Chapter 32
“If Samkiel’s after the guardian we need to go to Sea.” Isra slams his fist against the mahogany desk, glaring daggers at Roe across the room.
“Don’t push it, Is. You know I can’t simply cross the border,” she hisses.
The thrum in my temples hasn’t subsided, but it’s dull enough now to focus on their rallying game. I chugged so much of Morvayne’s Water, I fear I may have drank the well dry, but the healing minerals are potent and fast acting. Even the cut across my forehead is starting to heal over.
“It’s been ten years. Don’t you think enough time’s passed? You can’t hide over the border forever.” Isra flashes his canines.
“I’ll be cold and dead in the fucking ground before enough time’s passed,” Roe spits.
“No, you’re just being a coward, and you know it.” Isra throws an index finger toward her like a blade ready for the kill. My eyes widen, but I stay quiet. I’ve been injured enough, and provoking either of them could very well knock me on my ass.
“Isra Kaari, if you spew your bullshit golden boy act again, it’s not me who’ll be hiding over the fucking border. Don’t push me.”
The energy blazing between them is damn near palpable enough to taste—sour and brutal like underripe lemon.
“Grow up, Roe. The continent needs you, remember?” Isra rises from his seat. The sconces mounted over Jace’s desk flicker with a surge of fury. Roe’s chest stills and her eyes simmer to the deepest of blues.
“Fuck the continent,” she whispers, her lips stretched into a tight line. “And fuck you.”
Isra runs his hands through his curls and paces to the window. There’s a speckle of brown in the trees, foreshadowing the seasonal change that’s almost upon us. Soon this place will sparkle under a blanket of ice.
Roe shifts in her boots and starts for the hall, leaving us under a swollen silence.
“That went well…” Isra sighs and turns to face me. The muscle in his sharp jaw clenches then softens when his gaze meets mine. “She’ll come around I’m sure.”
“You were a little harsh, don’t you think?” I ask, risking an opinion I might regret.
“Maybe, but a little groveling and a few rounds tonight at Abe’s and she’ll be back to her normal sunshine.” He shrugs.
“When did you say Jace is expected to return?”
Isra’s brow releases with the much needed subject change.
“He mentioned a patrol with Tenebris after his council meeting. He’ll probably be back later tonight. Why? Miss our king already?”
I snort. “Gods no. I have a few questions he owes explanations to…and so do you for that matter.”
He raises a brow. “Me? Dark and mysterious? No, that’s Jace’s style.”
“Seriously, Isra. What’s wrong with him?”
He sighs and sits on the sofa beside me. “There are things you don’t want to know. Just let it go, okay? You’re not the only one haunted by your past.”
Well, that’s cryptic, and nowhere near an answer I’m looking for. “But Is…”
“Just drop it. Are you feeling up to some breathwork? I need to get my mind off some shit, and I imagine you do, too.” He offers me an empathetic glance that tells me Jace’s mission debrief wasn’t nearly as summarized as he initially let on.
There’s a one-sided understanding between us. Isra knows my truths, I’m sure of it, but he hasn’t yet offered me any of his. The frown molded to his full lips is evidence enough that he might not ever.
“Sure.” I sigh. “But if you force me to do lunges again, I’ll stab you in your sleep.”
Isra laughs and pats me on the shoulder. “That’s my girl.”
Abe’s pub is just as gross as my first visit, but he’s reassured us the dungeon-like backrooms are empty.
One last glass of Morvayne’s Water kicked my recovery to full, and after practically groveling at Isra’s feet to let me join them this evening, he complied.
My bedchamber was too silent, too still, haunted by wraiths of the past and the pain of Yaris’s death.
Perhaps he saw the glint in my eye, desperate for an escape.
So, when I asked him a fourth time to let me join in on their plans, Isra agreed with an understanding nod.
Tobacco smoke lingers around our table in thick, hazy wafts as I sip the pint Isra’s slammed down in front of me.
“So tell me, Nova, any Storm men catch your eye during your travels?” Isra shoots me a broad, gleaming smile, and I know he’s already had one too many.
The last two hours have been nothing but desperate groveling and heavily poured drinks.
Much to Isra’s dismay, though, Roe’s scowl stays permanent and her ale untouched.
