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Was I?
‘I just want to sleep,’ I managed. ‘I’ll be more sensible when I’ve had some time to think. It’s just … It’s so much of everything at once.’
Had he asked more – had he askedwhatexactly was growing too big for me to handle – I might just have told him. I might have given in to that gleam of powerless worry in his eyes, the painful absence of all his usual light-hearted nonchalance, the unbearable burden of the secrets on my shoulders.
But I’d told him I didn’t want to talk, and Tared being Tared, he didn’t push for more.
‘Take one of the single rooms.’ He nodded at the dark corridor behind me, lips twisting into a mirthless smile. ‘I’ll go tell the rest you’ve been found and try to discourage Edored’s plans to cheer you up with a bottle of mead. Unless you’d appreciate his company, of course?’
A chuckle found its way out, somehow. ‘Thanks, but I think I could do without.’
‘At least one sensible decision for tonight,’ he said dryly and ruffled a hand through my hair as he strode past me, towards the open doorway and the ink-black temple night. ‘Sleep well, then, little brat.’
Ironically, those words were what kept me awake for long after I’d heard the rest of the group return for their evening meal, my heart twinging with an odd sense of homesickness at the precious clamour of their voices.
I woke to dazzling sunlight, golden rays sneaking between the curtains and dancing along the terracotta walls as if to welcome me into this brand new day. From the angle of the light, it had to be far into the morning. Someone had decided to let me sleep in, my flight of last night not yet forgotten.
Last night.
Stop avoiding decisions.
Stop hurting Creon, stop hurting myself … but what was the price I’d have to pay?
I muttered a curse and sat up, shaking loose strands of hair from my face. Only then did I notice the small, linen-wrapped package on the bedside table. It smelled vaguely of cinnamon when I picked it up; I found two fresh cinnamon rolls inside, the bread still warm enough to tell me they must have been brought in straight from the Underground kitchens.
A torn piece of parchment stuck to the honey-drenched bottom of one of the rolls. I peeled it off and found a message scribbled in Creon’s ever-familiar hand.
Thought I’d save you a couple before Edored ate them all.There’s bread and tea in the kitchen.
On the back, it said,P.S. You could persuade me to start praying a little more often.
I snorted a laugh, cursing the immediate sting of warmth in my lower belly and yet unable to stop smiling as I climbed out of bed and shoved on clean clothes.
The apartment was deserted, although I heard voices outside. A full kettle hung steaming over Lyn’s phoenix fire in the silent kitchen, and I miraculously found some bread Edored had not yet devoured. With a mug of mint tea in one hand and a pile of food in the other, I navigated to the temple courtyard, bracing myself for yet another morning of gruelling uncertainty.
The first thing I found was a house-high wall of plants.
In the bright light of day, the results of Creon’s blue magic were fully visible – an impenetrable hedge of stalks and stems and leaves twisted together, growing from the earth like a tidal wave rising over a beach. He did not seem to have thought of bringing it down again, and after a moment of consideration, I decided that was likely the wisest decision. The forest, mild as it seemed most of the time, might have an opinion on the use of red magic against plants, even if they had been withered until the previous night.
Balancing my heap of bread, I tiptoed around the barricade and into the sunlight.
Creon lounged on a low porch, eyes closed, black wings spread slightly to soak up the warmth of the morning sun. A few dozen feet away, Beyla had settled herself in the shadow of a gnarled apple tree, stitching up a torn shirt. Nenya, Lyn, and Naxi were nowhere to be seen, but Tared and Edored were swinging swords at each other on a level patch of grass in the middle of the overgrown garden, their laughter as they exchanged jabs and insults evidence that this was a friendly training session rather than a spontaneous duel.
They were also shirtless.
I stumbled to a halt on the cracked stepping stones of my path, blinking at the two alves a little more owlishly than good manners and personal pride should have allowed me to. Somehow, having known the two of them only in a state of largely proper dress, my mind had helpfully glossed over the fact that immortal males with five hundred years of exercise behind them would likely have the physique to show for it, too.
They shared the same slender, athletic build, the honed ridges of their muscles all the more pronounced by the glow of their alf magic and the sheen of sweat that now covered their torsos. Tared’s back was marked by a grisly scar crossing his entire left shoulder blade – a mark left by a weapon that must have missed his heart by mere inches. Edored, more surprisingly, sported an intricate tattoo that stretched from his left hip to his right bicep, covering most of his back. I thought it was a snake at first, and recognised only after a few moments what I should have figured out immediately – a dragon.
Of course.
It was then, generously late, that I realised I’d stood there ogling two half-naked males in public for a solid five heartbeats at least.
I tore my eyes away, hastily resuming my walk towards the rest of the company. Beyla sat bent over her needlework and did not appear particularly interested in my wandering gaze. Tared was affectionately calling his cousin a weak-handed coward, sparking a discussion that quickly evolved into a new cacophony of clashing steel. Neither of them noticed me. Creon, on the other hand …
He hadn't opened his eyes, but the corners of his lips were twitching.
Bastard.
