Chapter 50 #2
He had a lot of explaining to do after that. Which he did, as we packed our belongings and moved locations.
Gray rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand. “It’s only in Erandor, really.”
I shoot him a look. “If it’s in Erandor, then it’s in Rivara too. You know that.” I bark a laugh. “I wonder what Sterling will have to say about it when we see him next.”
Gray laughs, eyes dropping to the stone beneath our feet. “You know, I was at the Winter Solstice Ball in Talderine. I received a personal invitation and everything. Perks of the new fame, I guess.”
My lips part with shock. “You were there? I was, too. I came with…” I pause, my throat tightening at the mention of him. “Casimir.”
The flower-shaped amethyst strung on a fine leather cord flickers through my mind. I haven’t had the heart to wear it. I barely know what to do with it. Therefore it remains wrapped in a cloth, tucked away in my bag, acting as nothing more than a painful relic.
“I know,” Gray says, giving no indication as to whether he noticed my shift when mentioning the First Crowned Prince or not. “From what I gathered, we just missed each other. I think I was on the balcony when you arrived. It’s where I was when the attack started.”
The uprising attack. Another area where I am needing to be brought up to speed. It was easy to forget about when in Halfaria; it felt worlds away. But now I am back in that world, and with that comes navigating the mess of it. Knowing my place in it all.
A new face now flashes in my mind. An older man I had never known. I hear his carefully laid out reasons echoing in my ears. Remember the fervent way he spoke for his cause. The realization it forced to dawn within me.
If I do not belong with them, and I do not belong with nobility, where, then, do I actually belong?
“What were you doing on the balcony?” I ask, shaking the thought from my head while my brain pins that line of conversation. Gray and I have discussed enough heavy topics for tonight. We can compare our notes on all that later.
“Talking,” he answers, voice softening.
I glance at him pointedly through the sides of my eyes. “Talking to who?”
He tries to keep his smile contained. He fails. “Marcella. She was my date for the evening.”
Though I try not to, I smile at him in that annoying way people do when they witness someone realizing something they’ve known for awhile.
Gray steals a quick look at me. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” I croon mockingly, batting my eyelashes at him.
“Like my smug best friend.”
My grin widens. “I am smug, and I am your best friend. How else should I be looking at you?” We turn a corner that provides a partial view of the sprawling palace resting at the heart of Anatheima.
Specifically, the tower dwelling in the clouds at the back of it.
My eyes linger as I think of King Yarum—what he did for me that day during The Founding celebration.
The sound of Gray’s voice has me snapping back to attention, and I make a forceful request to my brain to stop wandering around and focus.
“You should look at me like the world’s biggest fool.”
“Fool? Why?”
“Because,” he says through a long-winded sigh, “to make a long story short, Marcella and I shared a bed at an inn during our first mission with Castaria, and she…well, she asked me to kiss her, and I told her I couldn’t do that. Things became strained between us after that. ”
My brows kick up at that information. “Why would you tell her no?”
“Because you were gone, and she was grieving. Kissing your best friend after you had been abducted felt selfish. And then kissing a girl who was only just overcoming her grief for her last lover felt insensitive. I wanted to kiss her, Lyra. Gods, you have no idea how badly I wanted that night alone with her. But…I couldn’t take it.
Not when every moral voice in my head was telling me it was wrong. ”
I study him; the way his mouth tightens at the corners and his eyes turn downward. My expression softens. “You should tell those moral voices to be quiet sometimes,” I poke lightheartedly, though being entirely serious.
He shakes his head, running his free hand through his hair. “Those voices are who I am, Lyra. Are what define me and my character.”
“True,” I say, nodding my agreement. “And your unyielding dedication to them makes you one-of-a-kind, Gray Nightenjoy.” I tighten my grip on his arm.
“But I think part of what makes a great person truly great is having strong morals and knowing when the right time is to bend them. It can be dangerous, building your house with nothing but black and white stones.”
He is silent for a beat, considering what I’ve just said. “Maybe. Though I’m not entirely sure I’m convinced of that.”
I laugh. “Fair enough.” My head falls to rest against his shoulder, and I allow myself to take a moment to appreciate the warmth of this moment between us, despite the ice storm I’ve found myself trapped inside since leaving the Wastelands.
I have missed Gray. Have missed talking to my best friend.
Hair falls into my face, and he brushes it away from my eyes. “I like your hair like this by the way. It feels more you.”
My answering smile is layered. “King Alastair was the one who always made me keep it long, you know.”
“I know,” he murmurs, reaching for my hand and sweeping his thumb over the back of it.
“I remember when you got those sticky Gardner supplies caught in the ends of it and had to cut some of the length off. You couldn’t walk straight when you returned from your summons that day, and you never attempted to cut your hair again after that. ”
A new heaviness piles in my muscles, but I refuse to let it drown me. Because fuck him. Fuck King Alastair and all he made me suffer. I am here despite his cruelty.
I squeeze Gray’s arm just a little tighter. “I think I’m going to keep my hair short from now on.”
“I think you must,” he agrees, smiling. “Though to be clear, I think you could be balder than a babe and still be just as beautiful.”
I snort a helpless laugh, ramming my elbow playfully into his side. “Alright, enough of that. Tell me, what else have I missed?”