"A cat?" I echoed, turning to face him. "I thought no one was allowed in that tower save the Paragons themselves."
"That's just a rumor. Anyone can enter, as long as they're with one of us. We even have a housekeeper."
That Paragons’ black tower, ever shrouded in mystery. Nothing but a well-spread rumor.
I bit my lip. I'd always wanted a cat, but father had never allowed me to bring one home. He'd been appalled at the idea of a little creature covering his house in fur.
"What's his name?" I asked.
"Pumpkin."
"That's an atrocious name."
Reese folded his arms. "It suits him. He's fat and lazy, and doesn't deserve something noble."
"Poor thing."
"What would you name him?" Reese arched an eyebrow.
"My gut says Lord Plenilune, scion of the light, but I'd be sorely tempted to name him Liam," I said.
Reese laughed, and I chuckled, too. A moment passed, where I kept eye contact for far longer than necessary.
Solhearts really were beautiful. It was terribly unfair.
Tucking my true feelings away, I whirled to face him and jabbed him in the chest. "You mentioned Ferris. What's the history there?"
"So accusatory." He playfully pushed my hand away. "I spent a few weeks in Casaloch for a tourney. Ferris and I became acquainted."
"Do you befriend teenage delinquents often?" I arched an eyebrow.
"He was bleeding out. I healed him." He sighed. "I'm too old for his . . . enthusiasm."
That was one way to put Ferris' inability to behave. Narrowing my eyes, I leaned in, looking the Paragon up and down. "You've aged remarkably well for being ancient."
"Ishii would shoot me if he heard me say that." Reese chuckled. "The old man has a hundred years on me."
Paragon Ishii was one hundred and forty, if I recalled correctly. That placed Reese in his forties, around the same age as Laiserian.
Swallowing tightly, I turned away. It felt strange to talk like this when death was only a pace away.
"You found your catalyst, right?" Reese tilted his head. "Can I see?"
A flurry of excitement chased away the tension. I took three quick steps—the opening to a waltz. Lightning danced in my palm in response, no more than a tiny ball of static.
But it was magic.
Reese grinned. "Beautiful. So, it's a dance?"
"Not quite.” I let the static on my fingers die. "It's Tirnanog, too."
"Like their Myrmidons . . . ” he wondered, head tilting further.
"What?" I spread my arms. "Why are you staring at me like I'm a puzzle box?"
"Because I can't quite figure you out."
My hands dropped, and my mask faltered. Fear pulsed in my throat, for a moment, worried he searched for my dark truth.
