Chapter 21 #3
“Talderine,” Kiran supplies. “We were discussing the upcoming Winter Solstice ball. For whatever reason, it’s supposed to be quite the spectacle this year.”
Rhea wrinkles her nose, and for a second, Marcella swears she looks like she is going to spit on the ground at the mention.
“I’ll take it you’re not a fan?” Marcella asks, a small arch notched in her brow.
“Talderine and everyone within its pompous walls can burn in the realms of hell for all I care.” Rhea doesn’t even look at her when she says it, instead inspecting her black-painted nails. “In fact, Kiran? Care to torch any cities soon?”
“Not particularly,” he hums, sitting down on the far end of the long wooden chaise boasting worn beige cushions. He folds one leg over the other, props an elbow up on the circular arm, then rests his cheek lazily against his fist.
Marcella turns her attention back to Rhea, regarding her.
Gray had filled Marcella in on Rhea and Draven’s background when Marcella was ready to put laxatives in both their food—a method she thought Lyra would appreciate—after watching her and Draven embrace each other like their lives depended on it in front of the entire academy.
Though, looking back on it now, even Marcella had to concede perhaps using the mildly toxic plants she had grown with her flora magic mixed in with a concoction which supposedly made hair fall out was a bit much.
Still, Rhea is different than Marcella imagined.
Rough around the edges and jagged as a saw blade, sure, but that’s not what’s caught her most off guard.
It’s the glimmers of hatred Marcella catches her randomly showing.
A raw, festering vendetta against the world.
Yet in spite of that, today, she’s also caught glimpses of her softness.
Even now, Rhea’s stony expression crumbles into something tender and loving as she gazes at Kiran, a small curve tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Truthfully, Marcella hasn’t fully decided what she thinks of the Nullifier. She doesn’t dislike her by any means—in fact, she finds the girl rather badass and admirable. It’s more that she isn’t entirely sure what to make of her—if she can trust her.
Nuri, Klytis, and Gray come strolling in, Klytis clapping Gray on the shoulder and beaming.
“They can’t stop talking about you! Do you hear them outside?
” He swoons his voice to mimic that of the crowd who gathered in front of the inn once their group’s whereabouts had been leaked.
“Lion! Lion!” Klytis snorts, tapping his fingers against Gray.
“Wait until your father hears of this. He’s going to smile from ear to bloody ear. ”
Rhea lifts a dark brow. “Why lion?”
Klytis looks positively jovial. “Lion of the Heart. That’s what they’re calling him.”
“That’s dumb,” she deadpans, returning her attention to her nail beds.
Klytis’s mouth pops open right as Nuri sits down on the floor next to Marcella, who barks a laugh at Rhea’s quip. One glance at Kiran reveals he is laughing quietly at the comment as well, though his eyes remain glued to the roaring hearth.
Gray sits down next to Kiran, chuckling lightly, and Klytis sits next to him.
Look at that, the team’s all here.
Well, not everyone…
Marcella’s smile dies, fading as quickly as a shooting star breaking across a horizon. As if noticing her shift in demeanor, Gray sobers from his bout of laughter, tilting his head almost imperceptibly as he studies her.
Marcella can’t meet his questioning gaze.
Not after what she realized. Not after feeling the things she did while thinking he had sunk alongside that ship.
Heat stings her cheeks, and she cups her chin in her palm—splaying her fingers across her skin—as she attempts to look bored and hide the forming red mess.
She realizes she’s missed some of the passing conversation, caught in a web of her own thoughts.
By the time she’s tuned back in, it seems they are teasing Klytis for something.
“What would you have had me do?” Klytis protests, his tone lighthearted. “Let stray blasts of magic pelt you guys in the face?”
Nuri giggles, shaking her head. Her knees are tucked into her chest, revealing the golden sun stitched into the hem of her tapered pants.
“Of course not,” she assures him through her soft laughter.
“But your motives do not change the fact that Rhea is correct—we are forced to stay in this inn tonight because you drained too much of your magical resources by doing so.”
Klytis slouches, seeming to nearly fold his arms over his chest but thinking better of it, probably wanting to avoid looking like a pouting child. “A simple thank you would have sufficed,” he grumbles.
Nuri chuckles while Rhea snorts a laugh.
Kiran, finally dragging his gaze back from the fire, scans the scene, as if missing everything that’s just transpired.
He shakes his head quickly, then lifts his chin before slapping a smile on his face.
