Chapter 12 #2
‘Nope. I entered by accident, honestly. Bumped into Cale at the inn last night. He was talking about coins, and I fancied some of those. So. Here I am.’ She points at another large group of contestants. ‘Shall we go over there?’
I barely look in their direction. Damian’s finished his drink, his goblet hanging limply from his hand as he slumps in his chair, glowering at his gloves with the same intensity I sometimes give my hexmark.
‘You should find Cale,’ I tell her. ‘I need to . . . do something.’
She seems set to protest – it’s unclear why witnessing me kiss a man to death made her think I’d make a good ally – but I abandon her in favour of approaching Damian. His gaze flicks up to meet mine, and it’s hard to tell if he’s pleased by the interruption.
‘Did nobody tell you it’s rude for a host to ignore his guests?’
That earns me an uptick of one corner of his mouth, at least. ‘I greeted them individually, didn’t I?’
‘And now you’re hiding in a corner. Why throw this party if you won’t join in? You could give us the information we need to find the cure and send us on our way.’
‘I wanted to show people what my wealth can achieve. A taste of what will be theirs, if they succeed.’ The answer is so smooth it sounds rehearsed. ‘And who says I’m not having fun? Perhaps I prefer watching from my corner.’
Please. Someone else might believe that, but I’ve lurked on the sidelines long enough to know that can’t be true.
No matter how happy I feel for the couples in my inn, or he feels for the pairs swirling around the dance floor, there’s always something niggling underneath, a desperate thought of, Why can’t it be me, instead? When is it my turn?
‘Don’t you get tired of watching?’ I ask.
He hesitates. ‘Do you?’
‘Every day.’
Something about my confession draws his full attention. He studies me, and I resist the urge to fidget as he assesses my appearance, wearing the dress he chose, in the colour he’s claimed as his own.
‘Well.’ He rises and stretches out a gloved hand, jerking his head towards the dancers. ‘Shall we?’
‘Oh. Oh, no. I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t suggesting . . .’
Dancing with him is surely going to put a target on my back with the other guests. Besides, my fantasies about being spun round all feature, unfortunately, Astin.
But Astin didn’t ask. And there’s a perfectly pleasant man standing right here; one who’s reaching out for me rather than turning away and complaining he’s at a party in the first place.
I take a deep breath. ‘Okay.’ Another breath. With more conviction, ‘Okay, let’s dance.’
Damian watches me carefully as my palm slides against his, as though expecting me to be nervous, even with the protection of the gloves. Instead, I beam at him. Any kind of reaction would be what he expects, is probably the reason he prefers to lurk in corners, and I won’t give him the excuse.
We join the other dancers, and I allow myself to revel in the fact I’m here, a star-sprinkled sky above me, listening to the swell of violins and laughter ringing out around us, safe in the arms of someone who actually does want to be in my company.
For a moment I’m a normal girl. It’s been a long time since someone held me. Not since . . .
Not since Michael.
Damian must sense the way I stiffen, because his hold loosens. ‘You don’t appear to be having fun.’
‘Sorry.’ I lock my arms around his neck. ‘I usually avoid being near people. For their safety.’
‘In case you’re compelled to kiss them?’ He raises a brow. ‘Should I be concerned?’
Heat fills my cheeks. ‘No. It’s habit, that’s all. You’re perfectly safe with me.’
He doesn’t reply, but he squeezes my waist as though in reminder that I’m safe with him too, so long as the danger is locked away, and I tell myself the goose bumps erupting along my arms are from the breeze tickling my skin.
‘Can you feel anything through them at all?’ I ask. ‘The gloves, I mean.’
‘No,’ he says shortly.
I lift a finger to his face, dragging it along his jaw. ‘But you can feel this though. You could still . . .’
He swallows, eyes searching mine, and for the first time I sense a real emotion from him, the scent of light rain in the air despite the dry night.
There’s an edge to his usual smoothness when he says, ‘No, I couldn’t.
Haven’t you noticed, the moment we joined this dance floor, every other person shifted away? ’
I hadn’t, but he’s right. We’re isolated from the others, two people pretending at a normality we both want but will never have.
Occasionally, their eyes dart to us, then down to Damian’s gloves, like they fear him even with his powers contained.
Yet they’re here anyway, clamouring for his favour, desperate for his reward.
Hexes, they treat him as badly as they would a Souleater. They’ll use his emeralds the way they’ll happily spread a Souleater’s lust powder around at the Laevothe festival, while refusing to view him as a person.
