Chapter Thirty-Six
Later, my eyes opened to the sight of Eliot sitting beside me.
He was hunched in a chair at my bedside, his jacket hanging from one of its posts and his face downturned, frowning at the open book in his lap.
From the music parlor, I’d been brought back to my bedroom to rest, and the day had ripened to late afternoon while I’d been asleep.
Now the sunlight spilled over him like a pale, clear wine, limning his tousled curls with streaks of gold.
He had not noticed me awakening, and for a moment I maintained the illusion, watching him drowsily through the quiet.
He was the kind of person who seemed wholly devoured by his reading: His brow was furrowed in consternation, his thumbnail tucked absently between his teeth.
Eventually, he glanced up, his eyes widening as he took me in. I couldn’t explain why, but witnessing his reaction—his gaze bright with that same jealous worry that had possessed him after the second trial—threatened to undo something in me, the tough curl of loathing I’d wrapped around my center.
I busied myself with smoothing down a stray hair and tucking it back into my caul. “Fabian must be quite securely in your pocket,” I said. “Or perhaps you are in his. How much do you owe him for sneaking you in here?”
Eliot closed his book, setting it on the floor next to him without bothering to mark his page.
“Nothing for this visit, as it happens,” he replied.
Nodding, he gestured toward my bedside table, where I noticed a steaming bowl had been placed, filled with what looked like stew.
“Noé sent me with sustenance. He’s brought Dorian to his father to be dealt with, but in the meantime he’s asked me to assure you that Dorian’s actions will not be held against you.
You’ve been given a pass on to the next trial. ” Weakly, he smiled. “Congratulations.”
Noé. The mention of Bastian’s heir made the memory of our interaction rise within me; I recalled the flat line of his mouth, his thumb stroking the back of the blazing bronze piece in his palm.
Hastily, I felt in both of my dress pockets for the small metal bit: empty.
“My coin,” I said breathlessly. “Where is it?”
Eliot’s brow creased. Relief spread through me, as potent as a swallow of liquor, as he retrieved an item from where it rested next to the soup bowl, holding it between his fingers so I could see. The coin. “It was here when I entered,” Eliot said, handing it over to me. “Why do you ask?”
I did not answer him immediately. The metal was dull now, its enchantment quiet. Had Eliot silenced it, or had Noé been the one to do so? I did not know if Bastian’s son had glimpsed Eliot’s token before; if he had, would he have realized mine was one of a pair?
Setting it down, I banished the thought.
If Noé had understood the coin’s purpose, I was certain I would not be resting comfortably in my quarters now but rather packed into a carriage on my way out of Fortblanche.
I would need to fashion a good explanation for the next time we spoke; for now, though, I was fine.
I was here.
With a shake of my head, I returned my attention to Eliot. “No reason,” I replied. “I was frightened of losing it.”
Eliot’s forearm flexed as if he were preparing to shift closer, but in the end he appeared to accept my response, running his fingers through his curls. “Lovett,” he said, his tone solemn. “What happened with Dorian?”
The question was too much, the memories it provoked gathering like hot steam inside me. Instead of answering, I bit my lip, turning my face away.
“It was you who told Noé to come looking for me, wasn’t it?” I asked brusquely. Glancing back at him, I caught his gaze. “When he discovered Dorian and me, he didn’t seem surprised. There is no other way he could have known I was in trouble.”
Eliot shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“I told him the truth, which is that Dorian came to fetch you for the fourth trial early, and alone, and that I had a horrible instinct he had something awful planned,” he answered.
“When your signal came, I started searching, too, but it is for the best that Noé was the one to rescue you.”
This last statement, he spoke as though he were resigned to it: wearily, with an air of reluctant acceptance like the laying down of a flag. I pursed my lips. “Why for the best?”
“Dorian would never have heeded me, for one,” Eliot replied. “And—”
He broke off, his chair groaning as he shifted in it. A lock of hair had fallen across his brow, and along with his cast-off jacket and loosened collar, it gave our conversation an illicit feel, despite the sun streaming in all around him.
“I told you at the ball, Noé has certain…insecurities,” Eliot went on, his eyes sliding guiltily away from mine. “Playing hero—getting to burst in and save you, as he did…It is not something he will soon forget. He will see the two of you as bonded now, because of your need for him.”
