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“Not with him,” I said breathlessly. The tension inside me was building, and so was the soreness and ache in my back. “I won’t be with anyone in particular. Just whoever is around to spar. Mostly…I’ll just be…practicing….” My breath hitched. “Training…studying…. I…I have to…prepare.”
“I’ll help you,” he said.
“No,” I said. “I…I can’t focus when I’m with you. This is serious.” I gasped. The tension was building and building—until that's all it was. Tension. Tension strung too tight to be released.
What had felt good seconds ago now left me numb in the part of me I’d wanted to ache and aching in the part of my body I’d wished desperately was numb. I wanted to go to bed. I wanted to crawl under the covers.
I imagined rough, calloused hands on me. Rhyan calling my name. Rhyan’s lips on mine.
I dug my fingers into Tristan’s arm, my nails piercing him as I moaned and threw my head back. He watched me carefully, his movements slowing as I brought my breath back to normal, praying he hadn’t noticed it had been an act.
He watched me carefully like he didn’t fully believe I’d come. But then he offered a slight shake of his head, like he was going to let it go as he slid his hand out of my pants. I reached for his, running my palm against his length. He was only semi-erect. “Do you want me to take care of you?” I asked.
“You look like you’re in pain.”
“My back,” I conceded guiltily, biting my lip. “It’s sore. But this,” I gestured between us, “it took my mind off it. For a little.”
He gave me a small smile. “I’m glad,” he said. The smile was tight on his lips—not reaching his eyes. “Can you handle sleeping on your stomach tonight?”
“You’re not staying?” I asked.
“I think you’ll get more rest without me.”
A panicky feeling fluttered in my chest as my body went cold. I was fine spending a night without Tristan, but I didn’t like his tone or the fact that he was the one suggesting it. He was still upset about what had happened with Rhyan, and despite everything that just happened between us, nothing felt like it was fixed.
“Are we all right?” I asked.
Tristan nodded. “Of course.”
But my stomach dropped, my insides twisting. We both knew it was a lie.
He stood up and gently kissed me on the lips. “Saturday night, Ka Grey is dining at Cresthaven. I’ll be there.”
I tried not to read too much meaning into his words. But Saturday was three days from now, which meant he didn’t plan on seeing me for three days. He’d never gone three days without seeing me—except for during my time in the Shadow Stronghold.
“I’ll miss you,” I said, not even trying to hide the desperation and fear in my voice.
“Good night, Lyr.”
I shoved off my clothes after he left and after double-checking everything was locked. I listened for the unmistakable hum of the magical wards meant to offer additional protection around my apartment.
After managing to slide a nightshift over my head, I went to close my opened bedroom window.
Steel reflecting torchlight caught my eye on the waterway below. A lone soturion stood guard on the glass, the water rushing beneath his feet. Rhyan was keeping watch outside my apartment building, staring up into my window. His black armor was dark in the shadows, and the stars of the Valalumirs on his leather belt glittered in the firelight. He was so far below, I shouldn’t have been able to tell it was him in the black of the night, but I knew. Despite being at such a distance, our eyes met, and I could have sworn I saw the sharpest movement of his head turned up to me. And just as quickly as I’d found him, he was gone, vanishing into the shadows, leaving nothing behind but the reflection of fire dancing on the waterways in the dark.
CHAPTER SIX
Therestoftheweek passed in a blur. And despite Rhyan having promised he would continue talking to me, that he couldn’t not talk to me, he was in fact back to being cold Rhyan. He still motioned me over to set my dagger down beside his in the mornings before our runs. He was still a meticulous teacher during our training sessions. But I could see the change in him, in his demeanor. I could feel it, too. Our entire relationship had changed overnight. Again.
He refused to engage in small talk or to even look at me beyond making sure I was using proper fighting form. He spotted me when I needed his assistance in a certain position. He kept his eyes focused on my fists when we sparred, on my legs when I kicked, and on anything he else could to avoid looking me in the eyes. If he needed to touch me to make an adjustment or to deepen a stretch, it was clinical and cold.
When I tried to talk to him about it, he changed the subject with his jaw tensed or lips pursed together. If I tried to get him to admit he wasn’t speaking to me, his eyes darkened, and he went into excruciating detail about whatever stretch or move we were practicing, talking at such length I could no longer focus on what he was saying.
By the end of the week, I was miserable. I’d never felt more distant from him or Tristan. I’d never felt more alone. I hadn’t seen my sisters since the night after my lashing—the night after Meera’s latest vision.
When Saturday morning rolled around, I woke early to prepare to meet Rhyan for our first private training session. But a note had been slipped under my door.
I unrolled the scroll, still scrubbing the sleep from my eyes with my hair tangled down my back in the braids I’d slept in.
