I breathe in, holding it for a few seconds, then let it out. His grin quickly falters. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Really. Just thinking.”
He moves closer.
The memory, and more, the image, of him training a few days ago flashes behind my eyes, and my stomach flits right when I should be focusing on the mission ahead, meeting with the Sindaco. Stupid stomach. Stupid butterflies.
“Thinking about the mission?”
I nod, half lying.
“Veda.” My stomach does that thing again. “You’re ready for this. You’ve been training nonstop. Studying. Honestly, you probably know more than I do at this point.” He lifts an eyebrow.
I laugh, play along. “Oh, I definitely do.”
Despite the joke, he must still sense my doubt because he asks, “Give and Take?”
“Huh?” I heard him, but, what? Now?
“Come on … It’ll be fun.”
“Fine. You know I’m weak to a game of Give and Take.”
“Exactly.” He gives a crooked smile.
* * *
BY THE TIME we’re nearly there, Dorian’s told me about his first mission—a huge failure and one that somehow left him bootless. “That’s a story for another time,” he finishes, slightly embarrassed, more like he’s trying to leave me with a cliffhanger I’m sure to want to come back to.
“—What about your first time fishing?”
“—Did you—”
Dorian gets his question out first, so I’m forced to answer and he’s officially winning, which I hate. Which he knows, playful grin and all.
“I was three the first time I actually did it on my own: baited my line, held my pole, caught a fish, and reeled it in. Poppy unhooked it and cleaned it, but he showed me how in painful detail. It wasn’t more than a minnow, but I was proud and Poppy…” I swallow back a painful knot of emotion. “Poppy was exaggeratedly proud. He even cooked it.”
“How did that work?”
“Not well.”
We both laugh.
“And look at you now,” Dorian breaks in. “You can probably catch a beast with your eyes closed.”
“I have.”
He raises his brow, not so much surprised as impressed.
And for a moment, a split second, we catch each other’s eyes, the laughter falters, and what’s left is an invisible energy between us. Something tethering him to me and me to him that I can’t quite place because it’s not exactly anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s as if here, in this moment, in this cave, Sun knows how far beneath the earth, everything’s all right. Safe.
Instantly, I think of Nico. Because I have felt this way around him. Right and safe in his presence until I didn’t. Until another Dogio walked past, or an Imperi soldier’s eyes found mine. Then, like lightning, the pendulum would shift to the other direction: fear, shame, confusion.
And I suppose that’s the difference. The newness of this sort of familiar emotion.
He stops walking, glances ahead. “We’re here.” And he sounds almost as surprised as I feel.
“Oh. Right.” The door to the map room practically appears before us.
“The Sindaco requested to see you privately, but only if you’re comfortable with that. Otherwise I can come along. I was briefed earlier.”
“It’s fine. I can see him on my own.”
“Good. Well”—he’s already walking away—“I’m going to see if anyone else needs help preparing, but I’ll meet you at the den. The Sindaco can tell you how to get there. It’s not far.”
“I’ll find it.”
He nods.
I knock on the door.
“Come in,” the Sindaco calls from the other side.
Dorian turns and leaves, and I’m left with a strange feeling. Like I missed something that pushed him into officer mode. As if a switch went off in the few seconds between that moment of eye contact and now. Did something happen I’m unware of? Is he feeling as confused with our … whatever it is we are … as I am?
I want to ask him, stop him from leaving and have him come with me, but the Sindaco opens the door and invites me inside just as Dorian rounds the corner.
I follow the Sindaco into the cave, that large map painted across the wall lit up by several lamps.
We sit on mats before the map of Bellona. When I glance toward the wall, I notice there are new markings on the mural, red Xs at various entrances and exits. Places, I assume, that will either be used or closed off when the Night attacks. The Sindaco follows my eyes.
“Are the markings to show closed-off areas?” I ask.
“Some, yes. Others”—he points to a green circle—“are good ways out, nice and hidden, less foot traffic on the other side.” He stares from one spot to another. “It’s just a bit of brainstorming I’m doing, plans for the attack. We’ve got to be more organized than usual. Precise. I’m having to pull on some of my much earlier training.”
“Training?”
He nods. “Remember, the current High Regent is my father.” Oh, I remember. “I grew up in the Imperi palace. Was groomed from birth to rule that island and in the way my father saw fit. Precisely. Relentlessly.” He sighs. “My mother died soon after I was born. So it was just me and my father, whom I rarely saw. I barely know him, but what I do know is cruelty. Harshness. Someone who strives for perfection and advancing his own interests.” He glances toward the map. “Thank the Sun for your mother. She saved me.”
“How so?” Now this I’m interested in. I have seventeen years’ worth of my mother’s past, her personality, her history to catch up on.
He meets my eyes. “You…” He clears his throat. “You look just like her. It’s remarkable.” I feel like I should smile but chew the inside of my cheek instead, unsure of what to say. “Your mother worked in the palace. She gardened. She was actually the one who started the main garden down here. Each morning she’d put out fresh flower arrangements throughout the house. I’d never known anyone to find such joy in something so seemingly mundane. Cutting flowers and placing them in vases? I couldn’t fathom how she always wore a smile. And, my Sun, what a smile it was! I came to look forward to it every morning. Eventually I found the courage to introduce myself. Then strike up a conversation. Then I noticed she was always placing the vase in the hallway outside my room at the same time. She wanted to see me as well.
“Before too long we were meeting in the garden, spending hours under the Sun, surrounded by nature, just talking. We were in love.” He smiles so warmly it’s infectious, and I surprise myself, probably him as well, by mirroring it. My mother and the Sindaco, young and in love … It’s hard to imagine when the only scraps I’ve ever had to go on are a photo and a name. “We knew because I was Dogio, not to mention the heir, and she was Basso, we had no future. And because I didn’t want to rule, especially how I’d be forced to—in my father’s footsteps—we left. And we joined the Night. When my father discovered I’d left he told everyone I was taken by the Night. Brutally killed. His hate for the Night, revenge over my betrayal began years ago. Luckily, he never made it a point to know the people he employed, so your mother’s identity, in turn yours and Poppy’s, was safe.”