I shove him. Anger feels so, so much better than whatever I’m currently feeling. And besides, anger has always felt appropriate when dealing with Asmo. It’s our game. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Stop.” The bravado falls. His smile slips, my fleeting anger along with it. “Just come back here.” I stare at him, my brain at war with my heart. Holly’s words ring in my head, while my heart rails against my ribcage, as if it yearns to be closer to him. “Please,” he adds. Before my brain can talk me out of it, I take a single step toward him. It’s all he needs.
He pulls me back to him, and this embrace feels differentthan the last. This feels like two lovers holding each other in the middle of a storm. His fingertips dig into me like he’s afraid he’ll let go. Or like someone will take me from him. He strokes my hair while his heart beats against my cheek.
When Holly suggested that Asmo left on his own and betrayed us…That was something that I was unable to accept. But in the back of my mind, the idea lingered. I would be a fool to completely ignore any possibility. Despite my hesitation and the continued decisions we’ve both made not to be together, something continues to pull us back to each other. The chemistry between us is undeniable, but so is the friction.
“Mae.” His breath is a whisper.
I peer up at him. His dark eyes search my amber, full of pain and longing, and I’m sure mine mirror his. It’s how I feel every time I look at him. A throat clears behind us. I break the eye contact and step away, even though every part of me wants to cling to him.
“Welcome back,” Ivan says cautiously as we move inside. He sits on the couch, hands clasped tightly in his lap.
“How is she?” I ask.
Ivan’s expression softens. “She’s alive, but her wound is severe. I cleaned it as best as I could and gave her some of the medicinal sedatives to make sure she stays asleep. She needs to rest,” he says with a pointed look.
I was prepared to insist on seeing her, on sitting by her side, but I deflate—part resignation and part exhaustion. “Sure, of course.”
“Sit,” Luca commands, gaze fixed on Asmo. I barely contain my flinch at his harsh tone, so at odds with the somber reality of Cally laying on death’s door down the hall.
“Luca—” I start.
He shakes his head furiously. “No. We have no idea where he’s been, what he’s been doing, or what information he’s been spreading.”
“It’s okay. I’m a big boy,” Asmo says behind me, his hand grazing the small of my back as he steps around me. Back to his usual self, then. But I saw the mask slip.
I hold my hands up. “Fine,” I say as I all but collapse onto the couch next to Holly.
Asmo sits in the armchair across from us, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. An errant lock of hair falls forward and brushes against his forehead. His usual carefree demeanor is gone. He wrings his hands together, squeezing his knuckles, the only outward sign that he’s nervous.
Luca stands behind one of the worn armchairs, gaze stony as he stares at Asmo.
Asmo doesn’t wait for any questions. “Marik locked me in the dungeons for three days. That is where I’ve been. You can ask Cally to corroborate.” He looks at each of us as he speaks, eyes wide and imploring. His gaze lingers on Ivan and Luca as he waits for a response. They don’t give one. They stare at him, arms crossed, not a hint of empathy or sympathy. “I don’t know why, but something set Marik off with my story. He asked me if I felt that teachers made enough money. I answered honestly and said no. He told me I could keep my money and repay him by sleeping in the dungeons.”
“Just his way of exerting control,” I mutter.
“Did they know it was you?” Holly asks, then goes back to biting her nails. Her only indicator that she’s as nervous as I am.
Asmo shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“You don’tthinkso?” I ask, sitting forward.
He scrapes his hand through his hair. “No, I don’t think Marik knew it was me. I didn’t see him at all after the tithe. But I saw Elle.”
Luca, previously shifting on his feet, freezes. “Is she okay?”
Asmo hesitates. “Physically…yes, she’s fine.”
“What the fuck does that mean, Asmo?” I ask, annoyed by the tidbits of information he’s giving us.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair—another nervous tell—and that one lock of hair falls back in line with the rest. “She came down as you, Mae. We were right. She’s pretending to be you.”
“How are you so sure?” I ask.
He puts his head in his hands, rubbing furiously at his temples. He glances up and says, “It wasn’t a glamour. I think they’re using the same dark magic we used to get inside the castle.”
I wince. Wearing the spell felt like wearing a blanket. The longer I wore it, the heavier it became. “She has to perform that spell every day?”
