Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
The revelation acts as an invisible sucker punch. I double over, heaving. All the pieces fit. My entire life history has been one giant lie. No wonder I don’t resemble anyone in the Axton line and my mother could never get her story straight as to how my father died.
A storm of emotions raging inside me, I swing my legs over the side of my bed. I want Sterling. He’s the one person who could comfort me right now.
I rise from my mattress, then sink back down and slump when the memory of our fight slams into me. Olive might be right about his cruelty being intentional. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. Without him admitting as much, though, I can’t count on him. And once he learns I’m a dragoncaller, there’s no telling what he’ll do.
Unless he broke up with me because he already guessed my heritage.
Swallowing the knot of emotion in my throat, I squeeze my eyes shut.
I’ve never felt more alone in my entire life.
Noises in the hall cause me to sit up straight. Time to pull myself together.
“Hey,” Olive rushes into the room, “what are you wearing tonight?”
Tonight. The party. For a hot second there, I forgot. “Not sure. I’m not even sure I’m going.”
She gasps. “What? Of course you are. Great food, music, booze, dancing. It’ll be fantastic. I know you’re upset about Sterling Thorne, but think of it this way. The party is your best chance of seeing him before the trial and to find out if he’s pulled that pretty head of his out of his ass yet. And if he hasn’t, then sitting around moping in our room is letting him win.”
Upset doesn’t even begin to describe my emotions.
I’m overwhelmed. Hurt. Confused. And those are just my feelings about Thorne. Factor in King Xenon, Helene, and my dragoncaller theory, and it’s a wonder I’ve managed to remain upright.
“I—” I suck in a breath. How do I even start to explain my suspicion that I’m a dragoncaller? What would she think of me?
“You don’t want to let him win, do you? If he is, in fact, a terrible shit-stain who got off on hurting and humiliating you?”
I sigh, lifting my chin. “No.”
Olive remains quiet for a moment before rolling her shoulders back. “For the record, I still believe something’s not adding up. I saw him before I came up, and he looks as miserable as you do. I think he panicked and just needs a little time to process.”
“Or this was always a meaningless fling, and he never intended for it to last.”
My roommate twirls an auburn wave around her finger. With her hair down instead of in the usual bun, she looks like a different person. “If Sterling didn’t have feelings for you, he wouldn’t be avoiding you.”
That makes absolutely no sense, but what do I know about men? Or relationships? “If I agree to go, will you promise to quit talking about it?”
Olive squeals. ‘Yes! All done. Now, let’s get ready.”
After Olive works her magic on me, we enter a large hall decorated for tonight’s event.
Flowers abound in a kaleidoscope of colors, from red to pale pink and white, green, blue, yellow, silver, and even black. Enormous wall hangings depict events from Aclaris’s brave revolution when we won our independence.
Above us, hundreds of candles flicker in massive chandeliers, while long tables groan beneath the weight of platters stacked high with steaming pork, beef, lamb, and fish, those mouth-watering scents mingling with spiced vegetables of every variety and baked goods glazed with sugar and fragrant with cinnamon.
Olive nudges my arm. “No matter what happens with Thorne, you deserve to have a good time.”
Recruits and instructors alike, all dressed in formal attire, laugh, dance, and eat. I scan the crowd, but I don’t spot Sterling among the throng of people.
“Wow, look at you two.” Abel joins us, flashing a wide smile.
“I’ll say.” Nick leans in, staring at us from over Abel’s shoulder.
“We should dance.” Abel throws up his arms and writhes as if he’s in the throes of a seizure. Olive bursts into hysterics, and even I crack a smile.
Nick backs away with his hands up. “Yeah, I don’t know him.”
Not to be cowed, Abel wraps his arms around Olive. “Or we could wait for a slow tune.” He starts grinding into the most over-the-top, sexualized slow dance in the history of slow dances.
“Abel!” Olive squeals, smacking him upside the head. “What the hells? How many glasses of mead have you had?”
“Five. No, wait, six?” At Olive’s horrified choke, he snickers. “Just kidding. I’m one and done. No way am I over-imbibing with the trial tomorrow. Do you think I’m an idiot or something?”
“Well,” all three of us say in unison.
Undaunted, he flashes us a cheeky grin. “On second thought, forget I asked. Now, if neither of you ladies wants to dance, please excuse me while I find a willing partner.”
Wiggling his fingers at us, he saunters off, running into Theo. Theo’s holding hands with a pretty blond fledgling. He spots Olive and me and winks before tugging the woman onto the dance floor.
I’m happy to see he’s moved on, though a bit wistful. If only I could have fallen for him, or someone like him. But no. I had to go and fall in love with a grumpy flight instructor.
My gaze travels the crowd. No king yet. Maybe the news of his attendance is purely propaganda and he won’t show. While that would come as a relief, part of me wants him to appear. He could be the only person who knows Leesa’s whereabouts.
Continuing to scan the crowd, I go still. The music, conversations, laughter. It all stops. My heart leaps like the traitor it is as I drink in Sterling from across the room. His dark hair is pulled back, and in stark contrast to the Flighthaven uniform, he’s decked out in the formal attire the men in our society don for special occasions, complete with a black waistcoat, long coat, and a high-collared white shirt.
His beauty steals my breath. Heartbreaker or not, there’s no arguing the man’s downright edible. From the small crowd of women circling like fanged eels scenting blood and the gag-worthy way Celeste Dawson fawns over him, I can tell I’m not the only drinking him in with lust-glazed eyes.
Celeste presses her lithe body against his side and strokes his hand with too much intimacy. Jealousy burns like acid in my veins as those long, graceful fingers travel beneath his sleeve.
His eyes lock with mine, the force of the connection an iron fist that squeezes my lungs. Turning away is as impossible as swallowing an entire alicorn in a single bite. Not happening.
The other faces in the crowd fade into nothingness, leaving only him and me. Trapped in his potent gaze, I can’t breathe or think.
My blood heats. My body yearns. My heart cracks all over again.
What looks like tenderness sweeps across his handsome face, followed by a flash of misery as great as my own. Or maybe that’s just my mind playing tricks on me and creating the illusion most likely to spare my shattered heart.
Either way, his allure hooks me like a fish on a line, and those gold-flecked eyes of his reel me in. Hopeless to resist, I follow the invisible tug and step toward him.