He grabbed her arm, pulling her up short.
“Hey.” Ger shuffled from foot to foot, frowning as though he was trying to translate his thoughts in a foreign tongue. It took him several seconds. “Iamproud of you, you know.”
Adeline blinked at him. She did know. He’d wanted this chance for her for a long time now, long before Mareda had thought of centering her campaign around the Merrow. When she’d told him, Ger had whooped and roared and she swore she’d even caught a vaguely wet glimmer in his eye before he’d lifted her off the floor in a bone-breaking hug. He’d shown up to almost every training session since, giving up his days off from Gard duties and missing training of his own, all so he could goad and taunt and bully her into better shape. He’d stopped talking about Barry altogether, and when she asked, Ger told her he’d grown sick of waiting alone for him at the barracks night after night while Ger spent hours at a time in the company of his former lover. She’d felt incredibly fucking guilty for that, but Ger had just scoffed, and said good riddance to him if he couldn’t see how important this was.
Of course she knew he was proud of her, he didn’t have to say it – and he clearly didn’t much enjoy saying it either.
There was only one acceptable response, really.
She wrinkled her nose pointedly, knowing he wouldn’t miss the smile beneath it.
“Ew,” she said, and he laughed and looped her arm over his elbow.
Ger wrinkled his own nose right back at her. “I know. Disgusting.”
Chapter 33
Adeline
Adeline had dressed for the occasion, waist corseted in Eisalaan blue and thick coils of hair braided and held up by so many pins her scalp felt like it was clad in a helmet of blunt needles. One more family dinner, her mother had decreed – insisted, really. One night to set their squabbling aside, to break bread together and pour one another’s wine in good faith. To start this journey, these campaigns, off on the right foot.
When Mareda didn’t bother to show up, she told herself she’d expected it.She hates you, some unhelpful voice within her whispered rather gleefully,you betrayed her just like she knew you would.Your own sister.
Adeline drowned the voice with a deep gulp of wine as Edward bowed to the Queen and made his excuses on Mareda’s behalf.
“Our daughter regrets that she could not join us tonight,” he said, “however she has quite exhausted herself with preparations for tomorrow’s battle, and needs her rest.”
Judging by the winged angle of her golden brow, Selma was about as convinced as Adeline. “I hope you had the equanimity to adviseour daughterof how this would reflect on her campaign – defying her Queen’s wishes on the eve of her first tournament.”
Edward bowed lower, forehead dangerously close to the table’s edge. “Majesty, truly, I know she would love nothing more than a fair and balanced race. But as you will see tomorrow, she has worked tirelessly these few months past. To forgo the proper rest now would only put her at a disadvantage.”
Selma pursed her lips, but Sebastian took her hand and said; “Come, my love, the girl is being sensible. There will be plenty of time for merrymaking after the tournament.”
The Queen’s sharp chin sliced the air as she turned from Edward bowing before her, to Sebastian patting her hand placatingly at her side.
“You’re quite right,my love,” she said evenly. “We will postpone our family gathering.”
Sebastian smiled, and her answering smile was thin.
“Gentlemen, you may retire and take supper in your rooms.”
Sebastian’s smile dropped. “My love?”
“Adeline and I will dine alone.”
Silas was the first to stand and obey, squeezing Adeline’s shoulder before going to nudge a stunned Sebastian from his seat. Edward rose slowly from his bow, eyes passing unfathomably over Adeline and then the Queen. But he simply nodded and said; “Of course, Your Majesty. Good luck tomorrow, Adeline, and goodnight to you both.”
The men filed out and Adeline lifted her cup to her lips once more. The bitter burn at the back of her throat must have been from the wine, and the wine alone. Her eyes were burning from the sharp aftertaste of the smooth and mellow honeywine.It’s just the wine.
She set down the glass, blinking hard, and speared a bit of pastry and shredded boar on the long tines of her fork. Selma was watching her, waiting for her to look up. She put the fork in her mouth and chewed until it tasted of nothing.
“I am sorry,” her mother said finally. “I understand now; this is what you were afraid of all along.”
“Yes,” Adeline said simply, although it really wasn’t all that simple. “It is.”
Selma stood from the head of the table. Her seat was a dining throne, a heavy and intricately carved tower of wood that she scraped back with some difficulty. She had been better lately, livelier, but still prone to pushing herself too hard, as though her still-frail body would bend to her will like everyone else did. Her Chief Healer had begged her to slow down. Apparently the flu had worked a dangerous infection into her lungs, and though she was past the worst of it, her body needed rest that she was simply not taking – no matter how often the Healer, her court, or her family tried to coax her.
When she sank into the chair beside Adeline, her breath was slightly too shallow, but she pushed through, her words coming out soft and laboured.
