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“Go, then,” I say, and my voice almost breaks.
Something in his eyes fractures. “Lord, Tessa. Don’t you understand? I’m not afraid for me. I’m afraid for you.”
My heart is pounding so hard I have to press a hand to my chest.
Without warning, he strides forward, catches my waist in both hands, then presses his mouth to mine.
For a moment I’m breathless and startled, but my body quickly catches up. I yield to his touch, softening in the circle of his arms. A fire lights in my belly, racing through my veins until I’m warm all over. He’s solid and he’s strong and he’s Wes, and I’ve imagined this moment so many times, but my imagination never did it justice.
Minutes—hours—days before I’m ready, he pulls away, his eyes full of stars again. He taps me on the nose. “Mind your mettle and keep your head down. I’ll be back in an hour.”
I’m pressing a hand to my mouth, my thoughts spinning. For all my talk of riding at the front of the revolution, I want to call him right back to find some decent shadows for the foreseeable future.
But his treble hook is already spinning free of his hand, whistling through the air to catch the edge of the wall. Without a backward glance, Wes is over the top, and I’m on my own.
I light the fire and balance my scales, but my thoughts are still in the woods, remembering the feel of his lips against mine over and over again, the sound of his voice as he said, Lord, Tessa, before stepping forward to pull me against him. Or the way he said, I’m not afraid for me, while holding my gaze so steadily.
He still ducked away when I went to move his mask—but he kissed me. I’ve been tangled up with fury and regret and fear since the riots outside the gates to the Royal Sector, and maybe I still should be, but . . . Wes. Oh, Wes. His hands were so warm and his voice was so lovely and deep and his mouth was just . . . I sigh. All my talk of revolution and riding at the front, and now I just want to spin in circles while I mix my medicines.
But we’re still taking action. We’re not backing down from that horrible king and his awful, cruel brother. We’re saving the people who need saving.
Fight back, one of the prisoners said.
We are. I’m not strong enough to rush a stage or attack the king or take down a patrolman in the woods, but I know how to save lives. Wes said that all we do is hide, and he’s right, but what we do while we’re hiding is what matters. What we do together is what matters.
Together. I press a hand to my chest to keep my heart from fluttering.
The kettle begins to whistle, and I take it off the fire just in time, pouring it carefully into the vials I’ve lined up.
In the distance, the alarm rings out in the Royal Sector, and I freeze in place. I set the kettle down and move to the window of our workshop. I can see the lights from here when they burst over the edge of the wall.
It’s fine. He’s fine. He really is faster than I am, no matter how much I don’t want to admit it. They’re looking for smugglers everywhere, so anyone could have tripped the alarm. He was fine the other day, so he’s surely fine tonight.
I swipe suddenly damp hands against my homespun skirts and go back to the table. When I pick up the kettle, the lid rattles, and I realize I’m shaking.
I take a long breath and steady myself. He’ll be back any minute, his usual cocky grin on his face. He’ll poke me in the side and roll his eyes and tell me to hurry so we can grind more powder from the petals he’s stolen. We’ll spare a moment to think of whatever poor soul was caught, and we’ll thank our lucky stars that we have another night together, helping people.
Together. My heart flutters again. This time, however, dread crowds its way into my chest. How long has it been? An hour? Or not quite? The alarms continue to blare in the Royal Sector, the lights spinning as they seek their prey.
Wes. Oh, Wes.
The elixirs have blended. I carefully pour the liquid into the vials and stopper them closed. The alarms fall silent.
I can hear my heart racing. I move to the door, my ears straining against the cool, early morning silence. Wes never makes a sound, so I expect him to jump out from behind a tree, or leap off the roof, or something equally foolish that will make me startle and then laugh and then punch him in the gut.
He doesn’t.
My stomach is a pit of fear now. I can’t draw a deep breath. I grip tightly to the doorframe until my fingers hurt.
Between the trees, the first hint of sunlight breaks the horizon. My throat closes up. I can’t breathe at all.
It’s been more than an hour. A lot more.
My fingers feel numb, and I can’t tell if it’s from the doorframe or the gasping breaths that are fighting their way into my lungs. I dive back into the workshop. I need to go after him. I need to find him. They take them to the prison first. To the Hold. I can get him out. I can—I need—I want—I need—
Light catches my eyes through the window, and a cry breaks free of my chest. Sunrise is happening, a new day beginning, heedless of my panic. My hand is already wrapped up in the rope of my treble hook, my pack falling over my shoulder.
Mind your mettle, Tessa.
