Chapter XXX. Domenic
XXX
DOMENIC
WINTER
Side by side, Domenic and Ellery braved the battalions of journalists at Foretold’s red carpet premiere.
“How does it feel to be back in Mercester Square?”
“Do you have any comment on Danmere’s mayor closing the city to more fallen territory refugees?”
“What brought you here tonight? Shouldn’t you be at the border?”
Domenic plastered on his most golden of smiles. “Caldwell and I both felt tonight was an important occasion to honor Rhodes’s legacy and our nation’s history. But we have two more weeks of Winter; we wouldn’t have spared the time if we weren’t confident time was on our side.”
For added effect, Domenic drew Valmordion. Speckles of golden light jetted into the air and scattered throughout the crowd. Gasps of wonder swept around them. Many cupped the lights, as if catching fireflies. More cameras flashed. Several guests behind them even applauded.
Ellery kept her wand sheathed.
“You don’t think you’re overselling it?” she muttered to him through her own prim smile.
“The people deserve a little hope.”
So Iseul had told Domenic when she’d helped him knot his tuxedo bow tie earlier that evening.
And Domenic agreed. Even if the border invasion still haunted him, he remembered how it felt watching hope kindle in people’s eyes.
He clung to it. Certainly delaying their departure to Nordmere by two nights would be worth it if it dulled the public panic.
Ellery must’ve felt the same, because she waved while looping her other arm around his. Even with no contact between their skin, Domenic had to resist the whole of his concentration pooling to their touch.
It didn’t help that she looked incredible: her silver dress paired with matching gloves, her hair pulled back to accentuate the long curve of her neck and slopes of her collarbones.
Since exiting their limo, Domenic had only allowed himself to look at Ellery sparingly, lest his gawking be caught on camera.
In his effort to distract himself, Domenic scanned the crowd. But that ached too, in a different way. Every one of these people, all someone he needed to save.
Then he made tragic eye contact with a reporter. She pounced in an instant.
“Mr. Barrow, care to comment on the rumors that you were seen leaving the Gallamere Grand Hotel with Phillipa Chastian?”
Domenic blinked. “With who?”
“Come now, our readers aren’t fools. She’s here tonight, isn’t she? Are we really supposed to believe you’ve changed your ways so quickly?”
Ellery’s smile, if anything, widened.
Domenic forced a chuckle that sounded objectively constipated. “At the risk of disappointing your readers, I assure you, my focus is entirely on the cataclysm. And I think the country will sleep sounder at night knowing I’m sleeping alone.”
He and Ellery only made it a few more steps before another reporter accosted them.
“Miss Caldwell, what was the inspiration for your look tonight?”
“It’s from Arden’s upcoming Summer collection,” Ellery answered.
“You’ve been awfully focused on fashion all Winter. What sort of example do you think you’re setting for the young girls who look up to you?”
Fury ignited in Domenic’s stomach. Yet Ellery’s mask remained perfect as ever.
“As Barrow mentioned,” she said lightly, “our focus is entirely on the cataclysm.”
Another reporter emerged, like beetles from a shit mound. “As Winter’s Chosen, you must feel a special responsibility to those victimized by its magic. Do you feel you’ve faltered in your duties given a winterghast’s attack on the Citadel?”
Domenic stepped in front of Ellery and growled, “Both of us feel a deep responsibility for Ravfiri’s vigil. But the prophecy is still unfolding. And when it’s through, we promise, we will reunite Alderland. Together.”
They didn’t linger in that spot.
“I can fight my own battles,” Ellery hissed.
“But you shouldn’t have to.”
Domenic allowed himself this one chance to meet her eyes, if only so she could see the seriousness in his.
Her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. It felt like a victory. “So … Phillipa Chastian, huh? Wherever did you find the time?”
For a peace offering, it carved the deepest of wounds.
“Yeah, you caught me,” he played along. “In those five hours a day I don’t spend at the Citadel, I’ve been with the actress who played … um…”
“Wow. You still can’t remember. Dare I ask who’s starring in the movie we’re actually here to see?”
“Hey now.”
In the theater lobby, attendants handed out snacks and promotional gifts. Domenic awkwardly accepted a toy replica of Valmordion.
Ellery raised a brow as he poked its rubber bristles. “Why didn’t you just get the popcorn like I did?”
“The attendant didn’t give me much of a choice. Did you see his face when he realized who I was? What was I supposed to say? ‘Sorry, already got one’?”
She smirked. “Did you consider joking about how yours is bigger?”
Domenic barked out a laugh. He worried perhaps the wound was fatal.
