms are bare, all golden skin and corded muscle. Something in my chest tightens at the sight of him.
His gaze drops to what I'm wearing. The sheer ivory blouse. The decorative wings cascading from my shoulders to my hips, gold and ivory lace catching the light. His eyes trace down to my leather pants, my boots, and back up again, lingering on the wings like he's trying to commit them to memory.
Behind me, Draven clears his throat pointedly. I step aside to let Malachi in. He doesn't look away from me as he crosses the threshold. I exhale and shut the door behind him.
When I turn, Draven and Malachi are pulling apart from a brief embrace, the kind warriors share. Draven's attention returns to me immediately.
"As I was saying. Do you remember the argument you had with Jordi at the estate when he first started his apprenticeship?"
I raise an eyebrow. "You'll have to be more specific."
"It was after dinner. We were outside." His eyes glint with something like mischief. "You were wearing a red leather dress. Gold earrings."
Malachi's head snaps toward him. "How do you remember what she was wearing?"
"It was a memorable dress," Draven says, slow and deliberate.
The glare Malachi levels at him could melt iron.
"What was the argument about?" I ask, biting back a smile at the tension radiating off Mal.
Draven's expression sobers. "You said you believed in the society the Council and Sages built here. That it was worth protecting." His eyes search mine. "Do you still feel that way?"
The question catches me off guard. "I've always had issues with Lunaris. But it's safe here. Stable. There's no violence outside the dueling arena, and even those matches aren't meant to kill."
"Unless there's an execution," Draven says quietly.
