The knot on the belt comes undone, but the heat coiling low in my stomach refuses to go with it. My movements are jerky as I wrap the robe around myself.
“Well,” I say, “I hope that’s not where your talents end.”
He makes an amused, chuckling sound as if a dozen replies fight to be spoken. Then suddenly he goes still and all traces of amusement vanishes.
When I look up, his gaze is fixed on the third red strand of hair. A flicker of restraint passes through his storm-gray eyes. He noticed it yesterday, so this isn't a surprise, yet somehow every time he looks at it, it feels like he’s seeing it for the first time. A strange unease coils low in my stomach. He doesn’t ask about it. Whether out of respect or disdain, I’m not sure.
Kaelzar steps back, retreating to the door, his shadows curling at his feet.
He’s leaving. I exhale, expecting relief. I tell myself that I need space to wash up, to get dressed, and he’s about to give it to me. That should be a good thing. And yet…
“You ruined my morning, and now you’re leaving?” I say, bristlingat the note of desperation in my voice.
He pauses. His head tilts slightly, just enough that I know he’s caught the crack in my composure.
“It’s afternoon,” he replies flatly, his earlier humor completely gone.
A familiar, annoying weight settles in my chest. I hate the way my stomach twists at the thought of him going. Hate even more the whisper of relief I might feel if he stays.
“And I am not leaving,” he says. “I was going to bring you something from the receiving room.”
A flush of embarrassment rises inside me at the realization of how desperate I must have sounded. My eyes flick to the washroom. I need cold water, a moment alone, anything to cool my skin and stitch myself back into something composed.
Without another word, before he can say anything that might unravel me further, I pivot and stride into the washroom, slamming the door behind me.
The echoing thud of my bedroom door is sharp, satisfying even, but it does little to quiet the storm inside my chest.
Cool, gold-veined marble greets me. I splash my face with water, the chill biting against my skin. My reflection stares back, pale and defiant, the crimson strands glaring like an accusation against the pristine white of my hair.
I comb through my hair, massaging oils into my skin with methodical precision. My mind, however, is anything but calm.
Kaelzar. That look in his eyes when he stared at the third red strand. What was it? Anger? Pity? I hate that I don’t know. Hate even more that I want to.
I force my thoughts elsewhere. Ryker. My heart twists at the memory of him.
The man I thought I loved now feels like a distant stranger. How could something that once felt unshakable dissolve so completely? Had he changed, or had I? And if love could fade so easily, what does that say about me? About us?
My eyes drift to the blackened tips of my fingers. A strange, morbidwhimsy takes hold, the thought of painting my nails red, using one of those black-market paints Eva mentioned once. Red against black. Blood against decay.
The contrast of colors strikes me as poetic, though I’m not sure why. My magic purrs at the idea in a quiet hum that makes my chest tighten further.
A knock breaks my reverie. Kaelzar’s voice, low and resonant, cuts through the door. “Whenever you’re finished, there’s something you should see.”
When I finally emerge, a box and two letters sit neatly atop the sheets of my bed.
“What is this?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Eva brought the box with a note,” Kaelzar says. “And… a letter came from your father.”
My stomach sinks. The mention of my father is like ice water in my veins.
I step toward the bed, my hands trembling as I pick up the letter. It’s the first time he’s reached out since I became a Godbound. My throat tightens as I break the seal and unfold the heavy parchment.
My eyes scan the words, each one a blow to my chest.
I should have known you’d take after your mother…
A strange numbness creeps through my limbs, but I force myself to keep reading.