Ellery’s gaze strayed from him, and Domenic followed it across the lobby to a gaggle of other gussied-up, undoubtedly famous people.
“Hey!” she called to them. “Demelza!”
Some starlet turned around, blond hair tumbling down her shoulders. If Ellery hadn’t spoken her name, Domenic wouldn’t have recognized this Demelza Turner from how she’d looked two days before: the blue light of Maltherius beaming from her rolled-back eyes.
Demelza excused herself from the others as Ellery approached, Domenic trailing behind.
“I didn’t know you’d be here.” Ellery offered her a realer smile than she’d given all night.
Demelza didn’t return it.
“Yeah, you know,” the other girl mumbled. “Family obligations. Mom played Rhodes’s mentor.”
“I saw her on some of the posters. The reviews say she’s great.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well,” Ellery ventured, “I’m glad to see you’re doing better. I tried to visit you, but they said you were resting.”
Demelza flinched. “I’m fine now. Totally fine. I just … I didn’t expect to see you here, either. After Ravfiri’s vigil, don’t you think it’s kind of irresponsible?”
Domenic seethed. But Ellery wanted to fight her own battles, so he bit his tongue—hard.
Ellery’s voice flattened. “We’re heading back North tomorrow.”
“You still should’ve stayed home. Or at least left that thing behind.” She glared at the sheath at Ellery’s hip. “If you ask me, Winter magic isn’t safe. No one should be wielding it.”
Then she stalked off.
Domenic clenched and unclenched his fists. Beside him, Ellery stilled, her expression neutral, but he knew her enough to glimpse the storm churning beneath.
“Are you all right?” he murmured.
She heaved out a breath. “I’m fine.”
“Really, El? Can we cut the bullshit, just for a second?” He didn’t mean to snap, but he couldn’t play their games anymore. They were bullshit, too. “We promised we wouldn’t perform. Not for each other.”
“Oh, really? Isn’t that all we’ve done since … since…” All too quickly, whatever indignation he’d coaxed from her faded, buried, vanished. Her voice leveled. “I can’t risk another headline, Dom. So can we please just go inside and get this over with?”
He sighed. “Yeah. All right.”
But even as Domenic tried to dowse himself, he still burned.
He glared at the employee who handed him his cherry cola while watching Ellery nervously from the corner of her eyes.
He ignored the celebrity who offered his hand to Domenic but not to her.
He all but cursed at the usher who muttered something under his breath as he guided the Chosen Two to their reserved seats at the front of the theater.
But more than he hated all of them, he hated himself. That he couldn’t reach for her.
After this is all over, we’ll have a real future, he assured himself.
Assuming Ellery forgave him. She sat rigid and silent. She didn’t touch her popcorn. He didn’t touch his cola.
Once the rows filled, the cast assembled beneath the screen.
“Welcome to the premiere of Foretold,” said the director, a man with an atrociously thin strip of a mustache.
“From its onset, this picture was an exciting project for the entire team at Croswell Production Studios. But given recent events, this film has never felt so timely. Alice Rhodes’s victory and sacrifice altered the course of our nation, and to have her successors in this very audience—it’s a tremendous honor… ”
Domenic didn’t catch another word of the director’s speech, all too aware of the hundreds of gazes searing into the back of his skull. He resisted the urge to slump lower in his seat—he sat nearly a head taller than their whole row.
At last, the lights darkened, and it was all so familiar—the Mercester Square theater, his favorite soda, the anticipation stirring in his stomach—that for a delirious moment, he wasn’t Domenic Barrow, Chosen One.
He was Domenic Barrow, skipping class to catch a matinee, counting the minutes until Hanna and Iseul got home.
Then the movie began.
Drip.
Drip.
A dim picture came into focus on-screen: Valmordion encased in a hazy sheath of ice, melting atop its pedestal.
Drip.
Drip.
Domenic white-knuckled his armrests.
“What’s wrong?” Ellery whispered.
“Oh. Uh. Nothing.”
She squinted at him, like she knew better. Then she swallowed and fixed her focus back on the screen.
Gradually, the ominous opening image faded, replaced by text: Leetmere. The screen brightened with daylight, and birdsong filled the theater. A young girl scampered barefoot across a forest floor. She moved quickly, with purpose.
Goose bumps prickled up Domenic’s neck.
He peeked over his shoulder at the party in his family’s garden, celebrating the first day of Summer.
No one had noticed him slip away. He crawled beneath the hedges, soiling the knees of his trousers.
Something squeezed tight in his chest, eager and exciting, urging him to follow.
Instinctively, he knew where it led. He’d always known, had struggled his entire life to sit still, to pay attention. He wasn’t good at being patient.