22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter twenty-two
B lossom takes charge of selecting my uniform for the day, throwing a white dress with a long, full skirt onto my bed. I used to love this one, how graceful it made me feel. And a little seductive, like I could drape myself on a lounge like the lady in the gold-framed picture and be admired forevermore.
Now, I’d like to take that painting and throw it off the island for perpetuating stupid ideals.
Nothing happened between Quillian and me that we both didn’t want. Really want.
But that doesn’t stop me from feeling like a used toy. A dirtied one … and one that is really struggling to comprehend being discarded. My chest twinges and I push away any question of what his explanation could be.
Although I can’t push out the deep-rooted thought that sending me away like that this morning is not his style. That the explanation could be completely valid … like I’m leaving and he’s not … or … or like he’s a Warden and I’m a law-breaking concierge. I smother the sting that remains from the fact he did it anyway, turn my other cheek as I’ve done countless times before when the other shoe drops and I’m, once again, not chosen.
Blossom and I are quiet as we leave our apartment and head for the concierge room. It’s the first time in a while we’ve started work at the same time. As we reach the open air hallways, I can hear the gentle murmur of voices from our break room.
I draw a deep lungful of air—
‘Luka,’ Janly says, as she pops out of the doors we were about to go through. ‘I’ve got this – the Warden has asked to see you in his office.’
My steps falter and Blossom takes my arm, Janly disappearing back into the room again. I watch the doors close behind her.
‘I guess I was never going to be able to avoid him.’
‘You can do this,’ Bloss says.
‘Get the information on the wards, not get him killed, and not feel like a fool at the same time?’
She gives me a soft smile.
‘I’ll be here when you need me.’
The white-panelled door gives me pause – a longer one than normal. How different would things be if Claudius hadn’t made the decisions he did?
Quillian is standing behind the desk when I enter, watching the door.
Professional. I can keep it professional.
‘Good morning, what’s on your list for today?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice light – and failing – as I close the door and make my way towards the windows. ‘I believe there’s another intake coming in the next week. Janly is leading the preparation for that along with the … removal of Aiten. I have a meeting with the events committees later today to—’
Quillian moves around the desk and takes a hesitant step forward, his hands fisted in his pockets, straining the dark blue fabric.
‘I was hoping to talk about last night before we talk about work,’ he says quietly. All the coldness that shields him as we walk the halls has left his features, and I curse the way it flares a warmth between my ribs.
‘It’s fine, sir,’ I lie, ‘you made a mistake, you said. We don’t have to make this uncomfortable. There are many more things unfolding that require our attention. I’m sure we can keep this … respectful.’ Respectful, as opposed to professional. I think that fits. My current goal of breaking out three prisoners is hardly in keeping with a professional concierge.
I can’t look away as he takes slow, deliberate steps towards me, closing the gap I haven’t been able to. The seriousness in his stance radiates through his shoulders and across his chest. But still, he walks to me.
My breath hitches. This isn’t what he’s supposed to be doing.
He stops less than a step before me, and I lean against the stone wall, the rock cool through the back of my white dress. I press my hands behind me, finding the sheer fabric of the curtains beneath one of my hands.
‘Please don’t call me sir,’ he says quietly. Gently.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say hurt stained the pools of his eyes.
‘Okay,’ I say back, any other words failing me.
‘I made a mistake,’ he says, and my mouth goes dry.
I knew that’s what this was about – I knew – and it’s painful anyway, like he’s scratched a line down from my collarbone to the dip in my dress.
‘I know, it’s fine,’ I say, willing my voice not to break at my naivety.
He narrows his gaze at me.
‘What do you think you know, Luka?’
‘You made a mistake,’ I repeat, willing a bit of steel into my voice. ‘I get it, you’re my boss and … it’s fine. That Warden hat doesn’t come off, I get it.’ There’s more of a bite in my last words as I say them again.
His lips pull up at the side in a sort of grimace. The left side, showing just the tiniest hint of dimple. If I didn’t know it was there, I wouldn’t notice. He leans forward and rational thought starts to flow away.
‘I did make a mistake,’ he says, his voice tight. ‘But not for the reasons you think.’ I watch as he leans back a fraction and fills his lungs. ‘I shouldn’t have … kissed you. I shouldn’t have asked you for a drink that day in the wellness centre without knowing more about … your connections here and what role Claudius might have you playing.’
I press a hand to my chest.
Asshole.
And we did a whole lot more than kiss.
‘Then we’re back where we started,’ I try not to scoff. ‘You made a mistake. I’m not sure how many times we need to repeat it, but it’s fine. I have work to do.’
I push off the wall but he blocks me with his body, stepping further into my path so I collide with him. His hands slowly leave his pockets and land on my hips, just his fingers lightly holding me there, flush against him.
My head starts to spin, but I don’t pull away.
‘I shouldn’t have kissed you, or let myself get so caught up in your goodness I thought I could share in it – just for one, non-work related drink, because that led us here,’ he repeats. His actions and his words don’t match and I can’t keep up. I need to breathe. His breath fans my face as he drops his forehead to mine. I squeeze my eyes shut. ‘But the mistake was leaving you like that.’
All the wind leaves my already flailing sails and I stare up at him. The vulnerability in his words cracking something in my chest. Ripping it wide open and leaving it waiting to be filled with something new. Something different.
‘I’m sorry.’
I peer up at him but find I need a moment before breaking our contact. Just to absorb what he’s telling me. I nod slowly, moving both of our heads with the action. Desperately soaking in his words. The fact that the truth of it is written all over his face.
‘Why shouldn’t you have done it then?’ I ask, not sure I want the answer.
‘It’s … complicated,’ he says.
I pull back to look at him. He doesn’t force me to stay so close but I can’t move away, even when he’s given a terrible answer.
