Chapter 62
“Where would you like to start?”
Ciana whirled at the assistant archivist’s question, finding the kind woman’s patient gaze. Georgios—the head archivist—had instructed her to help Ciana and Sebastian find anything they needed.
“I’m…” Ciana twisted her hands together. “I’m not exactly sure.”
“We’re looking for something that might not even exist.” Sebastian leaned casually against a solid table, rolling up his sleeves.
The muscles in his forearms flexed, and Ciana swallowed past the dryness in her throat.
“But we know if it did, any mention of it might’ve been made around the time of the First War, by someone close to the leaders of the human forces. ”
Thank the gods she had him here. Her job had very clearly been to get them into the archives.
Sebastian was who would actually find what they needed amidst these stacks.
The archivist smiled. “That is certainly a very broad starting point,” she said, “but such is the nature of research, and we have dealt with larger questions than that before. Perhaps I can bring titles that recount general First War history penned by those closest to the war front, and you can narrow your search from there?”
Sebastian nodded, returning her smile. “That sounds like a perfect place to start. Thank you.”
The archivist bowed, turning.
“Wait.”
The woman glanced back over her shoulder. Warmth bloomed in Ciana’s cheeks.
“I have a feeling we’ll be here a while,” she said, a bit timidly. “Can you possibly arrange for some food to be brought in? Please?”
The archivist’s gaze softened. “Of course, Lady Visseau,” she said. “I will request that the serving staff bring you provisions. And if there is anything else you need, simply pull that lever”—she pointed to a polished wooden handle on the wall— “and someone will be by.”
Sebastian thanked the archivist and she left them, disappearing into the distant stacks of books.
Leaving them alone.
Not that they hadn’t been alone before. Or many times before. Or even earlier that day.
So why did Ciana’s heart suddenly start hammering like a war drum in her chest?
She swept her gaze over the study room again, if only to give herself something to distract her mind.
The space was warm and cozy and beautiful. Better than the one Niktael had shown her, because it was situated on the ground floor, nestled within a thicket of brambles far below the towering boughs of the tallest trees. No traveling upstairs or risking her life in that terrifying lift.
The study room was outfitted with a massive solid oak table and a collection of plush, upholstered chairs.
An unlit hearth was nestled into the far wall, more comfortable couches and chairs arranged around it.
There was even a sleeping chamber with an attached bathroom for those researchers who didn’t want to spare a single moment from their studies.
Ciana refused to look at that room.
Again, she couldn’t pinpoint why. Sebastian had quite literally shared her bed with her last night. Barely touching her, but there, nonetheless.
But on that walk here with Nik, something in his demeanor had changed.
She turned slowly. He was still leaning against that solid table, watching her. There was a heat in his hazel eyes, one that had been lingering for days but always carefully masked. Like he was afraid that if he showed her too much, she’d run away.
He didn’t seem to be worrying about that anymore, though.
Sebastian pushed off the table. He was midstride toward her when someone knocked at their door, and he froze.
His smile slipped into his version of a smirk—a gentle tilt to his mouth, a humored glint in his eye, a kind set to his jaw. “I think it must be a joke at this point.”
Ciana laughed weakly. “In fairness, we were expecting them.” Though maybe not so quickly.
Sebastian strode to the door, pulling it open to reveal the archivist and two kitchen servants.
The archivist deposited a crate of texts on the large table with instructions to make notes and identify any additional names, places, or details they think might be helpful in narrowing their search.
The servants unloaded several plates of food: fruits and baked goods, rolled slices of cured ham, buttery wedges of cheese.
Within minutes, their once-empty table was covered with books and scrolls and food.
Ciana smiled at how Sebastian lit up but tried to keep his excitement contained.
She loved how much he enjoyed the act of reading; so many men like him would be too insecure to claim a passion like that. But not him.
Her mind stuttered, face flushing with warmth.
No, it was nothing. Loving a part of someone didn’t mean you loved them. Not like that.
Right?
She was so deep in her spiraling thoughts, she didn’t notice that the archivist and servants had left them until the door clicked softly closed. Her gaze snapped up, finding Sebastian’s across the heavily laden table.
