... Ames, 49, is survived by his brother Henry Ames and his daughter, Carter Ames...
“Have you seen this?” Noam said when Bethany emerged from the hallway, already wearing her drabs and boots.
Bethany held out a hand, beckoning. Noam passed her the paper. “Oh no,” Bethany murmured as she scanned the article. “Poor Ames. I guess that explains why she wasn’t here this morning.”
Never mind that. Ames was probably thrilled.
Noam did his best to look dismayed, but he had to keep biting back the twitch at the corners of his lips.
General Ames was dead.
That lying, murdering son of a bitch wasdead.
It was a pity Noam wasn’t the one who killed him, but whatever, the outcome was the same. That’s what mattered.
“I’m gonna check on Dara,” Noam said.
Noam left Bethany with the paper, skipping a little on the off step as he headed down the hall toward the bedrooms. The door to the bathroom was shut, thankfully. From the sound of it, Taye was taking a shower. Dara was a lump beneath his bedsheets, face turned to the wall and his hair a dark halo against the sheets.
Dara would forgive Noam for waking him when it was news like this.
He crouched on the floor by Dara’s bed and set a hand on his shoulder, shaking him as lightly as he could. “Dara,” he whispered. Dara didn’t move.“Dara.”
Dara mumbled something indistinct and swatted at Noam’s hand.
“What?”
“Let me sleep,” Dara said, curling tighter beneath the covers.
It was Sunday, but it wasn’t like Dara to sleep in. He’d come back late last night, long after Noam had gone to bed. They hadn’t talked about what had happened in this same room, bare skin on skin, all those soft little noises muffled against each other’s mouths.
Or what came after that.
Noam frowned. “It’s eight thirty.”
“I don’t feel well.”
Noam couldn’t see Dara’s face from here. Just his hair, a messy tangle on the pillow. Noam wanted to twist one of those loose curls around his finger.Inappropriate. You’re supposed to be announcing a murder.And Dara was possibly—probably—still angry.
“You need to get up anyway,” Noam said after a moment and squeezed his arm. “I have to talk to you. It’s important.”
Dara rolled over, eyes opening to narrow slits. Noam could just barely see the glimmer of black irises. Helookedsick, or maybe just exhausted, green-tinged with both hands clutching the bedsheets.
For a moment, Noam thought about Lehrer’s brother—about Adalwolf, gone fevermad.
Only Lehrer wouldn’t let that happen to another person he loved. Right?
Noam was thinking that maybe he’d better let Dara sleep awhile longer and evade another fight when Dara finally sighed and opened his eyes all the way, shoving down the duvet and sitting up.
“Okay,” Dara said. He patted the bed next to him, and Noam... he hesitated for a second, heart doing something painful. Yesterday Dara saidshut the fuck upand left and didn’t come back. But Noam couldn’t keep squatting on the floor either, so he took the invitation for what it was and sat with one knee pulled up onto the mattress, body angled toward Dara. The bed was still warm.
“I read in the paper this morning...,” Noam started, but that felt so impersonal. He tried again, unsure if he should seem pleased about this or if Dara might... be upset, perhaps, because he and the general had been close. “Dara, Ames’s father was assassinated last night.”
Dara just kept staring at him, slim fingers braided together in his lap.
“He’s... dead,” Noam said. Just in case that hadn’t been clear.
Dara closed his eyes. He was trembling. Noam couldn’t see it, but, sitting this close, he could feel it. “Did the paper say how it happened?”