“Soo,” he drawls, a wry and entirely implicating vibrato to the word. “What are the room assignments?”
Rhea cuts him a look. “As Captain over this mission, isn’t that for you to decide?”
His smile widens. “I suppose it is, isn’t it? How many rooms did my coin secure us?”
“Three,” she answers.
“Two beds each?”
“One.”
He huffs a laugh. “Fantastic.”
Marcella groans, sprawling out in her chair and draping an arm over her eyes.
Kiran spares a taunting, helpless glance at her. “What do you want from me?” he pleads, his tone entirely unserious. “I didn’t anticipate staying in Ninmere overnight, and Nightenjoy over there gave all his handy coin to the family whose ship burnt to bits.”
Despite herself, Marcella removes her arm from her face and spares a glance at Gray.
He looks sheepish at the mention of what he’s done, dropping his eyes to his palms. Once he finally looks up, he meets her probing gaze.
Marcella feels a sharp jolt lance down her spine at the eye contact.
She straightens at the sensation, hiding her sudden movement with a cough.
A mistake, given she also draws the eyes of Kiran, Nuri, Rhea, and Klytis as a result.
From her peripheral, Marcella catches Rhea studying her a moment longer than everyone else, pulling her gaze away slowly. “Yeah, well,” she says, eyes redirecting toward Kiran. “Your lack of planning resulted in an unwanted sleepover. His” —she jerks her chin toward Gray— “resulted in a fan club.”
Everyone laughs, and any remaining tension melts away.
Before, there was a noticeable lack of cohesion with their group.
Not that people were stand-offish or acted poorly toward one another.
Just hesitant and even a bit guarded, perhaps.
Given the nature of everyone’s familiar yet divided relationships, their group was made of functioning parts which had yet to come together to make a formidable whole.
But this laughter? Marcella can feel the shift—feel the bond forming between them all, earned and entirely their own. Plus, she must admit—despite the day they’ve had, this is the best she’s felt since Griff’s passing and Lyra’s capture.
Marcella just hopes this mission was worth whatever information Kiran seeks. She hopes it matters. That maybe even whatever Kiran is able to glean tonight from the criminal band’s leader might just lead them back to Lyra. Toward something productive. Something good.
Klytis stretches his hands over his head and yawns. “So about those room assignments.”
Marcella trudges awkwardly from the bathing chamber, wet hair already braided back and her dirty clothes clinging uncomfortably to her now clean body—as begrudging as that is.
Gray halts mid-movement, the thin quilt pulled half back, revealing bland, beige-colored sheets. He wrinkles his nose at her. “Why in god’s veins did you put your dirty clothes back on?”
She gapes at him, thinking he surely has to be joking.
He isn’t.
“Forgive me for forgetting to pack my best tunic and trousers for this glorious overnight outing I had no idea I’d be taking part in.”
He frowns. “You didn’t think to pack extra clothes just in case?”
“You did?”
For some reason she doesn’t understand, the question seems to almost make him sad.
Wistful, even. Though it’s a fleeting thing, and a soft chuckle soon falls from his lips.
Gray drops the quilt and pads to the other side of the modestly sized room, to where the one nondescript chair is tucked neatly into a small writing desk.
Gray unlatches his satchel and rummages inside.
Then, he pulls something out and strides back over to her.
“Here,” he says, holding out what Marcella soon realizes to be a man’s tunic.
“You don’t need it?”
He shakes his head, his expression seeming torn between something like a smile and a frown. “I brought an extra.”
She eyes him pointedly. “So you didn’t just pack spare clothes; you packed spares for your spare as well?”
He huffs a soft laugh. “It’s a habit of mine.”
“Randomly packing extra shirts is a…habit of yours?”
“Yes. Now do you want the tunic or not?”
Marcella feels a slight flush in her cheeks. She flicks her gaze down to the clean fabric gripped between his fingers, stretched like some offering between them. It looks soft and clean and comfortable and like something she could drown in.
She sighs, conceding. “Yes, please.” He hands the large shirt over with humor now glinting in his gaze.
Marcella narrows her eyes on him before turning away to strip her sweat-stained clothes off and drape Gray’s amber-scented shirt over her body instead.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks before changing, her tone at once accusatory and dryly bemused.
“You said please,” he answers, his smile annoyingly genuine and heart-stirring.
She scoffs at that. “I am well-mannered, you know.”
“Are you?”
“Yes,” she hisses.