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25

AMETHYST

No one spoke as we left Dawncross before the sun had done little more than turn the inky dark sky into a muted blue. For whatever reason, Callum and I were leading the convoy, only Phillip and another guardsman riding in front of us. As a whole, the group was quieter, more subdued, than it had been since leaving the mountains, though that didn’t translate into the clothing we wore. For the first time since leaving the beach, Callum donned the intricate tunic and black pants he’d worn on Magefall, the laces done all the way to his throat. The black-silver circlet sat nestled against his forehead, too, his hair twisted around it and a few of the silver leaves tucked into it, too.

I smoothed down the velvet tunic Amaria had helped me into, a mirror to what the other alphas wore with intricate silver embroidery around the neckline and hem. It was a bit too large, the sleeves landing mid-palm rather than at my wrist, the way Callum’s did, and even with the laces done tightly, the neckline was still more of a scoop neck rather than snug to the base of my throat. The pants Amaria had handed me were a bit too large, too, fitting more like a pair of pajamas than the slim trousers the others wore. I carefully adjusted the finger bracelet, trying to keep the sleeve from catching on the delicate metal. Tabitha and Monique were in similar loose-fitting tunics and black pants for the first time, as were Shelby and Amaria. In fact, the only ones in the browns and tans that most had worn while traveling were Reuben and the various servants, like James and Emma.

A stinging pain pulsed out from the translation tattoo, the first time it had in a few days. It was automatic to suck in a ragged breath and skim my hand over the slashing purple marks. Shelby had pulled my hair back, twisting it into an updo I’d only really seen on Pinterest boards, the strands pinned in place within an inch of their lives while only a few were allowed to fall around my face. She’d put more of the trinkets in my hair, too, using the entire collection kept in the small worn box.

Reuben quietly rode up beside me, deftly wedging between Elyssian and Shelby’s own horse, pulling a small satchel from the saddlebag behind his hip. A fire jar looped around the pommel of his saddle, spreading a warm light that was more effective than the slowly lightening sky.

“How is your head this morning?” he asked, his eyes skating over the tattoo.

I swallowed the biting response I wanted to say and instead just shrugged. Callum circled my wrist, his touch there and then gone.

“It’s… pulsing,” I admitted, gesturing to the tattoo. “My head is fine, though.”

Reuben’s nod was slower this time, his gaze more assessing. “Would you like additional serum?”

I shook my head and fought to keep the grimace off my face as another pulse of pain emanated from the marking. It had only been a couple hours since I’d taken the serum, and my head didn’t actually hurt. It seemed like whatever was wrong with the tattoo was able to ache even with the serum. There was no point in wasting any more of it when in a few hours it wouldn’t be their concern anyway. As soon as the thought coalesced, my stomach twisted. I swallowed down the bile that burned the back of my throat.

One more time. I could handle being bounced one more time.

Maybe if I told it to myself enough, it would become true.

Reuben relented without a fight, dropping back into the row of horses behind me, starting a quiet conversation with Vincent that didn’t translate. After a minute, Phoebe and Amaria joined in, too, their voices blending with the muted morning before the conversation died out entirely.

Very little was said for most of the remaining travel. The silence was only broken by the soft calls of birds in the distance and the clicking of the horses’ hooves on the packed dirt road. I did my best to not absorb any of it, not notice the small animals that scurried away from the road as our group approached and the collection of houses that grew more frequent with every mile traveled. If I didn’t pay attention, it wouldn’t hurt as much when it was gone.

What was I even doing, getting in my feelings about going back home? It was the safer option, the better option. I should just be grateful the person who chose me on Magefall was willing to let me go.

Even still, the uncomfortable jumble of feelings and the small details of the land we passed through imprinting on me like their entire job was to make me unwilling to leave coalesced into a mess larger than the mess left at the bar when a belligerent drunk had thrown his shot glass and hat hit the wall of liquor bottles just behind the bar, shattering seven of them. My eyes burned with the strain of holding back a physical reaction. I was not going to cry. As if in protest of my determination, the tattoo pulsed again, harsher than before, and I sucked in another ragged breath.

“Fuck,” I muttered, pressing my palm into the tattoo in a misguided hope of easing the pain.

Callum’s touch was featherlight as he guided my hand away from my neck. His fingers laced with mine, the move so casual it felt like we’d done it a thousand times. That mess clogged my throat even more. He needed to stop touching me before I through common sense out the window and begged him to let me stay, never mind what Sloane might want.

Sloane.

Her name clanged through me, enough to drop my stomach. It didn’t matter what I wanted. Sloane’s safety and happiness came first.

The sun had fully crested, bathing the land in an orange glow and rending the fire jars unnecessary, when the guardsman in front of us twisted in his saddle. He asked something in the other language, and then Phillip did, too. The entire group focused on us. Callum squeezed my hand.

“We will be going to the basilica first,” he said in a calm voice that left no room for disagreement. “Then to Vincent’s estate afterward.”

Phoebe nodded, clearly pleased where she rode on Callum’s other side.

“Very well,” Hugh said with a resigned sigh. “We will disperse once you’ve gotten to the basilica then.”

“Not the Crown’s manor?” Arden asked, surprise coloring his voice.

Callum shook his head but didn’t offer any kind of explanation. As the attention of the others faded into quiet conversations that blended with the early morning, Callum ran his thumb over my knuckles and urged his horse closer to mine. His voice was no more than a whisper. I doubted even Vincent directly behind us could hear him.

“There will be a crowd,” he said, “like at Dawncross. You don’t need to do anything if you don’t desire. I just don’t want you to be surprised like yesterday.”

I swallowed before giving a small nod.

He didn’t drop my hand or inch back away from me, his knee brushing mine every few steps the horses took. God, I wish he wouldn’t touch me, wouldn’t blur this unspoken line between us. And yet…