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At last, he caved and said, “I’m sure I can imagine.”
He said nothing more to me as we continued down the hallway. A month, which felt like an infinite loop of time in the hacienda, had taught me more or less where everything was.
We passed familiar rooms which I was in the habit of naming in my mind, and then finally arrived at the stone stairwell which led up to Antonio’s office.
My stomach tightened considerably as I took the steps one at a time.
Inhala.
Exhala.
Antonio had met with me daily, and we still dined together, but any leeway he had made to be welcoming to me had been dashed to a thousand pieces after the last time we’d gone to training center and he’d caught me talking to Isaac.
Right after it happened, some twisted part of me liked the blossoming idea of him being jealous of my attention, but now I realized what a foolish idea that had been.
Everything about Antonio Castillas showed me he was tired of me. From how he breathed, to his posture when he stood next to me and the way he griped about my form when practicing.
Strength wasn’t something I lacked, and I could make it up the wall with little to no problem. I was fast, and my reflexes were solid, but I still refused to practice hand to hand combat.
When we reached the familiar solid oak door of Antonio’s office, my heart fluttered, setting a thousand butterflies loose in my stomach.
Chapter31
Since When Were You Ever Afraid of Telling Me Exactly What You Thought?
The servant knocked twice and then cracked the door open wide enough for him to pop his head in.
“¿Señor? Señorita Renata está aquí,” he said in a placating tone.
Why was he talking like that? Was something wrong with Antonio?
“Adelante,” Antonio called. He didn’t sound angry, but he was very good at putting up smokescreens. I quickly hurried inside.
The slightly stale, earthy scent of old books accompanied by smoke from the fireplace and the sandalwood, spicy smell of Antonio washed over me.
Antonio.
The word had crept in slowly over the course of a dozen conversations resulting in the humanization of him, a closeness I couldn’t seem to reject. I was forever stuck in the awkward limbo of what to call him. Lately, I tried my very hardest not to assign him any name or title unless absolutely necessary.
As soon as I stepped through the door, I paused.
Antonio was wearing a bright blue shirt with white cuffs and smart grey slacks. It was hard not to notice how the bright colors complemented his complexion, no longer washing away the finer points of his features. My heart quickened. Señor Castillas was a man of principle—he’d even brought the bleak black outfit with him when we’d gone camping.
What changed?
“Toma asiento,” he said quickly, gesturing to the leather chair on the opposite side of the desk. It was more comfortable than the table we used for meetings, I had to admit.
No sooner had I sat down than he pulled out a manilla folder from his desk, opened it, and set it down between us.
“This is a list of potential candidates for your Key Bearer. You have a week and a half to decide,” he said. He didn’t so much as look up at me.
I reached for the papers and dragged them up. Each person was neatly listed on one sheet. There was a headshot, followed by their name, a small family tree detailing the potency of their Blood Magic, which would determine their social class within the Élites.
It was funny that the highest class would still seek to separate and classify each other within their own ranks.
My mind flicked back to Bendiciones, and I thought of the letter I had sent Antonio asking him to make me a Key Bearer. As far as I knew, a Key Bearer didn’t need magic.
A familiar face flashed in my mind, followed by a seemingly impossible idea. I cleared my throat as I skimmed the names of strong, fine young people from perfectly respectable families.
