Snow has started to fall from the brooding skies as we enter the cobbled streets of Moorechester. Orange hues shine through the lattice windows of the shops like a warm invitation. The brutal cold is unforgiving, forcing me to burrow deep into my oversized cloak. I’ll never get used to the weather here.
It doesn’t seem to stop the contagious laughter of other students as they pop in and out of shops, some holding bags, others sipping hot beverages. Ambrose takes my hand, cutting through a few of the buildings, leading us to a worn-down building tucked in the corner.
A wooden sign swings on creaking hinges overhead. Faded letters spell out the name Copper Penny Pub. We duck inside, escaping the continuous snowfall and biting cold. The clatter of tankards, veracious chatter, and the scraping of chairs across the uneven floorboards greet us upon entering.
It reminds me of Brylan’s port.
It’s perfect. Exactly what I needed.
Ambrose leads us to a small table in the back. The air in here is warm and thick, but not in an uncomfortable way. It’s a welcome reprieve from outside. I immediately start removing layers before sitting down. Ambrose follows suit, hanging his bow on the back of his chair before taking off his cloak.
I can’t help but notice the way his cream-colored, long-sleeved shirt clings to his body once he removes it.
I internally sigh. My tongue feels heavy and stuck to the roof of my mouth.
He’s filled out so much since joining the academy. He’s now muscle and hardness where he was once youth and malleability. I watch with a level of unhealthy yearning as he flags down a server and orders each of us an ale. He sits down and leans back in his chair.
His entire focus now rests on me.
Unlike my earlier sparring partner, this look isn’t cold and calculated with a side of diabolical. It’s familiar, welcoming, and warm like embers burning with nostalgia. I’m not sure whyheeven entered my thoughts, except maybe to point out his shortcomings and Ambrose’s attributes. A stark comparison between something good for me and something that would gleefully watch me crumble.
“Well, this is pleasant,” I say, scanning the room as cheers erupt around an arm-wrestling match.
A look of affection passes over his face. “Wait until you taste their home-brewed ale. Absolute perfection,” he replies, tapping his fingers along the grooved table. The steady rhythm is hypnotizing.
“I’m just glad you wanted to bring me here.” A small smile pulls at my lips. “It’s nice just spending time with you. I’ve missed you so much,” I acknowledge in a soft whisper.
“I’ve missed you, too, Nori. I wish we could meet up more often, but being an officer with a full course load,” he says, placing his palms on the table, “it’s just hard.”
“Oh, I completely understand.” My voice comes out a little too smooth and polished. The last thing I want is to come across as demanding and needy. “How about that blood initiation, huh? Talk about intense!” I throw it out there as informally as possible to gauge his reaction without implicating the weight his answer will bring.
“You’re not lying,” he says. “They certainly don’t do you any favors by warning you what you’re walking into, do they?” His eyes dart to the bar as if he’s looking for our server, but I get a feeling he just doesn’t want to meet my eyes.
“Yeah, and it’s all so formal and cloaked in anonymity,” I venture, staring at his face for a reaction.
He nods in agreement, but continues to look toward the bar, doing everything in his powers to avoid the conversation.
I decide to take it into my own hands and cut the bullshit. “Were you there?” I ask point-blank.
He pauses, his entire demeanor seeming to freeze before finally bringing his attention back to me. “I was,” he admits quietly.
His pale eyes hold me captive. Anxiousness stirs in my veins.
To suspect is one thing, but to hear the confirmation is another entirely. He saw me at a very vulnerable point and witnessed another Veil carry me from the darkness. Unless he was the one who held me while chaos ensued. I have my suspicions, but lately, he’s so closed off that I could be entirely wrong.
He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table as he searches my face for the truths he thinks I should be given.
As if I’m not owed all of them.
I don’t move out of fear that he’ll change his mind and not want to discuss what happened. I hold his stare, but I refuse to ask more questions.
It’s his turn to offer answers.
He clears his throat. “Officers are required to attend. We don’t have a choice. Veils and Noctryns alike,” he adds before breaking eye contact and looking around the pub. His brows are drawn tight, and his broad shoulders tense.
So it’s like that.
Okay.
