Chapter 21
21
Night finds me reading in my dorm, unsurprisingly.
Erik is in the common room working out. Or I hope he’s working out—otherwise the amount of grunting coming under my door is worrying. I would go out and watch except I have given my roommate the cold shoulder since he returned to our suite after sitting with Scott for dinner.
Curled on my comforter, I feel like I did in my childhood room in Oklahoma when I first fell in love with reading and fantasy. When even a dismal day could end with something wonderful, as long as I could escape into another world for an hour or two or five.
It’s comforting. I may not have the constant of a boyfriend in my life, but I’ll always have my relationship with books. I’ve relocated the common room candle onto my nightstand, and the wax warms the space with its reading-appropriate, smoky, sweet scent. It’s what passes for perfect right now.
When a knock sounds on our door, I don’t get up or close the cover. “If that’s your alliance member ,” I call coldly into the common room, “can you please get it? I’ve had quite enough of Scott.”
It’s a lie. If anything, haven’t read one paragraph without remembering Scott’s lean—how his proximity and the wounding memories of him worked on me today.
And if I can’t find distraction in The Shattered Court , I can’t find it anywhere. It’s utterly unnerving.
The fact is, Scott has weakened me. Even now, this moment, part of me considers asking if he meant what he said—our friendship could have been interesting. I’m forcing myself to stay strong.
Although…maybe he’s right. I do need to stop romanticizing people. People like my work rival, who already rejected me once and proceeded to pain my workdays with his vexing focus and occasional, irritatingly good ideas. Am I just helplessly drawn to his new Val talents? Valents . What is wrong with me that I’m even considering hooking up with him?
I hear Erik get up from whatever he was doing on the floor. His heavy footfalls thud through the wall. Then the door opens.
“It is not Scotty,” Erik announces.
I grimace. “Oh my god, do not call him ‘Scotty.’?” I close the book cover with less reluctance now and head into the common room. Erik, in gym clothes, holds open the door while Laurel and Brit stand in the doorway.
“Erik. Hello,” Brit says with frosty formality. Despite her hoarseness, probably earned coaching Stephanie through another sleepless night, her hair and makeup are characteristically perfect. She really would make a good lady of Elytheum. Laurel skulks, eyeing my roommate with suspicion. If she had an Assassins’ Convent dagger, I expect she would spin the point on her fingertip or something else intimidating.
Dagger or no dagger, the message isn’t lost on Erik, who wilts.
He rounds on me plaintively. “Jen, don’t bad-mouth me to people. I’m nice, I promise!”
He flashes our guests a grin. It doesn’t work. Because he’s right. He has identified literally exactly what I was doing over dinner. While we shared the evening’s stew, I informed my real Elytheum friends of Scott’s usurpation and Erik’s betrayal. Okay, was the high-stakes discussion of changing alliances under the grand ceiling of the Great Hall a little fun? Yes. Was the fun overshadowed, given the unfortunate context of my Val dinner being in jeopardy? It most certainly was.
I cross my arms, resolute against his friendliness. “Scott and I,” I remind Erik firmly, “are on opposite sides.”
My friends nod emphatically. Erik, newcomer to the Experience, does not understand the importance of his decisions. In allying with Scott, Erik has allied against each of us. Laurel and Brit have come by their rejection of my roommate honestly .
Unfortunately, Erik is not discouraged. He mopes theatrically. “Opposite sides of what, though?” he presses.
“Everything!” I declare, hoping to match my friends for ominousness.
Now Erik’s expression shifts, and I’m the one left with foreboding. He fixes me with a sly stare.
“I don’t think that’s true,” he says. “I saw the look you and Scotty shared.”
I feel my face redden. Once a betrayer, always a betrayer, I guess! No redemption arc for Erik.
Brit’s sternness falters. She stares at me, openly intrigued.
Laurel perks right up. “What look?” she asks.
What the hell! I want to protest. I feel like I’m in True Blood from how everyone is Team Erik now.
