A shudder tears through me, returning me to the moment just before the Shadow leapt from my window. He looked so regretful. So worried about what he might do.
Now I understand why.
“All right. When do I start, then?” I force the question through a parched throat. “When do I go into the Wildwood?”
“Whenever you want. Today, if you like.”
I absorb that with a frown. “But the Shadow told me to stay out of the forest.”
He snorts. “Because he’s overprotective. But if you’re going to run the labyrinth, you’llhaveto be in there during the day. Nighttime won’t be enough. Not even three nights will be enough.”
He says it so carelessly. So matter-of-factly. As if the risk to my safety means nothing to him.
Which it doesn’t, I guess.
Yet if the labyrinth takes days to complete, then he has a point. Daytime, nighttime—I’ll have to find a way to survive both. And I don’t want to spend a moment longer here than necessary.
Might as well get started, and I nod in grudging agreement.
Amriel’s gaze travels over me, its touch frosty. “Though you should probably change your clothes, first. There should be something more…practical…in your room. In the dresser.”
I recall the hideous leather outfits I rejected this morning. Their existence makes slightly more sense now, but… “I can’t wear those. No self-respecting Aethrolian would be caught dead in something so revealing.”
Silence. When I brave a glance, Amriel surveys me with something like disgust. “You’d rather die in that ridiculous dress, then?”
“I’d rather not die at all,” I snap. “But if it’s going to happen, then yes. I’ll do it in my dress, thanks.”
His mouth twists. “Fine.” Without another word, he pushes himself from the desk and turns to the apothecary cabinet, selecting a smallleather satchel from one of the cubbyholes. His shoulders bunch, muscles flexing beneath black silk. I track each movement before catching myself with a start. Why am I even looking?
I’m not, I decide. I haven’t. Iwon’t.
Amriel tucks the orb into the satchel, followed by the golden vial. The gyre goes in next before he gestures for me to hand over my lunch sack.
I do. He stuffs that in, too, which completes his preparations before he cinches the satchel shut and holds it out. When I take it, our fingers don’t touch, but the air between us crackles with volatility.
Not that Amriel acknowledges it. He just withdraws a full-sized wayfarer’s gyre from his desk drawer, probably the same one he used for the Claiming. His fist closes around it, his fingers long enough to swallow it up.
My pulse kicks as I eye the thing. “We’re not usingthat, are we? What about the curse? Won’t we explode?”
His answering smile holds no warmth at all. “We’re goingnearthe Wildwood, not into it. There’s a clearing just outside the labyrinth. Landing there is perfectly safe.”
“Oh.” I clutch at my satchel. “Okay.”
He skirts around the desk. I instinctively rise to back away, but he keeps coming, closing the distance, towering over me.
“What’re you doing?” I demand.
“Transporting you,” he says flatly. “Now hold on. Arms around my waist.”
My face heats. “No. What? When the Shadow took me, he didn’t need me to?—”
“Because he’s terrified of scaring you.” His words slice across mine, silencing me. “But I have no such problem. And I won’t lose you to the in-between because ofprudishness.”
“But…” I grope for some other rebuttal. “You just told me not to touch you.”
“You can hold on without touching my skin.”
I open my mouth to protest, but his patience has clearly run out, because he drapes the satchel over my shoulders and yanks my arms around his waist, his touch purposeful, utilitarian.
