Julien and Audric only agreed to surrender their pendants for destruction when Bellamy replaced them with a new, custom-crafted set: translucent glass pendants encasing delicate golden trees. Which Bellamy purchased, rather than made, because his crafting skills never improved past blobby leaves.
Now, touching the skin-warm glass, Bellamy’s throat tightens. The loneliness hurts, more than the memory of blood magic or the bruises layering his body. Yellow green still stretches over his stomach, while petals of blue fade from his shoulders and neck. Suddenly, Bellamy isn’t sure who he is without his family surrounding him.
He was alone today, completely helpless.
Blinking rapidly, Bellamy tucks the necklace into his belt pouch and continues stripping. He tries not to think about his family and the miles in between them, but the room is far too quiet. The only sound is Bastard rustling under the bed.
Bellamy uses a towel and one of the smaller buckets to scrub away the worst of the grime. The room is too quiet—but he’s not alone anymore. “Can you tell me about your sister?” Bellamy asks. “Her name is Sarka, right?”
Rakos’s hand falls away from his hair. “Sarka. Yes. What do you want to know about her?”
“I don’t know. Is she your only sister? Do you have brothers?”
“No other siblings. It’s just me and Sarka. Better that way, probably.”
Bellamy was right. Noise is better than silence. “What’s she like?”
Rakos is quiet before replying. “Flighty. Talkative when you get to know her. She’s the pettiest person I’ve ever met, and she can hold a grudge for years. How long are you going to take? If the water’s cold when you’re done…”
Bellamy drops the towel and grips the side of the tub. He swings a leg over and winces as his foot breaks the surface. “Don’t worry, it’s already cold.”
Submerging is an exercise in willpower as cold water laps up his shins. His balls nearly crawl into his body when he finally sits. Bellamy swears under his breath, then jumps with a splash as Rakos laughs from across the room.
“Were you looking?” Bellamy demands.
“Just listening,” Rakos answers, which isn’t better.
“This inn is the worst.” Bellamy leans against the edge of the tub.
The chair scrapes against the floor, drawing Bellamy’s gaze as Rakos bends over to finish unlacing his boots. Their eyes meet.
Bellamy is fully concealed in the tub. But not even the cold water can quell the heated knowledge that he’s naked in the same room as Rakos. Sitting here, blood heating and cock stubbornly hardening, in the same tub of water that Rakos is going to use next.
Rakos’s gaze falls away, heedless of Bellamy’s urgent predicament.
Fuck.
Bellamy shoves his entire head underwater. Scrubs his nails into his scalp until his lungs tighten in protest. He emerges with a gasp and shoves his hair back from his forehead. Water sluices down his face and neck.
When he opens his water-logged eyes again, Rakos is glancing away.
Bellamy licks the water from his lips. “I’m getting out.”
“Take your time.” Rakos doesn’t turn around again. Maybe Bellamy imagines the tension in his shoulders.
Bellamy rises and dries himself off as quickly as possible. The towel is far coarser than he’s accustomed to. Will he get some sort of rash from it? The clothing provided is coarse too: loose cotton trousers and a tunic-like robe. Both dyed a mottled dark gray, and far too large for him. Bellamy belts the tunic as tightly as he can and pads barefoot across the room.
“Your turn,” he says, avoiding eye contact.
Rakos grunts in acknowledgement and crosses the room.
Bracing against the windowsill, Bellamy watches the grubby alley below. Magic swirls with smoke into the evening sky. Clothing rustles, water splashes, and the rising smoke seems to take the shape of smooth muscles and long dark hair. Rakos’s hiss at the cold whispers through Bellamy’s bones.
Silence warms Bellamy’s ears. He can’t break it. The tension in his throat is too thick to speak through.
“What about you?” Rakos asks behind him.
Bellamy’s knuckles whiten on the windowsill. “What about me?”
