Something coils inside me, like a snake preparing to strike.
“And?”
“You will accompany me.”
It’s not a question.
Blood rushes from my face, and I swear my entire tower sways.
I’m not ready.
“N-now?” I stutter, heart hammering, mind scrambling.
What about Shay? And Kai? And who’s going to water my plants? I’m not sure I can trust anyone else to keep them alive.
I steal a glance at that piece of cloth Cainon was touching.
The lump it’s hiding ...
My wall in Whispers isn’t finished. I haven’t even ground down my commissary bluebells and made the damn paint because I’ve been too locked in my own head.
“Now, Orlaith.”
The eviction notice is dropped on my lap like a boulder.
I glance out the window, waiting for words to form on my tongue.
He grips my chin, using it as a handle to turn my head. “You wearmycupla. You’remypromised. I know you’ve been ... sheltered, but for you to continue living under another male’s roof would be uncouth. Especially when that roof belongs to another High Master.”
“I know all these things,” I mutter, glancing down at said cupla.
A shackle or a ticket to free me from a cage I never realized I was living in? I’m not sure. I don’t know anything anymore. It’s hard to tell truth from lie when you’ve spent the majority of your life living under a veil of skin that never belonged to you.
All I know is what I have in front of me. What I’ve always clung to. The thing that has always kept me on track ...
The circles I spin.
I have unfinished turns, and if I leave before they are complete, I’m convinced everything will unravel. That the world will be off-center.
“I can’t.”
He lifts a caramel brow, the line of his jaw hardening.
Hands stilling.
Something flashes in his eyes that makes me feel utterly defenseless.
“Notyet,” I quickly add, painting my lips with a smile. A mask atop a mask. “I have unfinished business I must finalize before I can leave. It’s important.”
To me.
He whips the hairband from my wrist and ties off the braid, then pushes back, stalking toward the western window that overlooks the bay. He plucks a dead leaf off one of my magnolia saplings and flicks it to the floor. “You’re wilting here, Orlaith. It’s obvious to an outsider looking in.”
I hear Baze clear his throat, and my cheeks burn.
I wonder how much of this conversation will be relayed to Rhordyn. If he’ll even care that someone else is taking such a keen interest in my well-being, or if he’ll be more concerned about the fact that he’s losing his blood bag.
Looking at my feet, I twiddle my thumbs ...
