Chapter 11 #2
“Why didn’t he propose before the Hunt?” It’s nosy of me to ask, but I can’t help but think that if a man is already committed enough to discuss engagement details, why would he leave his future bride susceptible to the draft?
Arianna—or is it Anara—thumps her mug of water down onto the marble surface. She winces, doe eyes darting to the nearest camera before she drops her voice. “Just because your tragic love life is public doesn’t mean I want mine to be.”
I bite my tongue to prevent myself from pointing out that she was the one who brought it up.
I get why she’s lashing out. She shouldn’t be here.
None of us should, really, but especially not a twenty-one-year-old with a pen-pal lover who’s reluctant to make an official proposal.
She’s pissed. At me, currently, because I’m the easiest scapegoat.
But also at the situation. Likely at her partner, too.
So, instead of getting even for her petty retort about my public divorce, I say, “You’re right. I’m sorry, Adrina.”
“Aruna,” she corrects with a grunt.
Beneath the table, Gem nudges her knee into mine, and I bite back a snicker.
“Aruna,” I repeat. “Sorry.”
Aruna lifts her chin, which I choose to interpret as an acceptance of my apology.
The clatter of silverware bites through the renewed silence as the meal comes to a close.
By the time I swallow the last of my potato, over half the group has disappeared into their respective bedchambers, leaving only Kalden, Meridna, Gem, and myself to clean the mess.
Funny how the attendants and serving staff are nowhere to be seen now that the cameras have stopped recording.
I scrape and stack the beige ceramic plates from the marble tabletop while Gem grabs the mugs and forks. We carry them over to Kalden, who’s stationed himself at the oversized copper sink.
“Have any of you seen where they keep the broom and dustpan?” Meridna asks, pulling open each of the cupboards.
Kalden wipes off the suds from his left hand to grab the small broom from atop the wall cabinet, all the while rinsing off a fork with his right.
The sight of a man helping with the dishes is both strange and welcome.
Perhaps Scuros’s recipes aren’t the only things that differ from Caligo’s customs. Maybe the men there are taught by their parents to divide the domestic duties.
The thought is so ludicrous, I scoff while collecting the remaining platters.
“What a bizarre man.”
I startle, not expecting to see Meridna—a woman of few words—leaning against the metal chair behind me.
“He’s certainly different,” I say once the surprise settles, the sound of the running water concealing our whispered exchange.
“I can’t believe he volunteered. Makes me wonder what’s wrong with him.” Her pointer finger taps against her temple.
My grip tightens on the stack of silver platters. “He seems sane enough.”
“Honey, those of us who seem the sanest are usually the ones with the most to hide.” Pity fills Meridna’s gray irises as she strides out of the kitchen behind Gem, leaving me alone with Kalden while I process her words.
Perhaps I should heed the warning. After all, I still don’t know what he was doing half-naked in that tunnel, or why he was so insistent on participating in the Hunt. I’d be a fool to let my guard down around him just because he’s offering an alternative path to survival.
As if that’s the only reason he’s growing on me . . . My palms grow clammy as I’m brought back to the engrossing anticipation I felt with Kalden’s wrist on mine.
Shadows help me, this libido is getting out of control.
I swiftly discard the platters into the sink, holding my breath as if one good inhale of Kalden’s masculine smoky bergamot scent is enough to undo my renewed resolve.
“Are you okay?” Kalden asks, glancing down at me with pinched brows.
“Fine.”
“Your face is turning purple.”
“Must be the lights.” I turn away, lungs greedily inflating as I finally allow myself to inhale. “Would you like a hand?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve got it.”
“You sure? It’ll be good to feel useful.”
Kalden pauses his scrubbing, then relents. “I’ll wash. You’ll dry.”
“Perfect,” I say, pulling on a drawer only to find it empty. “Where’d you find the towel?”
“In the middle drawer. That one there, to the left.”
I tug it open and grab a fresh white hand towel from the top of the neatly stacked pile.
The occasional scrape, thunk, and squeak of my cloth against the clean plates interrupts our companionable silence until I work up the nerve to ask, “Who taught you to wash dishes?”
Kalden leans the last silver platter against the marble backsplash and unplugs the drain. “My parents have always split up chores evenly. If one of us cooks, the others will clean.”
“Wow. I bet your mother loves that.”
He shrugs. “It’s just good manners.”
“So, you are aware of what manners are?”
I freeze, mouth agape as I realize I voiced the jibe aloud.
Kalden lets out a low chuckle, igniting a fresh warmth in my stomach as he rinses his hands and turns off the faucet. “Was that ever in question?”
“Well, you can be a bit blunt,” I say, wiping off the beads of liquid from the tilted platter before folding the dampened towel along the sink’s edge to dry.
“Does honesty equate to a lack of manners?”
I tilt my head. “I guess it depends on how you deliver it. There’s a tactful way to tell the truth without sounding like an inconsiderate ass.”