My roommate, for his part, has noticed his opportunity to be accepted. “Scott was practicing some moves on Jennifer,” he says slowly, with delighted hush-hush, “and there were some definite sparks.”
When Brit gasps, I recognize my defeat. “I knew it!” she exclaims.
Erik shrugs, visibly proud to have delivered the good news. He opens the door wider. “Do you two want to come in?” he offers, like they’re here for him.
“Oh, were you planning on hanging out with us?” I ask him sarcastically.
The rhetorical question glances off Erik like archers’ arrows deflected off powerful shield magic. It’s no less discouraging. “I mean, it is my suite, too,” he points out coolly.
I frown. Okay, he’s right. I’ve got nothing.
Nevertheless, Erik sighs in what sounds like genuine remorse. “Please don’t be mad at me, Jen,” he implores with anguish in his eyes. “I forgive you for not showing me your clue. I hate it when people are mad at me. It throws off my game completely. I’m going to be so focused on winning your friendship that I’ll blow my chance to impress Heather.”
Laurel’s eyes widen. Brit starts to smile.
I let out my breath. Yes, Erik did renege on our pact, but I did withhold information from him. He wears his heart so visibly on his sleeve—it makes him impossible to stay mad at.
“Fine,” I say on a long exhale. “I’m not mad at you. Just don’t ever invite Scott into our suite,” I warn him.
Erik crosses his heart, looking moved and relieved. “I swear it on my honor, I shall not,” he pronounces. Then his solemnity changes to a smirk. “You’ll be the one to invite him in first,” he promises.
I roll my eyes, retreating farther into the common room to escape the ridiculousness of that prediction…even if I’m guilty of considering it just minutes ago. Laurel and Brit follow me in while Erik closes the door. “What’s up?” I ask my friends.
Evidently recalling why she’s here, Brit bounces on her heels in excitement. “You’re about to receive an invitation,” she explains urgently. “We got ours ten minutes ago. Except, Laurel didn’t. She wasn’t in our room. She missed it, so we need to be here for yours.”
Erik eyes them with amused interest as he stretches on the floor. He doesn’t look too sweaty from his workout. Maybe I can use my forgiveness to ply him into showering at the expense of his wolf tattoo…
“What are you even talking about?” I ask Brit.
She opens her mouth to explain when footsteps sound on the stairs. She squeals instead. “It’s happening!”
She hurries back to the door. When she flings it wide, I’m treated to the sight of the door across the hall opening.
Scott sticks his head out. Admittedly, I do not fault him with the noise my friends are making. “What’s going on?” he asks warily.
Erik interjects, positioning himself in the doorway. “Scott, I’m sorry,” he announces seriously. “I have sworn an oath not to admit you to our suite.”
Scott’s eyes shift to me, then return to Erik in dispassionate incomprehension. “That’s fine. I’m okay right here,” he replies.
I glare. Feeling my wrathful look, Scott finds my eyes. He glares. Our glare-off reminds me of plenty of scenes I’ve read in my enemies-to-lovers favorites, where heated glances hide passion behind facades of resentment. I have to say, it’s the only experience I’ve found more fun to read than to live.
Into our midst steps the Queen herself. Kethryn, in her elegant, gem-encrusted gown from dinner, enters the hallway from the stairwell.
Everyone looks her way immediately, including others on our floor, who have emerged from their rooms due to our commotion. Kethryn looks unsurprised to have wordlessly captured our focus. Even fantasy queens have the effect of real royalty.
“Good. You’re all here,” Kethryn pronounces imperturbably, showing no surprise at our impromptu hallway congregation. “We’ve come to deliver your formal invitation to a special supper tomorrow night, which shall include dance lessons.”
Val has entered next to her, like he was following her. “My queen,” he chides fondly in his velvet voice. “You insult our guests in your assumption—”
His drawl dies when his eyes fix behind me.
Expression contorting, riven with surprise, he stares straight forward. While I know Fred is skilled, it’s hard to imagine his stunned displeasure is performed.
Even harder when he speaks.
“ Erik? ” he gasps. “What the hell are you doing here?”