Chapter 23
Iwatch Alistair from across the dining table. He’s focused on his food at the moment, but every time he glances up at me, his look becomes tender, and he smiles this small private smile that makes my insides dance.
In the last few weeks, we’ve moved from the far ends of the table to instead sit on the long sides, so the distance between us is rather short. It seemed practical when we started doing it. How were we supposed to converse across the length of a long table without shouting?
I think it was safer to shout. Having Alistair close is always distracting these days.
“So, the scissors were a dead end,” I say, turning my eyes to my soup. Anything to keep him from seeing the blush on my cheeks.
“It was a shot in the dark to begin with,” Alistair sighs. “The scissors were lost six hundred miles from here two hundred years ago in a place that I’m certain my brother has never been to. The chances of them finding their way into the manor were slim at best. I’m just beginning to wonder if the Poet I hired lied to me.”
“You mean you don’t think there’s an artifact that can get around the curse?”
“At least not one that’s in the manor like he promised.”
Suddenly my thoughts fly to the quill I have hidden in my room. It’s been weeks since it even crossed my mind. I’ve been so preoccupied with Alistair and the curse that I completely forgot about it. But if the Poet said that the artifact was inside the manor…maybe he meant the artifact that I brought. But how could he know that the quill would end up here?
He can”t possibly have meant the quill. Poets don”t have the gift of prescience. That we know of…
What if the quill is the artifact that Alistair has been looking for? What if I can free him?
I want freedom for my friends, but will freedom mean losing Alistair? Will he want to go back to Roburry once he’s no longer cursed? Will he run? Because running is my only option.
And I don’t want to run alone.
“Stella?”
I look up as Alistair says my name for probably the third time.
“Are you alright?” he asks. The concern on his face cuts me deep. Will this look last? Or will it fade once he’s found freedom?
“Yes, I’m fine,” I smile. The expression doesn’t meet my eyes.
Alistair must notice because he sets down his spoon and watches me carefully. He looks more handsome now than he did when I met him, though I know it’s not possible. His eyes are still a calming green, his hair still floating so effortlessly to his chin.
I haven’t really touched his hair yet—not the way I want to. But I’ve been thinking about it more and more.
There’s something about him that’s different lately. Something deep and resonating. It calls out to me, and I feel like a butterfly drawn to the pollen of a flower that could be a poison or a remedy.
“You know that you’re safe here, right?” he asks.
I blink, trying to understand where the comment came from. “What?”
“The other day you said that ‘he’ used to say horrible things to you.” His faces hardens. “It sounded like he owned you, Freckles.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Stella—”
I scoot out my chair and stand, my defenses rising high. “Goodnight. I don’t think I’ll be coming to the library later.”
I only make it two paces before Alistair has rounded the table and grabbed hold of my wrist. I don’t meet his eyes, but I can feel them boring into me, begging me to crack open doors and let him see me. All of me.
“I want to protect you, Tigress,” he pleads quietly.
I look up, glaring at the tenderness in his voice, fear turning to panic in my chest. “I don’t need you to protect me. I’ve been doing it myself for a long time.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he demands, eyes narrowed. “Tell me, were you there the other day in the kitchen when I explained why I give you animal nicknames? Do you remember what I said? Here, I’ll remind you.” His tone isn’t unkind, but it’s immovable as stone. “I told you that you’re just as strong as a tiger or a lion or a wolf. I’m very aware that you can protect yourself. But you’re not packless anymore, Stella.”
I try to pull my wrist from his grasp, my self-preservation insisting that I shut down this moment of vulnerability before it can be used against me. “I don’t need a pack.”
“Yes, you do,” Alistair snaps, moving his hands to my face. They’re so gentle, so cautious on my skin that I nearly cry at the tenderness of it. “And I want to be in your pack. I want us to look out for each other. To always back each other up. But I can’t do it successfully if I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not asking you to tell me every detail right now. Just please tell me why you were running when we met. Let me be on your side.”
