I massage my temples. “Can’t you just tell me?”
“No,” he says, motioning for me to sit. “Think I’ll keep that information to myself.” He takes a large bite of his apple and tosses me a wink that plucks at my nerves.
In other words, if I somehow manage to gather all thirty-four ingredients required to make more Exothryl ...he’ll know.
I plod to my seat and ease into it, looking through the open doors to the window-lined hallway. There’s no morning sun spilling through—nothing to fill the murky innards of Castle Noir with light.
Days like this generally start me off on the wrong foot, so the fact that I even made it to the breakfast hall despite my delicate condition should absolutely be noted on myeffortchart.
“How are you coping?” Baze asks, staring at the morning report while stirring a sugar cube into his tea. Pretending the question is casual when we both know it’s not.
I shrug, scanning the spread of food, stomach twisting. My gaze snags on Rhordyn’s spare place setting and my chest tightens.
Part of me hoped he’d be sitting here after what we shared last night. Foolish, now that I think about it.
But he hasn’t had my blood in a while ...
I know he said he doesn’t need me, but after falling asleep in his arms last night, there’s a hopeful spark in my chest. A warmth I want to nourish.
Oil for those precious cogs that keep me spinning.
A servant fills my glass with some zesty juice the color of sunshine. I wait until she’s returned to her spot at the wall before my attention drifts to my empty plate. “I’m out of caspun.”
Baze’s cup clatters to the saucer. “You’re fucking with me.”
I catch his wide-eyed stare, saying nothing.
There’s nothing moretosay.
His mouth works like a fish out of water before he finally finds his words. “How the hell did you go through three years’ worth of caspun inthree months?”
I continue to stare, waiting ...
He throws his head back and looks to the roof, hands threading behind his head. “You’ve been using it as a preventative, then relying on exo every morning to counteract the comedown.”
“I’ve been ensuring I get a good night’s rest,” I say, gripping my glass of juice—the only thing on this table I can think about consuming without wanting to dry heave.
“Does Rhordyn know? That you’ve been using it as a preventative?” I can feel his glare burning the side of my face as I take small, tentative sips from my glass.
“If he didn’t work it out last night, I suspect he’s about to find out.”
“Well, you’ve got that right.” He lifts his own glass of juice, pretending to clink with me.
No point being bitter about it.
“So ...” I jerk my thumb at the empty seat on my right, “is he gone again?”
Baze takes a bite of his apple, watching me with a shrewd gaze as he slowly chews, then swallows. “He’s around. Now, since you’re dressed for the occasion, we can spend a few hours training on The Plank. Unless you have some rocks to paint?”
The bottom of my glass practically assaults the table, making me wince from the bite of sound. “Really, Baze? You think I look capable of walking The Plank right now?”
“No,” he shrugs, “you look like death. But perhaps a swim with the selkies will do you the world of good?”
Yeah, like losing a toe ever benefits anyone.
I pluck a grape from a pile and toss it at his face, but he snatches it out of the air with his teeth.
Rolling my eyes, I shift in my seat, not entirely sure the juice was a good idea after all. The few sips I took are sitting like spikes in my belly.