‘Because …’ I prompt, forcing myself to be still.
‘Because it will hurt people we both care about in ways you don’t expect and … because I can’t tell you why. I shouldn’t have put you in the middle of something you don’t completely understand – can’t yet understand.’
‘The magic binds?’ I ask, unaware the role of Warden would be subjected to the same contracts.
‘More like … the binds of honour. And I have not upheld what I was supposed to.’
Tentatively, I raise a hand between us and place it on his chest. He looks down at it before raising his face again to mine, the heat in his eyes palpable.
‘What if …’ I whisper, horribly conscious of the warmth racing across my own chest and down my centre. The words are far more vulnerable than I would like but looking up at his face, one that’s really still very new to me, I can’t stop how much I want to know it more. To know why he left like that, why he’s looking at me like that was a mistake. How much he feels like … possibility . Something different. I trail my fingers in loose circles over his shirt, my gaze tracing their path, finding them drawn to his collar, to his tattoo …
He squeezes the fingers on my hips a little harder and makes a questioning sound in his throat, prompting me.
‘What if the opportunity presented itself again?’ I can’t look at him as I ask. Instead I watch my hand on his chest, wondering what he’d do if I slipped it between the buttons on his shirt. If I told him everything about how my feelings about this prison and its people feel like they’re being woken up. How I feel like I might not make it to Traelen’s unknown ending of my extension. How desperately part of me wants to leave with Nix and River and take Bloss with us.
He wraps his hand further around my back, finally pulling me completely against him, and drops his head to my shoulder. A shiver runs the entire way down my body as he drags his nose up the column of my neck and puts his lips to mine so softly I think I might imagine it.
‘That would be an opportunity I didn’t think I would have. One I don’t deserve. And one I would need to wait for.’ His breath tickles my face.
‘What do you mean?’ I murmur.
He cups my jaw in his hands and looks at me, weighing up his response. ‘I can’t hurt those people like that again, Luka, you included. Even if I feel like it’s going to kill me to stay away from you. I did not expect …’
I stare at him blankly but he says no more and my stomach drops through the floor – he can only mean Nix and River. I can’t find the words I need in this moment. I don’t even know what the right ones are. Eventually, he removes his hands and steps back. Shifting to the desk he picks up a folder of papers and shuffles them around a bit.
Finally, he looks back to me, clearing his throat, and we hold each other’s gaze as we make a silent agreement to let the moment go. Let the tension in the room subside. At least as much as we can.
‘Shall we go through the list?’ he asks.
The rest of the day is spent in a growingly familiar way. We work, we talk, and we dance around the unspoken words between us. Quillian is careful, never too overt with his touches or his looks. Just not careful enough for me to not notice him being so controlled. My mind frequently wanders the questions I have no answers to yet, the ones I should have thought of a long time ago – ones my father would probably be quite disappointed I haven’t been asking.
Or would he have just expected that I do my duty, my service for my country, without further question?
Whatever the case, I know now I can’t let those questions go. I want to know why all the prisoners are treated like esteemed guests when the acts they have committed mean they should by rights be in the true Vana. Quillian walks me to the door when the sun is setting, but there is no part of me that wants to leave.
‘I guess I should go,’ I say, willing the soft yearning to stay, to be quiet.
He nods. ‘I have a few things I need to tidy up before our next check-in with Traelen, there’s no point in you staying for that. You should … enjoy your evening.’
The space between us goes taut but he reaches around me and opens the door. I step out into the hallway and he follows, just a step behind. Until we’re both occupying the space just on the outside of the doorway, as if neither of us wants to completely leave the sanctuary of his office.
‘I’ll see you later,’ he says quietly. ‘We can talk more if you’re sure you’re ready.’
Our gazes come together and hold there a moment. For a wild heartbeat I want to lean forward and feel his mouth again. But doing so here, in the hall, wouldn’t be right – especially after all of our discussion this morning. Nor do I want to give the prisoners anything to complain to Traelen about. So I breathe into all the spaces in my chest that I want to fill with something else and straighten my spine.
‘You fucking bastard,’ a low voice mutters.
A broad frame launches itself at Quillian, shoving me to the side and into the wall. The impact of my head on the stone pings around my skull and I blink furiously to clear my vision. Nix straddles Quillian and draws his fist back before slamming it into Quillian’s face, blood spraying the door to the office.
Quillian covers his face with his arms but otherwise doesn’t fight back. His wings don’t make an appearance, and my head spins with gratitude that he hasn’t already shredded Nix to pieces.
‘Nix!’ I shout, finally finding my voice. ‘Nix! Stop!’
My heart races as I throw myself on Nix’s back and try to grapple his arms into place by his sides. But he’s too strong for me and the impact I have on pulling his punches is limited. I dig my fingers into his scalp and yank on his hair. His head jerks back as he curses but he still doesn’t focus. Wrenching himself from my grasp, he leaves me staring at the dark red strands left in my hands. I slip off him as he pummels Quillian.
‘RIVER!’ I scream until my voice is hoarse.
Prisoners start to gather, mouths agape, whispering. Some of them cover their eyes but they don’t walk away. At least one has a phone out.
All I can focus on is Quillian’s face, the grunts of pain he makes as Nix makes contact. A surge of panic fires through my limbs – for Nix or Quillian, I don’t know – and I throw myself at Nix again, screaming at him to listen to me.
He makes to dislodge me and smacks me in the side of the face with his elbow. The sensation in my cheek and a white hot pain lances through my eye socket and down my neck as the world tilts and I can’t see.
The stone walkway greets me with another kind of hardness as I drop onto it, my arms falling out beneath me as I try to get up.
But the prison is getting too dark and the tears are hot on my face.
‘Nix, please,’ I whimper. ‘Stop.’