“Where’s Riven?” I ask. I don’t give a shit, but when Celine stiffens, I realize I’ve stumbled onto something.
“In his room,” she mutters, her answer coming a beat too late to be casual.
“Did he have a good time sparring?” I keep my tone bland.
Celine doesn’t respond, but the bond jumps a foot in my chest.
I sit up straighter. “Did he try something?”I demand.
Alistair’s eyes flicker open, flashing red as we both wait for her answer.
“No.” Celine licks her lips. “Of course not.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if she’s disappointed by that, but I stop myself. My issues with Riven are real, but something tells me I’ll have to get over them. Only an idiot wouldn’t recognize the growing tension between him and Celine for what it is.
“If you wanted to, no one would be angry with you, angel,” Alistair says, obviously following the same train of thought and choosing to act on it. “Working with him to escape the monster realm changed things, for me at least.”
Celine frowns. “I don’t want him.”
I might believe her, except I sense a flicker of pain through the bond as her magic punishes her for the lie. Her face twists. “No,” she gasps. “I-I can’t.”
She flinches again, arms twitching all the way down to her fingertips.
“It’s okay, baby.” I force a smile. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. We just want you to know that we see something, and if you decide you want to see it too, no one will be upset with you.”
“Ciprian—”
“Probably already has a pool going for when it will happen.”
She swallows. “But Malach . . .”
I sigh. “I don’t know Malach as well as you do, but there’s nothing in the universe that he wants more than your happiness. He made room for me, Alistair, and Ciprian. If he could do that for us, he could do it for Riven, too.”
“It’s not happening.” Celine wraps her arms around herself and faces the wall. “And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
The silence is heavy. A riot of emotions buzzes in my chest. Some of them belong to Celine: confusion, anxiety, worry, andgrief. Others are all mine, boredom and jealousy merging with my concern for her.
Damn. I’m not in the mood to self-reflect.
What I’d really like to do is get drunk.
Except when I imagine cracking open a six-pack, I think about Malach.
First, the fucking cold ass tile, now beer? Is everything ruined?
One thing at a time.I can only fix one thing at a time.
Kicking off my shoes and socks, I march to the bathroom. The floor isn’t as cold as it was this morning, but there’s enough of a temperature difference to give me a jolt.
I shift back and forth from tile to tile, never staying put long enough for the ceramic to warm up. Teeth gritted, hands fisted, I keep at it despite my crawling skin and shaky limbs. Maybe it’s not the most efficient plan, but it’s all I’ve got. I’ll keep touching this tile until I don’t associate it with ice pellets, eclipses, and monster roars anymore.
I don’t care how long it takes.
Ciprian finds me hours later, lying face down and shirtless on the bathroom floor.
His shoes come into view, and I roll my head, pleased when the cool tile doesn’t bring anything to mind at all.
“Is this a cry for help?” he asks.
