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Chapter Fourteen
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“Shiraz, darling, youhave to eat. Just one tiny bite.”
Not for the first time in the last hour, I chomped ice out of sheer frustration. Yeah yeah, it was like taking a pickax to my tooth enamel, but it beat taking a pickax to Ambyr Stratiss’s throat—the same one producing the Betty Boop coo, while she pushed another strawberry at Shiraz’s lips.
When I heard my crunch being emulated, I looked up. Directly across the long wooden table in the Palais’ rescue center, King Evrest Cimarron dug into the cubes from his own drink. His sea-green eyes were sharp and glittery, his jaw hardened to the same texture.
Shiver. If that look was directed at me, I’d be scared.
But the woman to whom it was directed was not scared—basically because she was oblivious. Yeah, to everyone except Shiraz. Was a little hard to believe, since the crowd at the table included the two people she wanted to be naming as in-laws soon, but it was Ambyr’s ring finger to burn, not mine.
“’Raz,” she exhorted again. “Come, now. You have always loved strawberries, dear.”
The Kewpie Doll voice was gone, though she still used that strange nickname. From my position at the end of the table, I could only glimpse part of Shiraz’s face—though the jump in his tension, along with everyone else’s, was palpable. Next to me sat Jayd, who looked ready to throat punch someone. The queen mother and king father filled out our bench. Evrest shared his side of the table with Camellia, Ambyr, then Shiraz.
“Thank you,” Shiraz managed in a tight but civil tone. “But no, Ambyr.”
“But—”
“I said no.” When she acceded to his snarl, he released an apologetic grunt. “Désonnum, Ambyr. You are only trying to help.”
“Nice of you to notice.” Her tone was a mix of sugar and acid, causing new squirms around the table.
Time to chomp ice again.
Once more, Evrest joined me.
As we commiserated, Shiraz exhaled heavily. “I cannot think of food until they bring back Crista.”
“If they bring back Crista.”
That gut-wrencher was delivered by His Majesty Ardent, who didn’t flinch when Shiraz lurched from the table—then pounded a fist to it. “Fuck!”
“Shiraz Noir,” Xaria fumed. “The children.”
Shiraz threw back a vicious growl. Tore off the blanket around his shoulders with matching fury. Paced across the room, over to where floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the storm-ravaged streets of Sancti. Though most of the city had fared all right, some outlying areas still clearly dealt with some flooding issues—but the scariest sight of all was still the swollen, muddy mess of the Mousselayan, almost looking like a hot chocolate spill if one squinted their eyes. Debris from the decimated bridge project, along with parts of trees and bushes and boats, littered both sides of the liquid barrage. From up here, the sight was practically peaceful—but I knew differently, and the enlightenment scared me all over again, only worse. Way worse. This time, my trepidation wasn’t wasted on a girl with skills like doll voices and making up cute nicknames for the boyfriend-who-wasn’t-a-boyfriend. It was wrapped around real fear for a woman who’d risked her life for her kid brother and sister.
Risked her life…
Perhaps lost her life.
Oh, God.
“I should be out there.” Shiraz’s snarl was barely audible, especially past the rage that all but sizzled off his form. From the damp waves on his head to the soaked darkness of his boots, he visibly vibrated with the tension. “I should be out there, helping…” He skittered fingertips atop his thighs. “Stubborn, impetuous woman! She has no regard for her own safety or boundaries. First falling for my filthy éslik of a cousin, now jumping into the river without so much as a backward—”
“All right. Sssshhh.” Ambyr rose and went to him, dragging her touch down his taut his arm. I watched—jealous of course, I wasn’t going to lie—but also warmed by her tender gesture.
Until she murmured the follow-up.
“No need to make a scene, dearest.”
So much for acting like the impartial bystander.
The truth was, I wasn’t impartial. Not after everything that had happened today. Not with this weight of anguish for a woman with whom I shared brief but tight ties, bonded in the unique ways of disaster. Not with the connections to Shiraz I could no longer write off as simply sex—the conduit we’d had even in a damn hurricane…
The electricity arcing and sizzling between us, even now.