‘It’s not fair,’ I whisper. Wistfulness morphs into anger, and I sway with more force, as though if I dance hard enough, long enough, I can prove we belong here.
Damian responds in kind, his hand sliding up my spine as his hips rock in rhythm with mine. ‘Once I’ve killed that Souleater, it won’t matter what they think. I’ll have everything I need to – Well. That’s it. I’ll have everything I need.’
‘Revenge won’t change the way they look at you.’
‘We’ll see.’ He smiles, focus shifting to something over my shoulder.
‘Speaking of people looking, the man who met with me after you – who spent most of his time interrogating me on all possible ways harm could befall you on this quest, I might add – hasn’t stopped glaring at us since we started dancing. ’
Alarm flares, but before I can turn round, Damian dips us both, bending me ninety degrees so I can see what’s behind me. Although the figure is upside down from this angle, it’s unmistakeably Astin, hovering on the sidelines, almost crushing the goblet clenched in his fist.
Damian lowers his head, lips inches from mine, and murmurs, ‘You’re welcome.’
I’m hauled upright and spun in a circle, panic clawing at my throat because I don’t feel welcome in the slightest.
‘What was that for?’ I hiss once my breath returns.
‘Call it a thank you. For being the only person to speak to me like a human today. I thought you deserved some real fun before this is over.’ He looks over my shoulder once more. ‘Your friend is on his way.’
‘On his way where?’
Damian blinks at me like the answer should be obvious, and then I’m hit with the familiar scent of pine, and I realise the answer wasn’t obvious at all. I turn my head to find Astin standing right next to us, brow furrowed. ‘Mind if I have the next dance?’
I gape at him.
‘Why don’t you finish this one?’ Damian twirls me one final time before releasing me, and I stumble into Astin’s waiting arms.
I’m still gaping by the time I’ve found my footing. ‘Astin,’ I exclaim. ‘You’re . . . here. On the dance floor. Why are you on the dance floor?’
‘Keeping you out of trouble,’ he says, nostrils flared with displeasure.
It’s unclear if his irritation comes from my behaviour, or the fact he’s currently standing in the one location he claimed he wouldn’t go.
He makes a half-hearted attempt at moving to the music, presumably so we don’t look like idiots next to the enthusiastic dancers around us.
‘I wasn’t –’ I glance back to find Damian has already disappeared, the crowd filling in the space left behind, crushing me against Astin. ‘I wasn’t in trouble.’
‘I don’t trust him.’ Astin’s hands tighten on my waist, pulling me until my whole body is lined up against his.
He’s warm where Damian was not, soft in all the right places, but I can’t fully appreciate it when he wouldn’t have asked me to dance if it weren’t for Damian.
Damian, who hadn’t hesitated to ask, who heard me say, I’m tired of watching, and understood exactly how I felt and wanted to fix it.
To Astin, all I say is, ‘You don’t trust anyone.’
‘I trust you.’ The response comes so quickly it gives me whiplash.
Especially when it can’t be true. The man loves nothing more than to tell me all my decisions are terrible.
As if sensing my bemusement, he adds, ‘I trust you always mean well. Damian, on the other hand, was cagey when I asked questions about the cure.’
Probably because I’m the sole person he told about his Souleater murder plan. If only Damian knew his real kindred spirit lay in Astin. I settle for twisting in Astin’s grasp, and saying, ‘Well, consider me sufficiently rescued. You don’t have to dance with me.’
To my surprise, he doesn’t let go. ‘It’s okay. We can stay till the end of the song.’
I don’t point out that a new song has just started, slower than the last. Maybe this is still some misguided attempt to keep me safe, but my heart is doing more acrobatics than the performers dangling from the walls, and I allow myself to sink into his embrace.
One of his hands glides up my back before tangling itself in my hair.
I loop my arms around his shoulders, unable to take my eyes off him, and the way he presses me closer leaves me imagining that this can’t all be for the sake of protection.
There’s no crease of displeasure in his brow any more, and his eyes are dark, solely focused on me, as though the crowd around us have melted to nothing.
I swallow. Part of me wishes this – whatever this is – wasn’t happening. Now that I’ve been in his arms, it’s going to be ten times harder returning to a world where I don’t belong in them.
‘Can I ask you something?’ he says, next to my ear. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about your hex?’
I freeze, falling out of rhythm, and he’s forced to spin me in a circle to get me back in time before answering, ‘Why would I? You’ve never told me yours.’
‘I know, but . . .’ His fingers curl against my waist before he shakes his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. You’re right. It’s not my business.’