Chapter 12 #3
Gray nearly chokes at the shift in questioning. The skin at his neck turns scorching, and he stiffens. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Draven shrugs lazily, his expression entirely too indifferent for the sort of conversation they are approaching.
“Look,” he begins, his voice now carrying a hint of amusement.
“Let me save us both some time by reminding you I am the son of Tynan Dalmar, as unfortunate as that is. I was bred to identify the things in a person they’d most like to hide.
I know what I saw. I know what it means.
But what I don’t know is what you’re doing about it? ”
Gray’s brows pinch together as he folds his arms over his chest. “And I don’t know why the Dalmar Heir is suddenly so interested in the status of my love life.”
Draven grunts a laugh, the corner of his lip hooked up. “You two are the most important people in Lyra’s life.”
Gray waits, expecting him to elaborate.
He doesn’t.
Gray heaves a sigh, rolling his eyes up to the glass ceiling. This is certainly not a conversation he was expecting to have tonight. Especially not with Draven Dalmar.
Still, it has been weighing on Gray’s chest for so long, he can hardly remember what life was like before the weight started pressing against him.
Ever since the night he wandered into the room Lyra and Marcella shared, waiting to make sure Lyra was okay after Klytis found him to relay the news about Delroy.
Ever since they stayed up all night talking.
Since their skin accidentally brushed against each other and Gray felt like his heart was jolted by an electric shock.
Ever since she looked at him that way, if only for a moment…
Truthfully, his head has been a mess of confusion, and with Lyra gone, he has had no one to unravel the messiness with. So, maybe that’s why he actually feels enticed to take Draven up on his offer to talk about Marcella. Why he speaks so openly to him, a near stranger for all intents and purposes.
Gray sucks in a breath and nods in the direction of the wine jug. “May I?”
Draven’s knowing smirk is his only answer, extending out the wine jug for him to take.
Gray brings the tip of it to his lips and gulps, hoping to catch a quick buzz for this.
Luckily for him, once he finishes drinking and hands the jug back to Draven, the taste of luxury on his tongue tells him the wine is indeed far from commoner’s wine, and a euphoric warmth coats him in a blanket within a blink.
“I’ve grown to care for Marcella.” His words come out slow and tentative.
“She is….well, she is a force of nature. Is sharp-witted and brave. And though she wouldn’t want people knowing it, she is soft and caring.
Not to mention, she loves magic like I do.
Not invested in it for power, but fascinated by the knowledge surrounding it.
And gods she is beautiful. When she looks at me, I—”
At Draven’s raised eyebrows and smug I told you so smile, Gray cuts himself off, scrubbing at his face and groaning.
“Please,” Draven drawls wryly, “don’t stop on my account.”
“I’m not going to keep talking if you insist on looking at me like that.”
Draven exposes his palms to him in surrender; Gray fights against the growl growing in his chest.
“Anyway,” Gray continues. “I can admit I feel those things, but none of it matters.”
Draven frowns. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not going to act on them while Lyra is gods-only-know where, kidnapped and forced to do gods-only-know what.
” Gray pauses, clenching his jaw. “Look, I’m not going to argue what I say next is logical or rational; I’m just simply going to tell you it’s how I feel, and there is no changing it. ”
Draven offers a silent nod to acknowledge the words.
“To pursue the only female friend Lyra has ever had while she’s being held captive somewhere feels like the most selfish decision I could ever make.
She may be fighting for her life every second of every day where she is, and I would be the world’s most selfish asshole if all I did during that time was pine for her best friend.
” He attempts to quell the emotion bubbling in his chest. “And Marcella is hurting, grieving the loss of Griff. She needs someone right now, and for whatever reason, she has allowed me to be the one she leans on. I could never betray that sort of trust.” Gray reaches for the wine from Draven, taking another pull and staring at the ground for a long moment after.
“To act on my feelings would be like I’m dismissing every terrible thing that has happened, and I won’t do that.
So, every day when I wake up and see Marcella, I swallow the rise of feelings in my chest, and I simply show up for her as I hope a friend would show up for me. ”
Draven’s eyes darken, and he drops his voice, swallowing thickly against whatever emotion has risen in his throat.
“Convenient timing is a myth. There will always be reasons to not do something; your time would be better spent focusing on the reasons you should. You never know what you might miss out on by stunting your life.”
“But that’s the thing,” Gray counters. “I’m not stunting my life on account of timing; I am merely respecting the relationship my life has to theirs.
” He pauses, opening his hands to expose his palms to himself.
“Besides, I don’t think Marcella feels as I do anyways, so none of this really matters. ”
Gray continues staring at his palms while Draven lets the silence stretch between them, seeming to chew on his next words.
“Well,” he finally says, “you can find out whether or not she does when Lyra returns. I find myself able to search for her more freely now with Rhea here, and I am going to bring her home, Nightenjoy. I swear it.”
Gray’s heart slams against his chest as his dizzying mind turns everything over.
He realizes then he has been a fool for not telling Draven about what he and Marcella had done that blood-stained day, mere moments before Casimir Vivaldri strode off with Lyra.
About the tiniest seed of hope they were able to plant, offering a sliver of a chance at finding her.
He hadn’t told anyone in fear of there being a secret mole amongst them.
Given everything that happened during the Abdite attack, Gray is certain there is someone feeding insider information to somebody.
And seeing Gray hasn’t the slightest clue who it is or who it could be, he hasn’t known who he can trust. But if this conversation has shown anything to Gray, it’s that he can be certain he can trust Draven.
At least when it comes to Lyra and her safety.
“There is something I need to share with you,” Gray says, finally tearing his eyes away from his hands and locking them onto Draven. “About Lyra. About what Marcella and I managed to accomplish just before she was taken.”
Draven’s gaze shifts into something lethal, and Gray realizes he is now looking at the version of the Dalmar Heir people know him to be. Ruthless. Sharp. Intense. “Tell me.”
Gray does. He tells him everything. As he finishes explaining the smallest glimmer of opportunity they were able to create for themselves—Draven’s features zipping through a spectrum of emotions—Gray realizes they are both left with the bittersweet caress of hope as it sinks its teeth into their skin.
It wraps around the two of them, humming promises that may never come to be in pretty melodies.
Gray looks at Draven, and he knows with utter certainty they are thinking the same thought—
If Lyra is able to realize what was done, it could change everything.