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“No. Emelda makes me ash-sticks to calm my nerves and prevent my powers from flaring out like this when I’m worked up, but she’s been so busy with you lately she’s forgotten about me.”

Anger coursed through her, warding off some of the chill plaguing her skin. Oh no, he was not blaming this on her. Spinning on her heel, Soraya snatched the silver tin of ash-sticks from the floor beside the bed and shoved it into his chest. “Here. Go nuts.”

Ikarus stared at the tin like she’d just handed him a live bomb. “I thought they were supposed to help you with pain from the bite.”

“The only pain I have right now is you. Maybe if you smoke enough, you’ll disappear.” Lies. Her head had started to pound the moment she’d opened her eyes—but fuck him.

She shoved his chest on her way past him, then stormed out onto the balcony and sank into a sitting position at the very edge just before the shield.

“You aren’t going back to bed?” he called after her.

Soraya ignored him. She was too tired and wired to sleep now. She wrapped her arms around her legs, propping her chin on her knees.

Illieck was quiet below, but there were remnants of life.

Gone were the constant buzzing of wings, and all but a few orange lights flickered in the burrows surrounding them. There were no arguments below, and the checkpoint had been finished this morning so there were no more fairies flying bits of equipment up there. Just the steady hush of water from some of the subterranean waterfalls and what sounded like small insects chirping softly somewhere in the distance.

Ikarus hadn’t come outside but she could feel his eyes trailing the large mesh panel of her vest that left most of her back and shoulders visible.

Feigning nonchalance, she began tapping a knuckle-duster against the ground by her hip, determined not to speak first. She made it through just over half the Vordellian national anthem before she heard him move.

He didn’t say a word, but when he stopped barely a foot behind her, Soraya was suddenly very aware that she was sitting on the edge of the balcony. A very high balcony with no protective railings whatsoever. The air was still shimmering with that near imperceptible sheen of his magic—but he could lower that if he wanted to.

They’d had sparring matches much worse than this before, and he’d not denied that she was valuable to Ramapheal but her pulse thumped in her veins all the same.

He sat beside her eventually, stretching his long legs out in front of him. His thighs were so much thicker than hers.

Out of the corner of her eye, Soraya watched him slide one of her ash-sticks into his mouth and set the tin on the floor between them. He frowned when he took the drag, then pulled out the ash-stick to examine it, holding the smoke in his lungs. “Emelda put nightshade in here,” he said, temporarily vanishing in the cloud of smoke.

“Is that a bad thing?” Clearly not, given that he was taking another deep drag, seeming to savor the smoke in his lungs for long seconds before tipping his head back toward the ceiling and releasing it.

“No. I just didn’t realize she was growing it again.”

“What does it do?”

“Pain relief—mainly headaches. This is really diluted, but when brewed in a high concentrate it causes slight amnesia. Nothing permanent—most people down here just take it to help with bad dreams.”

“Has she ever brewed it for you?”

“What do you think?” Ikarus slid an eye toward her. “Why has she put it in your ash-sticks?”

“My headaches have been getting worse the last few days.”

A muscle in his jaw feathered at this. “How bad?”

Soraya scoffed. “Don’t pretend to care.”

She let her gaze drift to the Astro Temple, to where the crowd of fairies who were usually gathered around it had been reduced to a few strays who took turns throwing small projectiles at the main structure. The power that pulsed around the building had faded from a vibrant yellow to near white over the last few days, evidence of draining supply.

“What will happen if the Arch piece isn’t in there?” she asked without looking away.

“I’m sure the Ancient One will find a way to blame me.” There was a note of fatigue in his voice that had her twisting her head back around to look at him.

He’d sat on her right so that his gold eye was closest to her. He kept his face turned toward the streets below, but that eye slid toward her, watching her in the same way his dragon had in the graveyard.

It felt … strange, sitting so close to him like this without trying to throw a punch. He watched her so intensely Soraya couldn’t help but turn her body toward him slightly, hyperaware of his every movement. Found herself watching him back just as thoroughly as he was watching her.

He looked like he needed a good night’s sleep. She traced the dark circles beneath his eyes, her mind treading back to this mysterious weapon he was apparently building. How many hours was he devoting to developing it? Had it been his idea to create such a thing, or Ramapheal’s? Was there a timeline to completing it? What happened if he failed?