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“I see swirls of grays, this foreboding surrounding him. It leaves me feeling unsettled.”
“Us as well,” Wren replied grimly.
That night, Percy and William pushed their beds together and sat playing a game of cards with Bellamy and Oscar. Galen felt restless, so he reached for his drawing pad and began sketching Enchantment. The motion of his pencil across the page helped get his thoughts sorted, and he felt less anxious by the time he finished.
“Will you show us our colors?” Oscar asked once he’d bored of the game.
“Of course.” Galen reached for his colored wax. “I can use the likeness I drew for you.”
That seemed to pique the others’ interest, as they also retrieved their drawings and gathered close, watching in earnest.
He lifted the purple and red and began feathering the color around Oscar’s form.
“What does it mean?” Oscar asked with a bit of awe.
“Passion…” Galen replied, and because he remembered all too well Oscar’s anger about being cast out of his home, he added, “And some ire simmering beneath.”
Before Oscar could inquire further, the others grew inpatient and began thrusting their drawings toward him.
“Bellamy, you mostly wear the paler green of trepidation—or perhaps apprehension is the better word?” He swirled the wax across the page. He wished there were lighter and darker variations of each of the colors so he could explain how even a simple green could mean different things.
“He obviously worries that his beloved will stop pining for him,” Oscar teased.
Bellamy scowled, which only served to amuse Oscar.
The twins were last, and he immediately reached for the yellow wax. “You are the light bringers,” he said, and there were grins and nods all around. Except for Edward, who rolled his eyes, but Galen hadn’t exposed the secret orange flickers of envy threading through his reds and blues.
Hadn’t they all coveted a closeness like the twins’ at one time or another?
And as he stared at Sparrow and Wren to get their auras just right, he noted something new that he could only grasp if he gazed more closely—soft threads of that same magenta woven through the center.
Were his eyes deceiving him?
It was similar to what he saw in Azriel, but he didn’t have the colored wax to represent it. Besides, he still didn’t know what it meant, only how it made him feel. A visceral yearning so strong, he ached all over. Maybe if he could see his own aura, it would be orange like Edward’s.
“And Azriel?” Sparrow asked, as if reading his thoughts, and the others grew still. Even though the man was not present in the room, Galen knew the question was purposeful. How could they not all see that they’d grown closer? As friends, of course.
Sometimes it feels like more.
Galen felt protective of Azriel for reasons he couldn’t readily explain, so instead of mentioning the blues and purples and that confusing magenta, he said, “Like Madam Langley, there is the emerald green of unease there. And concern for others.”
“Do you suppose there’s new worry regarding the sickness spreading through Etria?” Oscar asked, and everyone sobered. Galen wondered if they were all thinking the same thing—about their own families. Galen would continue to have faith that his own remained safe and healthy, and perhaps they would wish for something similar on his behalf.
“The butcher’s son told Miss Celestine that whoever catches it develops an unsightly rash,” Edward said. “It sounds horrid.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t spread to Lunar’s Reach,” Percy said in a solemn tone.
“It’s a good thing we live above an apothecary,” Sparrow replied, in an obvious attempt to brighten the mood. But Galen knew from his conversations with Azriel that there was no magical cure, not one they could locate in their books, at least not yet, and that made him feel uneasy.
“There’s still a chance it’s a rumor,” Edward said.
“Or an exaggeration.” Bellamy gave Oscar a pointed look, and that thankfully ended the discussion.
Once everyone had changed into their nightshirts and gotten into bed, the room turned dark, except for the sliver of moon through the window and his own oil lamp. He told himself he had more images to capture on his drawing pad, instead of admitting he was waiting up for Azriel.
But the hour was drawing late, and after several yawns, Galen decided he needed the sleep. He’d just placed his drawing pad under the bed and was ready to retire, when he heard the door open, and then the soft padding of footsteps. As soon as Azriel’s weary gaze met Galen’s expectant one, he veered in the direction of his bed. Galen’s heart thumped a steady beat as he patted the space beside him. Without hesitation, Azriel sank down like they were old friends who’d done this time and again. And Galen supposed they had by now.
“What kept you so late, if you do not mind my asking,” Galen whispered, trying to distract himself from how warm Azriel’s frame felt beside him.
