Chapter 24
ROWAN
“Seriously, Ro. Lucan called yesterday and said you were okay, but I texted you three times after that.”
“Good morning to you too.”
“No, actually. Not good morning.” Damaris points the screwdriver at me like he’s considering murder. We both jerk back when the machine spits sparks directly into his face. “Light—”
I snort.
He glares up at me. “Don’t.”
That only makes me laugh harder. He does look funny, all startled outrage and flailing limbs and just... Dama.
“Not funny,” Damaris says, still glaring at me. Then he smacks the side of the machine and smoke starts pouring from the rotating engine.
“Maybe a little funny.”
My friend just glares at the machine, then at me, and points the screwdriver in my direction again.
“Rowan, I’m serious. This is the second time I heard from someone else that you weren’t coming home.
I’m your best friend. I know what feelings you go through...
I know you better than anyone. Please, trust me. Lean on me.”
Students drift through the courtyard around us, voices carrying beneath the Caervast towers while transport lines hum somewhere beyond the walls.
“You disappeared into the city terrified out of your mind and spent two nights in a Virel house.” He rotates one of the loose gears between his fingers before looking back at me. “I need to know you’re okay.”
I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve while guilt twists in my stomach. “I know. I should’ve texted you. And I kept meaning to, but everything just got... complicated.”
Damaris studies me before setting the gear aside.
“I thought someone was following me again.”
“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “I figured.”
I blink. “You figured?”
“Ro, you looked like you were about to crawl out of your own skin before you left.”
Ignoring the heat creeping up my neck, I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t that bad.”
“You absolutely were. And then you went to the roof terrace? I mean, why? That place is terrifying. Even I would get a scare.” He points the screwdriver at me again. “And before you say it, no, I’m not talking about your heart.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Damaris gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe a word of it.
A reluctant laugh escapes me, and the tension eases between us.
Then he lowers the screwdriver, rolling the loose gear between his fingers while watching me a little too carefully. “I just hope you weren’t alone.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs, looking back down at the machine before tightening a bolt. “Just… you looked like you needed someone, Ro. And considering whose house you spent the last two nights in, I’m choosing to assume the universe finally did something useful for once.”
“Dama.”
“What?” He glances up innocently. “I’m not asking for details.”
“Good.”
“I mean it.” His voice softens as he sets the wrench aside. “Whatever happened, I just hope he was there when you needed him.”
For a second, neither of us says anything. Then something familiar returns to his expression, a teasing glint settling back into his eyes.
“And if you’re dealing with a whole bunch of feelings you’ve never had before, I’m still the closest thing you’ve got to expert advice.”
“But I—”
“No, no, no. I don’t want to hear it.”
Light, the smug look lingering around his mouth tells me exactly how much he’s enjoying this.
I expect him to keep going, but instead he just returns to tightening one of the crooked wires on his machine.
“Your Ma replied, by the way.”
“What?”
“The recording from the event. Remember? I told you I was going to film it.”
I stare at him. For some reason, I assumed he’d forget.
"Damn, you really think highly of me. Boo, you looked awesome on that stage." He rolls his eyes at me, then gives the wire another twist. "Anyway, she replied this morning. Said she was so proud of you."
For a moment, I don’t quite know what to do with that. Ma spent most of my childhood worrying—about money, about work, about me and Sola making mistakes we couldn’t afford to make—and proud wasn’t a word I heard very often. For some reason, hearing it now leaves an ache behind.
My gaze drifts toward the academy towers cutting across the gray sky, and I find myself thinking about Sola. About all the things she never said, and people watching me like they know something I don’t.
Halvern had once told me fate was often more a question of good planning. At the time, I thought he was talking about music, but maybe he wasn’t.
For someone who claimed to care so little about politics, Professor Halvern always seems to be standing remarkably close to the center of things. Even now, I can’t decide whether that makes him dangerous or simply honest enough not to pretend otherwise.
Damaris bends to gather his things. Shutting down the machine, he hooks his bag over one shoulder and tucks the invention beneath his arm. “Light, that man gets stranger every time I hear about him. What’s he actually like in class?”
“You mean besides cryptic and impossible?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Honestly? About the same.”
“Terrifying.”
“That makes two of us. Unfortunately, he’s still my professor.”