My lips part, but no sound comes out. He has no idea what he’s asking for. Telling him that I’m an indentured spy bound by a magical artifact is one thing, but to admit that I’m bound to his brother is a whole other ordeal.
I don’t believe that Alistair would hand me over to Orrin, but I don’t want to hurt him by destroying the hope I know he holds onto for Orrin’s sake.
“Please,” he begs.
And like a dried-up riverbed, I crack. “I’m bound to him by a magical artifact. For all intents and purposes, he does own me. I steal for him; plant lies for him. And if he finds me, I won’t have a choice but to go back.”
I watch Alistair’s face, waiting for him to be disgusted by my past behavior or to say that my problem doesn’t belong to him. It’s a cruel thing to think about someone who’s proven himself faithful, but old habits die screaming, and my trust is so bruised that it’s always ready to run at the first sign of treachery.
After a moment, his expression becomes controlled and almost eerily calm. His thumbs skim across my cheeks and I feel myself shiver despite my best efforts to appear unaffected.
“No one owns you,” he says, and his voice is so steady that at first, I think he doesn’t care. But then I hear the tremble in his voice and realize that he’s holding back for my benefit.
If I weren’t here, our dinner would be smashed on the floor in the wake of his anger, and he would be plotting the death of the man that he doesn’t know is his brother.
“Do you understand me?” he goes on. “No one owns you. From here on out you’re free to decide your future for yourself.”
“You can’t promise that—”
“I can,” he whispers, pressing his forehead against mine. My whole body goes still as it reacts to him, my skin hot and my heart stuttering like it’s a flame about to go out.
I close my eyes, basking in the feeling of him being so close. His nose skims mine and I feel his breath on my lips. Everything in me screams to latch onto him. To meld myself to him and never let go.
I’m falling in love. My eyes open and my breathing stops. Oh no, I’m falling in love.
Alistair must sense my hesitation because he pulls back, looking down at me with a worried look in his eyes. “Is everything okay?”
“I…no.”
And then I flee like the coward I am.
My steps echo on the marble floors, and I hear Alistair shouting after me. His fingers graze my arm and I spin around, stepping back out of his reach. Tears fall from my eyes, mocking my desire for privacy and instead flaunting my feelings.
Alistair’s gaze lands on them and his mouth opens, panic in his eyes. “Stella—”
“No, don’t.” I point at him, keeping an arm’s length between us. “Don’t come closer.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You don’t know that.”
His face falls and his shoulders droop. “You still don’t trust me.”
I shrug, knowing it’s pointless to pretend that he’s wrong. “I can’t help it. Once a survivor, always a survivor. I don’t know any other way to live.”
He takes a deep breath and in one stride closes the gap between us, careful not to touch me. “But you’re not living, Stella. You’re clawing for breath, always looking for the exit. That’s not living.”
“And what am I supposed to do? Roll over and give you everything?”
“The reason I want everything is because I want to give you everything.”
I want to believe him, but panic has seized control of my mind and all I can hear is the constant chant in my head: oh no, I’m falling in love.
Love is strength; I know because loving me made my mother strong. But love is also weakness when it’s only a phantom love for the wrong person. It killed my mother. It betrayed me. It betrayed Alistair when his brother murdered his father. I can’t be trusted to know if this is real.
“You can’t give me everything Alistair. I don’t know how to accept it.”
Without waiting for a response, I run for my room. The fear doesn’t subside until the door is shut behind me, and even then, I feel like the oak panel is the only thing holding me up. Sobs wrack my body and I press a hand to my mouth to quiet my whimpers.
“Miss Stella?” Milly walks around the corner, a load of laundry in her arms. When she sees my tear-streaked face, she tosses the bundle to the sofa and runs over to me. “Sweet girl, are you hurt?”
I shake my head against her shoulder as she holds me. “I’m an idiot.”
“Sh, it’s okay.”
“It’s not though. I ran again. I always run. Even from the good things.”
I’ve never hated myself more.