Coughing, he straightened, tugging briskly at his shirtsleeves.
“Trust me,” he said. “If he was not already planning to make you his bride prior to this, you’ve as good as solidified his choice now.”
Look here, at me. I thought back to Noé in the music parlor, after he’d dismissed Dorian.
If I focused, I knew I would still be able to feel the heir’s arms around me, his breath hot on my cheek as he spoke my name.
Perhaps, in that moment, I had been his victor.
Like every other opportunity I’d receivedthroughout the competition, though, I feared I’d squanderedit.
“I’m not so sure,” I replied. Biting my lip, I let free the confession I’d held back earlier. “He found your coin, Eliot. I don’t think he understood the meaning of it, but he tried to ask.”
Eliot sat completely still, his expression inscrutable. “Only tried?”
I smirked humorlessly. “I fainted.”
There was a beat of silence, in which my neck began to burn red with a self-conscious flush; then, like the sudden swoop of a bird, Eliot was laughing, his chuckles pleasantly throaty, scraping like a handful of sand against my skin.
I’d never heard him laugh before, I realized, and the revelation was all it took to set me off, too, my eyes watering with failed attempts to stifle my mirth.
Only when my sides were sore from the effort did I stop, pressing one palm to my cheek, my grin so wide that I could feel the curve of it pushing against my fingers.
I felt…odd, as if somewhere inside me, a long-unused tap had been abruptly twisted on.
When was the last time I had laughed, I wondered— truly laughed, as I had just now?
Not some breathy sigh made for the ballroom, a smirk half hidden behind a fan, but a laugh born of camaraderie, of—
Friendship. Was that what Eliot and I were? Not anymore, certainly, not after he’d shattered our alliance with his betrayal, but before…underneath our barbed repartees, underneath the way he’d kissed me the night of the Midway Ball, had I considered Eliot Lear my friend?
Perhaps, despite my protests to the contrary, I had. Perhaps that was why this had all hurt so very much.
“Eliot.” I spoke his name, and Eliot sobered, his smile fading. “I…I owe you an apology. You tried to warn me this morning about Dorian, and I refused to listen to you.”
I bit down on the inside of my cheek, glancing away fromhim.
“I can be very stubborn,” I admitted. “And I have always been a proud person, I think, and spiteful once my ego is injured, which makes all my bad qualities worse.” Exhaling, I paused to collect myself. “I’m sorry. As you can see, it is difficult for me to admit my faults.”
My throat was raw, though I had shed no tears. With Eliot’s attention on me, I felt dissected—as if I had taken out my organs and laid them before him, one by one, for examination. It was a relief when he swallowed, parting his mouth to speak.
“I believe we may be similar in that manner,” he said. “And if any apology is to be given, it should be mine. I have behaved abysmally toward you since the day we first met—not only in my actions, but…”
He sighed, momentarily drifting off.
“You said Anais told you about what I confessed to her—how I would never love one of your kind,” he continued.
“I did make that claim, but not in the manner she phrased it. My mother was a silkwitch, as was my sister. I have seen the way most Weavers treat girls with your abilities, and I just…I wanted no part in it.” He blew an exhale through his nostrils, his eyes downturned.
“I thought, wrongly, when you and I struck our bargain, that I knew the kind of person you were, but you kept…breaking my categories,” he went on softly, as if he were merely thinking aloud—not speaking to me at all.
“You are…formidable, Lovett. More so than you realize.”
Abruptly, he reached out, closing his hand over mine.
“What I mean to say is, I’m just glad you’re all right.”
In my core, I felt a judder like the crack of a bone—like the iridescent blaze of magesilk, splitting reality in two. As if he could sense it, Eliot’s fingers flexed on my wrist; gradually, his gaze traveled sideways, locking with mine.
It was like I was back in the hallway with Sybil, her Wit setting my skin ablaze.
All along my arm was a needling tenderness, like the sting of a very cold wind against my cheeks—focusing all my awareness on the point where he grasped me.
My breath caught as, hesitantly, his eyes flicked toward my lips, and I wondered if he was remembering, as I was, the way it had felt to close the distance between us, to stop fighting and simply give in .
His stare rose back to mine, a question evident in it.
I felt my mouth part just as his brow furrowed, his attention drifting past my shoulder. “Did you…set your drapes onfire?”