Page 81
“It’s okay, Rayna. He’s just being—”
“An asshole,” Dazmine scoffed under her breath from my other side. Her arms were crossed, a pout stamped on her mouth. I had a feeling she’d be in a bad mood for the next decade after what Coen had delegated to her and Terrin.
I winced at her. “I’m sorry you have to be in, you know, close proximity with Terrin for the next little bit.”
Dazmine huffed. “Just throw something heavy at your boyfriend for me when you get a chance. Look, there’s a big candlestick over there…” When Emelle cast her a horrified shake of her head, she sighed. “Never mind. I’ll survive it.”
I eyed the said candlestick and imagined throwing it at Jagaros instead. Not just for what he’d said to me in front of everyone, but for how he acted like he cared one month and then disappeared for half a year the next.
Emelle had followed my line of sight. “Maybe just ask for some clarification next time you and Jagaros are alone.”
I muffled a sudden laugh. Emelle was like a sweet, melodic flower whispering in one ear while Dazmine was like a snapping carnivore in the other. Maybe I needed that dichotomy, because now I knew exactly what I was going to do: ask for some clarification when Jagaros and I got a chance alone and then throw a heavy object at him depending on his answer.
We never got a chance alone, though. Looking up, I tuned in to the others just as Jagaros finished saying, “I’m going to go update the rest of my people. Try not to break the rope bridge again on your way out.”
With a last piercing look at me, he and Kanuk swept away.
After that, Coen didn’t waste any time Walking everyone else back to the Esholian Institute or the ship. I gave Dazmine and Terrin one last squeeze goodbye and an earnest “good luck” before I was the last one left.
Alone now, Coen and I faced each other in the pink-tinged light that slanted in through the treehouse windows, those sheer sheets rippling in a salty ocean breeze around us.
“How do you want me to spy for you?” I asked on an exhale.
Coen’s shoulders twitched once before he cocked a grin.
“You’re a pre-elite now, Rayna. You have access to information about the Good Council and how it works, how Dyonisia chooses her elites and what she assigns them—information I need to break into that prison at the top of Bascite Mountain.”
I considered it. Dyonisia, Mr. Gleekle, and the other pre-elites definitely didn’t trust me as it was, but if I could lean into the position and play my part convincingly, I might be able to garner some secrets that would benefit us.
That was, if I managed to avoid demolishing everything in my path first, because this stupid Summoning magic kept itching to grab at all the coins and books and other objects in the room… Coen included.
“You’re doing it again,” he said.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me as if you’re afraid I’m soft enough for you to actually hurt.” He strode over before I could blink, grabbed my hand, and placed my palm over his beating chest. “But see? You’re touching me now, and I’m harder than ever.”
A beat of silence passed before a laugh burst from my lips. “That was worse than one of Rodhi’s jokes.”
“You think I’m joking, via?” Coen was laughing, too, but when he wrapped his arm around my waist and tugged me in, my belly coiled with a rush of heat at the feel of his desire straining against me.
We couldn’t—shouldn’t—do anything in this ancient treehouse where anyone from the Uninhabitable Zone could walk in at any moment, but… but it had been so long. And that kiss we’d shared in the jungle after my third Branding still vibrated in the air between us, electric and alive.
I shook my head and took a step back. “We shouldn’t kiss again.”
After a moment, Coen took a step back, too, eyes gleaming. “You’re right. As the Fated General of Sorronia, I shouldn’t be kissing my spy. It would be unprofessional.”
“Not to mention dangerous. I would probably bring down this entire treehouse.” Each of my breaths quickened, blood rushing everywhere too fast. “Because I would lose what little control of my magic I have left.”
“As would I,” Coen agreed with a nod, gaze never straying from my face. “We’d probably end up somewhere among the stars and never find our way back.”
“And what a tragedy that would be,” I breathed.
We moved at the same time.
Crashing together, our mouths were on each other, his tongue sweeping in to ravish me. A nip to my bottom lip had me moaning, fisting the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer, closer, closer. We stumbled back, and something crashed to the floor from the table my ass had just rammed up against.
Shit. Panting, I turned to see what we’d broken, but Coen anchored his hands to my hips and whipped us around, our lips still moving in perfect tandem. He tasted like musk and an endless night sky, his scent like black bamboo. His hands roved over me, the pressure of every point of contact and the strength quivering just beyond the gentle touch of his fingers igniting a blast of heat in my core.
