“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You’re mad,” he continued. “That you would choose to believe some charlatan over the Cardinal of the Church?—”
“You forget that I hold no loyalty for the Church,” I corrected him, leveling my stare at his dark eyes. “In fact, most days I would say that this world would be a better place without it.”
Cirian backed away from me a half-step, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I know you have no love for the Church… but Sancha is not Adoranda Greene. Nor is she like the other Council members who seek only to enrich themselves at any cost to others. She is more mother than mentor to me. I would have hoped that you at least cared enough for me to know that I would not vouch for someone who would slump to such treachery.”
A twinge of guilt swelled in my gut at that. I didn’t want to admit that there was a part of me that wanted to comfort the man, even though he behaved like a petulant child. I knelt, retrieving the parchment from the floor and smoothing out the surface.
“Whether we like it or not, this is a new world, Cirian. The Mortals—even these Converts—have a right to magic just as much as we do. We can’t be hasty in our judgments. And we can’t allow others to demonize them without proper evidence. And this—” I held up the crumpled paper, “is the only lead I have right now to waking Tobias. Let me cling to the raft of hope for at least a moment, yes?”
“I’m sorry,” Cirian said after a moment, the weight of his stare falling on me as I straightened. “Perhaps I’ve let my emotions cloud my judgment.”
“I accept your apology,” I replied, stowing the parchment into my jacket for safekeeping. “And if it’s any consolation, I often envy those emotions you admonish.”
Cirian’s brow quirked.
Why did I tell him that?
“Explain.”
Heat built behind my cheeks, and I shuffled my feet. “I often find… expressing myself a difficult task. It’s not from a lack of vocabulary or anything, but more so from my own inability to identify the root cause of such emotion. I have a habit of rationalizing them away before I have the chance to articulate them.”
Cirian cracked a smile. “And here I thought you’d simply been born a soulless husk. Are you telling me that there’s actually something soft under all of those prickly spines?”
I snorted a laugh. “I wouldn’t call itsoft.”
“Gooey then,” Cirian suggested, his lips curling once more into a smile that lifted my heart on a dozen tiny wings. “Like a confection that melts on your tongue once you’ve cracked the coated shell.”
“I’m not a damnable piece of candy,” I argued through a smile.
Cirian advanced a step—suddenly far closer than I expected—a beast stalking its prey. “What a delectable treat you’d be, Bast. Oh, how you’d dance across the pallet. My mouth is watering at the thought.”
“Here.” I reached into my jacket once more, pulling out a dull white handkerchief and handing it over. “Wipe your chin before you start drooling like a mongrel.”
“You’re too kind.” He took the cloth from my hand, his fingers lingering on mine for what seemed like an eternity before pulling away. Tracing the outline of his lips with the corner of the kerchief, his dark eyes never left mine as he completed the circle. He reached toward me, and I fought the urge to shy away. Pulling at the edge of my jacket, he tucked the cloth into the warm interior pocket. I shivered as his fingers brushed against my chest.
“How’s that?” he asked, withdrawing his hand from my jacket.
“Better,” I managed through gritted teeth, the heat from behind my cheeks blooming across my face like the swell of flames engulfing timber. “Can’t have you slobbering all over the place, can we?”
“You could if you wanted,” Cirian replied, a flash of fire in his eyes that threatened to melt my insides.
Whatever regrettable words were about to escape my lips, I swallowed them down as the sound of the door opening drew both of our attentions. Out of the portal came the same broad woman from before, followed by a familiar dark-haired figure.
“Now, you don’t be a stranger, Malachi,” the woman said over her shoulder, a friendly smile parting her ruby-red lips. “You’re welcome back at any time. You know how to find us.”
“Thanks again, Reina,” Malachi said, returning her smile.
It was jolting, hearing him speak in articulate sentences.
“Malachi,” Cirian addressed the man, advancing. “How do you fare?”
He turned his attention to us then, smile still firmly in place. “There you are, lads! I’ve never felt better! The Sleeper really did a wonder putting things back in place for me. He’s absolutely incredible.”
The woman, Reina, stayed a few paces behind Malachi, watching as Cirian and the man spoke. There was something about the way her beady eyes lingered on me that coaxed the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end.
“You sure that you’re all right?” Cirian continued, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder.
