Ellery’s gaze strayed from him, and Domenic followed it across the lobby to a gaggle of other gussied-up, undoubtedly famous people.
“Hey!” she called to them. “Demelza!”
Some starlet turned around, blond hair tumbling down her shoulders. If Ellery hadn’t spoken her name, Domenic wouldn’t have recognized this Demelza Turner from how she’d looked two days before: the blue light of Maltherius beaming from her rolled-back eyes.
Demelza excused herself from the others as Ellery approached, Domenic trailing behind.
“I didn’t know you’d be here.” Ellery offered her a realer smile than she’d given all night.
Demelza didn’t return it.
“Yeah, you know,” the other girl mumbled. “Family obligations. Mom played Rhodes’s mentor.”
“I saw her on some of the posters. The reviews say she’s great.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well,” Ellery ventured, “I’m glad to see you’re doing better. I tried to visit you, but they said you were resting.”
Demelza flinched. “I’m fine now. Totally fine. I just… I didn’t expect to see you here, either. After Ravfiri’s vigil, don’t you think it’s kind of irresponsible?”
Domenic seethed. But Ellery wanted to fight her own battles, so he bit his tongue—hard.
Ellery’s voice flattened. “We’re heading back North tomorrow.”
“You still should’ve stayed home. Or at least left thatthingbehind.” She glared at the sheath at Ellery’s hip. “If you ask me, Winter magic isn’t safe. No one should be wielding it.”
Then she stalked off.
Domenic clenched and unclenched his fists. Beside him, Ellery stilled, her expression neutral, but he knew her enough to glimpse the storm churning beneath.
“Are you all right?” he murmured.
She heaved out a breath. “I’m fine.”
“Really, El? Can we cut the bullshit, just for a second?” He didn’t mean to snap, but he couldn’t play their games anymore. They were bullshit, too. “We promised we wouldn’t perform. Not for each other.”
“Oh, really? Isn’t that all we’ve done since… since…” All too quickly, whatever indignation he’d coaxed from her faded, buried, vanished. Her voice leveled. “I can’t risk another headline, Dom. So can we please just go inside and get this over with?”
He sighed. “Yeah. All right.”
But even as Domenic tried to dowse himself, he still burned. He glared at the employee who handed him his cherry cola while watching Ellery nervously from the corner of her eyes. He ignored the celebrity who offered his hand to Domenic but not to her. He all but cursed at the usher who muttered something under his breath as he guided the Chosen Two to their reserved seats at the front of the theater.
But more than he hated all of them, he hated himself. That he couldn’t reach for her.
After this is all over, we’ll have a real future,he assured himself.
Assuming Ellery forgave him. She sat rigid and silent. She didn’t touch her popcorn. He didn’t touch his cola.
Once the rows filled, the cast assembled beneath the screen.
“Welcome to the premiere ofForetold,” said the director, a man with an atrociously thin strip of a mustache. “From its onset, this picture was an exciting project for the entire team at Croswell Production Studios. But given recent events, this filmhas never felt so timely. Alice Rhodes’s victory and sacrifice altered the course of our nation, and to have her successors in this very audience—it’s a tremendous honor…”
Domenic didn’t catch another word of the director’s speech, all too aware of the hundreds of gazes searing into the back of his skull. He resisted the urge to slump lower in his seat—he sat nearly a head taller than their whole row.
At last, the lights darkened, and it was all so familiar—the Mercester Square theater, his favorite soda, the anticipation stirring in his stomach—that for a delirious moment, he wasn’t Domenic Barrow, Chosen One. He was Domenic Barrow, skipping class to catch a matinee, counting the minutes until Hanna and Iseul got home.
Then the movie began.