The corner of Kalden’s lips lift the smallest amount. “Is that your tactful way of telling me I sound like an ass?”
I stiffen against the counter’s ledge.
Did I just unintentionally call a man an ass to his face?
My hand flies up towards my mouth, as if I could pluck my previous words from the air and stuff them back into my too-tight lungs. “I didn’t—”
“You’re allowed to be honest with me, you know.” The line between his brows deepens. “I’m aware I can be . . . gruff, and I won’t fault you for calling that out. In fact, I’d prefer it.”
No words can pass through my swollen throat, so I offer a nod instead.
His smirk fully disappears, and I excuse myself a moment later, chest heaving as I slip into my temporary bedchamber.
“I hope you didn’t think you’d get away with not filling me in on your private training session,” a voice calls from somewhere within the chamber’s inky shadows.
I jump and reach blindly for the nearest wall sconce, twisting its dial until the dark-gray walls and sparse black-metal furniture are illuminated in a familiar violet hue.
Gem is perched on my cot, her knuckles bracing her chin and jade eyes glittering.
“Sun’s pits, Gem! Are you trying to kill me a day early?
” I scoop up my cloak, which I’d aimlessly tossed on the floor after our training session, and throw it at her face.
I miss, of course, and the heavy garment falls to a heap at the edge of the bed as I lean over to peel off my sandals. “When did you sneak in here?”
“A couple minutes ago,” Gem replies, plucking at the fraying seam of my navy cotton pillowcase. “I walked right past you, but I guess you were too busy salivating again.”
“Don’t make me throw more things at you.” I wave my sandal towards her as a threat, then offer, “Truce?”
She lifts my pillow like it’s a shield and shakes her head. “Not until you tell me everything that happened between you two.”
My shoe drops to the floor with a thud. “Just now?”
“Don’t be daft.”
“I already told you. We sparred,” I say while searching through the trunk at the cot’s base.
A shapeless gray dress has been provided by the chancellor’s staff as a customary change of clothes.
The linen material unfolds as I hold the dress to my body.
I can’t help but think it looks more like the attire of an inmate than that of a supposedly esteemed Huntress.
“You’re too slow to outrun a Sol, but strong enough to fight them?” Her flat intonation suggests she’s not buying it.
“I won’t have a choice, Gem. Evasion is obviously the better option, but you know how much all that up and down makes me dizzy.
” I tug off the too-tight black pants of my training uniform, and the skin along my legs practically sings in freedom.
“Kalden agreed to teach me a few offensive techniques as a last resort.”
I slip into the gray dress before peeling away the provided top that’s basically a bra, and it’s a tense moment before Gem asks, “You believe that’ll work?”
Despite my sagging shoulders, I understand her doubt.
If Kalden had told me I’d have to rely on my physical strength alone as an offensive tactic, I’d share Gem’s concerns.
Little does she know there’s a loophole—a way to turn the Sols’ power against them without becoming one, assuming Kalden’s techniques prove true.
But I can’t tell her that. Not only would it endanger Kalden, it might jeopardize Gem, too, if the chancellor deemed her guilty by association.
So, I twist my features into feigned hurt. “Just say it. You think I’m too weak for this, don’t you? That I can’t possibly survive up there?” Her eyes widen, and my voice breaks. “Please, by all means, tell me how you fully expect me to be the first to die tomorrow.”
Gem shakes her head, unable to speak the words we both know are true.
I hate that I have to do this—that I have to guilt trip Gem into thinking I resent her lack of faith in my abilities.
But even more, I hate the true throb in my chest telling me I do resent her doubt.
Yes, it’s justified. Yes, I’d rather my closest friend be honest rather than spare my feelings.
And yet, it stings to hear the person who knows me best admit I’m too weak, too broken to survive.
Instead of answering my question, Gem asks her own. “You think I’d turn down Kalden’s offer to swap places if I was confident we’re doomed to be goners?”
A wet heat builds in my eyes. “Yes, I do.”
Her mouth falls open. “Seriously?”
I lean against the footboard for support while explaining, “You’re a realist, Gem. Not an optimist. I think you chose to stick with me, despite the obvious risks, for the same reason you wanted to escape to Deor: to avoid being cast aside while Taur adjusts to life in a superior tier.”
A tear silhouetted by the room’s purple glow trails down Gem’s cheek.
“Soldiers can’t afford to feel.”
With Kalden’s earlier words echoing in my mind, I take two measured breaths before saying, “Let’s get some sleep. We’re both tired, and we’ve got a big day ahead of us.”
Nodding, Gem rises from my cot and shuffles to the door. Her fingers pause on the knob. “You’re wrong, you know. Not just about me. You’re the most resilient person I know, Orelle. If anyone can defy the odds, it’s you.”
Before I can respond, Gem slides out into the hall.
The door clicks shut, and I collapse onto the cot. Why should I bother to slink beneath the soft cotton sheets when I’m already covered in a compressing blanket of shame?