“No,” I reply, watching a flushed-cheek couple slip down the corridor at the far end of the bar.
“That’s surprising. Storm men are the most handsome on the continent. Or so I’ve heard.”
Roe sips her glass, glaring at the emissary with an expression that absolutely matches my own. “She’s not going to fuck you, Is. You’re not her type, clearly.”
Isra rests a palm on his chest, feigned heartbreak molded over his face.
“And what’s my type?” I raise a brow at Roe. This is the first we’ve spoken since before I left, and I can’t imagine her jest isn’t laced with intent.
“Dark haired and brooding,” she replies with another sip.
My lips snap shut. She’s stolen the retort right out from under me, so I bury myself behind my own ale.
“How many more rounds do I need to buy us before I earn your forgiveness, little viper?” Isra asks. Roe scoffs but there's a twitch of her lip that doesn’t go unnoticed.
“You’ll have to drain your wallet to earn that,” she says.
Isra leans back in his seat, his hands lapping lazily through his curls.
In another life, I’d absolutely be attracted to the man seated opposite me.
His carefree nature and the moments of kindness brighten the room with a warmth I haven’t felt in a long time, but I’m damaged goods, fit for someone who is just as broken as I am.
As far as I can tell, Isra’s entirely whole. Entirely undamaged.
“This is the last I’ll say of it tonight, but we need you, Roe. You know that better than any of us,” Isra says, his expression turning grim.
She sighs and picks up her pint. “Just give me some time, okay?”
Isra nods and turns to me. “So, tell us more about this new lead.”
“There’s not really much else to say.” I bring my own glass to my lips. “The priestess who mentioned it overheard a conversation in passing. Maybe this noble babe is still in Sea, living with the servants of Neressa. It’s a long shot, but what else do we have to go off of?”
Roe leans across the table, her fingers thrumming on the gnarled wood. “And you trust this woman? Who’s to say she won’t run to her high priestess claiming you’re poking your nose in Ceti business?”
“She won’t, I swear it on Astora.”
“I’m not one to easily trust strangers, I thought you’d share the same sentiment,” Roe says bitterly.
“She’s a friend. Not a stranger. It’s evident that there are many, not just of Sovereign, who lost people during the war. We can trust her word,” I say, frustration hot on my teeth.
Isra rests his chin on locked fingers and watches the two of us.
“There are also those that would kill for what they’ve lost, courier.” She picks at a fingernail.
I’ll never win with her or be accepted into her circle—I’m too much of an outcast, a rat, desperately seeking a crevice to tunnel in through.
“My name is Nova.” Our half empty pints rattle with the blow of my fist against the table.
“And I don’t care if you think I’m weak or pathetic.
I don’t even care if you fucking hate me.
Jace trusts me to get this job done, and a whole lot hangs on the line if I don’t.
So when I say my intel is good…it’s good. End of story.”
Sweat trails my jaw with the spewed rage, maybe spoken a little too boldly, but I’ve had enough ale to not give a shit anymore. “I’m not going anywhere until we find our rider. So you could at least give me the courtesy of calling me by my fucking name.”
Roe’s lips thin as she takes me in. My breath comes in shallow bursts, and the alcohol’s gone to my cheeks, now pink and dewy.
“I’m gonna go get something stronger than ale,” she says, shoving off the table.
Isra stays quiet, suddenly very focused on his pint.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “She knows how to get under my skin, clearly.”
“Roe’s been through a lot. I give her shit, but she’s suffered worse than any of us. Trust doesn’t come easily, and her jabs are from a place of fear. Try to keep that in mind, okay? Even when she’s being an asshole.”
I nod and slither lower in my chair. Isra and I don’t speak, both watching Roe lean against the bar.
She offers a stipennote to the bartender and nods to Abe, now in his usual seat by the exit.
A grin spreads over his lips as he jumps from his stool and slides through the drunken patrons like a lost puppy who’s found its way home.
“She’s not coming back, is she?” I ask. Roe leans into Abe’s ear with a shared whisper. The bouncer laces his fingers through hers and they trail the perimeter before disappearing down the back hallway.
“Nope.” Isra chuckles and drains his glass. “Do you want one more round? I’m nowhere near drunk enough yet.”
I finish my own ale and hold out the glass. “How about whiskey instead? I need to disappear for a while.”