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Ian.
The brother who’d Ascended.
The one who was in the capital, where mine was being held.
I cooled. “I had a brother.”
I looked away. Sometimes, it felt like that. Had. In the past tense. Other times, it felt like I would be too late. That he would be lost to me before I could free him, and his death and all his pain…
It was my fault.
Anguish built in my chest, and no matter how many breaths I took, the pain settled there with the weight of a hundred boulders. Malik should never have—
The feeling of her hand settling over mine shocked me. I started to look at her, but she squeezed my fingers, and…gods, that simple gesture of comfort meant a lot. The pressure in my chest eased, the anguish retreating.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I took a breath to speak, but it was looser and deeper than any I had taken in weeks—maybe months or even years. I blinked, barely aware of the fact that she was no longer touching me.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
My brows knitted as I pressed my hand to my chest. Was I? I felt okay. Good, even. Lighter.
Like I had tasted peace.
WHO I WAS BECOMING
Something beckoned me, slowly coaxing me from the calm chasm of sleep into consciousness.
I’d gone to bed early, at least for me. I hadn’t cracked open the old book I’d picked up from the chamber Penellaphe took her lessons in. Pure curiosity had led me to grab the book, a much thinner version of Solis’s history than what she was forced to read, but no less insane. I hadn’t found myself staring at the thin cracks in the ceiling of my quarters that were even sparser than Penellaphe’s. Memories of the past weren’t dredged up in the long, dark hours of the night. Instead, I felt…I wasn’t sure. Lighter? Unencumbered? Eased?
At peace?
Either way, the moment my head hit the pillow, I fell asleep and stayed that way, and that hadn’t happened in decades. I had no idea why, but I knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.
That thing came again. A soft touch on my hand, then my arm. A graze of fingers against my skin. Then the craziest thing happened. I thought of her. Penellaphe. The tentative way she had touched me at the Red Pearl. The way her body had eagerly responded and the brief feel of her hand wrapped around mine. Half-asleep, my mind conjured images of her fingers curling around a far more interesting part of me. My dick reacted to the heated thoughts, hardening as pulses of lust throbbed through me. I groaned.
Gods, I wanted—
“Hawke.”
The voice. That touch. It didn’t come from my dreams, and it wasn’t hers.
Inhaling deeply, I caught the scent of tart lemon as I pried my eyes open. Dust danced in the slice of sunlight cutting between the gap in the drapes over the single window. The brightness told me it was well past the time I usually woke as I turned my head to the right.
Britta sat perched on the edge of my bed, her tight, blond curls bare. My gaze shifted to my arm, where her hand rested.
“What are you doing in here?” I asked, voice rough with sleep.
The centers of her cheeks pinkened. “I’m here to clean your chambers. Normally, you’re gone by now,” she explained. And I would be training at this hour most days.
“I knocked like I usually do, but…” She trailed off, her blue gaze leaving mine, lowering to my bare chest and past it where the sheet tangled at my waist, where I knew damn well my arousal was evident against the thin cover. “But there was no answer.”
Her voice had thickened, as did an earthy scent that beat back the lemony smell. “I tried waking you upon entering. I called your name several times. You sleep deeper than I imagined.”
I normally didn’t.
“But I suppose it’s my lucky day,” she added, her breath quickening as she continued staring at the thick ridge beneath the sheet. “You’re quite the fetching surprise to find in the morning.” Her fingertips trailed over my arm. “A very nice, unexpected one.”
I said nothing as I watched her draw her lip between her teeth. She leaned in, skating her hand off my arm to my stomach. The pads of her fingers were a little rough from cleaning as they traced the dips and swells of my lower abdomen. She was saying something about my sleep or my body, but I wasn’t listening as I stared at her hand and racked my memories for any detail regarding my previous time spent with her. There had been a lot of whiskey. I had the distinct impression that the fucking had been fast and hard, something we’d both enjoyed. She’d come. Loudly. So had I. Quietly. That was about it.