Damaris huffs out a laugh and starts down the path. “Yeah, well, come on. That’s enough learning for one day. I stopped by the market earlier.”
I push off the bench and fall into step beside him. “Oh, did you now?”
“Thought you’d probably be starving after disappearing for days.” He glances sideways at me. “Unless the Virels were feeding you better than the rest of us.”
I roll my eyes at that.
His grin only widens. “What? Fresh ingredients were on sale. Figured I’d take advantage while my mysterious fortune lasts.”
“Your mysterious fortune.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“You know that’s not suspicious at all.”
“Thank you. I work very hard at seeming trustworthy.” Damaris grins when he catches me laughing. “And just because I’m such a wonderful friend, I’m making you a traditional Sero dinner.”
Once we’re back at the dorm, Damaris takes over the tiny kitchen corner, humming under his breath while stirring something steaming on the stove. A smell I can’t quite identify settles over the room.
“What exactly did you put in that?”
“Rell root, smoked korin, and enough fireleaf to put hair on your chest.”
I glance over my shoulder from where I’m clearing a stack of music sheets off my desk. “I don’t think that’s reassuring.”
“That’s because you have no appreciation for culture.”
I shake my head and return to sorting the mess I abandoned before disappearing into the city.
A few minutes later, Damaris appears beside me carrying a steaming bowl and looking far too proud of himself.
“This,” he announces, “is kallan stew. Apparently every Sero grandmother in existence makes it whenever someone is sick, sad, cold, hungry, or mildly inconvenienced.”
I take the bowl from him and peer down into the dark broth. Garlic, smoke, and unfamiliar spices curl up from the surface. I absently undo another button on Ciaran’s shirt and wonder if this is the sort of thing he’d eat. “Is it supposed to smell this intense?”
Damaris ignores the question, turning his spoon slowly through the broth.
“Hey. You know what I said earlier? I meant it. You’ve got a lot going on right now, boo.
With Sola, with whatever’s happening around you, whatever sent you running into the city by yourself.
You don’t have to carry all of that alone. ”
I stare down into my soup. “I know.”
A knock sounds at the door, but neither of us looks up.
“Good.” Reaching for his spoon again, Damaris studies me. “What the hell were you doing in Tolian?”
My stomach sinks. I should’ve known the bastard would bring us right back here.
I open my mouth, then close it again.
Damaris doesn’t say anything, just sits there waiting, and somehow that’s worse. The last thing I want is that look in his eyes.
“I thought I had a lead,” I admit. “I found a photograph in the library and for a while I really thought it might be her.”
Damaris closes his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. “Light help me, boo. You found a photograph and decided to chase it across the city by yourself?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“No?” He gestures with the spoon to his own chest. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds exactly like that.”
My grip tightens around the bowl as I look away. “I— I just didn’t want to drag anyone else into it.”
“See, that’s the part that makes me angry,” Damaris says, his voice staying frustratingly calm. “You keep deciding that for everyone else. You didn’t call me. You didn’t text me. You just disappeared.”
“I thought I could handle it.”
“Maybe.” He shakes his head and drops his spoon back into the bowl. “But if you called me, I would’ve come with you. No questions asked. That’s what friends do.”
Another knock hits the door, louder this time, and still neither of us moves.
“Dama—”
“No, Rowan. I’m serious. Stop acting like you’re alone in this.”
The next knock rattles the door hard enough to make both of us jump.
“WHAT?” Damaris shouts toward the door at the exact same moment I bark, “Good Light—”
“You have three seconds before I open this myself, mouse,” Ciaran snaps from the other side.
Before either of us can move, the door swings open hard enough to hit the wall.
Lucan strolls in looking deeply entertained by something while Ciaran follows right behind him, filling the doorway with the same arrogant, impossible presence that’s been haunting my head since waking up alone this morning.
My stupid heart notices him before the rest of me does.
Ciaran’s gaze drags over me, lingering long enough to send heat climbing back up my throat before one corner of his mouth lifts. “What? You two fighting or something? You ignored my messages.”
“You left.”
“You were asleep.” He steps into the room, his attention locking onto me like Damaris and Lucan barely exist. “And then you left. What were you doing?”
“I had practice.”
He grins, his hand skidding against my waist as he passes, possessive enough that my pulse trips over itself. “Clearly. Anyway, get your coat, mouse.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“I’m taking you somewhere.”