He pushed a hand through his hair, disrupting its normally neat lengths. “How about we eat,” he said, “and start working through a few of these texts. Then we can talk.”
Butterflies took flight in Ciana’s stomach. Still, she smiled. “Work, eat, then talk,” she agreed.
The work was not fun.
It hadn’t taken long for Ciana to become frustrated with the old, filibustering phrases scrawled by historians thousands of years ago.
They all used too many words to say nothing at all, recording the most minute details from their time, as if the number of petals blooming on the orchids in the garden outside the west corridor somehow mattered enough to note in the histories of the continent.
Maybe it mattered to someone. It certainly didn’t matter to her and told her absolutely nothing about what they were truly after.
While she struggled, though, Sebastian excelled. He’d breezed through several texts, scratching notes on pieces of parchment, noting names and places and events that might have some connection to the mysterious weapon of the gods.
Again, he was perfect for this task. This was why Mariah had sent him.
That didn’t make Ciana any less frustrated with herself.
Ciana sighed, leaning heavily on the sink in the bathing chamber.
She had no idea how long they’d been here—part of the strange nature of the archives, the twinkling lights never fluctuated beneath the canopy—but they’d eaten most of the food and her eyes ached.
She pressed a finger to the bridge of her nose, trying to relieve the pressure.
She hoped Sebastian was ready for a break soon. She didn’t know how much more she had left in her before at least trying to sleep.
They still hadn’t talked. Even in the quiet of their focused research, tension crackled between them. That shifted, heated energy in Sebastian hadn’t quieted; she caught it every time she glanced up from her book and met his stare.
He was being patient. Biding his time. But for what?
The answer to that made her both nervous and excited.
Ciana quickly dried her hands on a soft cotton towel and strode through the attached bedroom, eyeing the small bed.
She reentered the main study space and halted in her tracks.
Sebastian had closed all his books, his stack of notes organized. He leaned back in his chair, the picture of casual grace.
“So,” he said quietly, “do you still want to talk?”
Ciana’s heart pattered in her chest. “Yes,” she said softly. “I do. Because I think we should.”
Sebastian nodded. “I think we should, too.”
Silence stretched between them.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped the other day and if you’d rather just be friends—”
“If there is anything you regret, now is the time to tell me—”
More heat flushed Ciana’s cheeks. Sebastian chuckled. “You first,” he said, grinning.
She twisted her hands. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I overstepped the other day. I know you didn’t want to ruin our friendship, and I didn’t listen and did what I wanted anyway. If you want to just be friends, then I would understand.”
Ciana wasn’t entirely sure why that was what she decided to say. She knew—intimately—that just being friends wasn’t something he wanted. Not anymore.
Maybe it was the impending change clinging to their skin that terrified her. It would hurt if he rejected her. But losing her best friend would be so much worse.
Sebastian leaned back in his chair. Drummed his fingers on the solid wood table.
And laughed.
“The past two days,” he said slowly, “I haven’t left your side. I’ve kept you safe and calm when you thought you’d failed. I held your hand and shared your bed. And after all that, you’re worried that I think you overstepped?”
Ciana shrugged. “You also haven’t kissed me again,” she mumbled.
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you, Goldie.”
“You haven’t kissed me again!” This time, it was nearly a shout. The flames licking at her cheeks spread down her chest, the little black stone on her pinky finger burning. She clamped down hard, swallowed everything, and forged on.
“Yes, you’ve done all those things. But not once have you crossed that line again. Something about you is different, Sebastian, and I can’t decide what. But yes. I think I overstepped. And if I did, I’m sorry.”
Sebastian’s smile slowly fell as the words dropped like lead from her mouth. He raked a hand through his neat hair, the trim lengths falling back into place. He stood, a muscle feathering in his jaw, hazel eyes blazing.
“You’re right,” he finally said. “I haven’t.”
The air left Ciana’s lungs like she’d been kicked in the chest. “Why?” The word was choked, and a little bit of a sob, and very pathetic.
Gods, she was a mess. She was feeling too many things, and all the broken little pieces of herself didn’t know how to deal with it.
Sebastian took a single slow, stalking step toward her. Then another.