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“Lore, let me in. I brought dinner, I know you didn’t eat.” He paused. “Please.”
At least he still said please. Bastian had never been a man to beg, never one to let himself be the least powerful in any situation. But to her, he said please.
Another sigh. “Do you really think the silent treatment is a good idea?”
“It seems to be working just fine,” Lore muttered.
“Well, now you’ve gone and fucked it by not remaining silent.”
She resumed her silence, pointedly.
“I just want to know why you’re upset.”
“The act of war, maybe?”
“I thought you agreed with me.”
“I agreed that we had to make the best of it now that the Kirytheans are here,” Lore snapped. “But no, I do not agree that an act of war was the best course to take right now, and I certainly do not agree that you should have done it without talking to me.”
To the council, she meant. To all of them, not just her. But she didn’t correct herself.
“You’ve done quite a lot of that recently,” she murmured, almost too quiet to be heard through the door. “Making decisions that involve us without letting us know.”
That time, she just meant her.
Bastian was silent for a moment. “It was an act to avoid an act of war, actually,” he finally said. “Not an act of peace, but an act of decidedly not-war.”
Lore sighed. He’d conveniently sidestepped the issue of unilateral decision making, and she could press the issue, but it was so late and the day had already been so hard. “A stupid one.”
“Wouldn’t it feel better to say that to my face?”
She was hungry. “Bleeding God,” Lore muttered, and moved out of the way.
Bastian pushed the door open, framed in shadows. He didn’t look good. His shirt was wrinkled, and dark circles stood out under his eyes. She’d slept in the time between the end of the impromptu council meeting and now—slept deep enough to dream—but it didn’t look like he had. Though she supposed no one looked their best in the middle of the night. He held a tray in his hands, bread and soup. When she didn’t reach for it, he put it on the ground next to her.
“Eat,” he said, nodding toward the tray.
“Did you?”
“Not important.”
“Like hell.” She ripped the bread in half, held out part of it.
Bastian looked down at her, face unreadable. Then, moving slow so she could push him away if she wanted, he took the bread and sat beside her, sliding down the wall.
Lore scooted over a bit more, making room. After a moment, she reached out and grabbed the soup, dunked in her bread. She chewed while she pointedly held the bowl toward Bastian so he could do the same. They ate in silence, and when both bread and soup were gone, she picked up the mug of tea on the tray, wafting the scent of chamomile, and took a sip.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he murmured.
“Weak,” Lore replied, lips moving against the mug.
“The tea, or my apology?”
“Both.”
“I know.” He sighed, tipped his head back against the wall. One knee was pulled up, his elbow resting on it; the other stretched out long. “I had to,” he continued, launching into an obviously rehearsed explanation. “Kirythea was clearly planning an invasion already, and once they heard that August was dead, you know they would have taken advantage of the unrest. We have to show them a united front.”
“But did you have to show them us?” It was a stupid question; she felt small for asking it. Of course they needed to show Kirythea their power. Still, she hated that this one miraculous thing that was wholly their own had become a spectacle. “They didn’t have to watch. Not for our first time.”
