Of course it is. I turn to face him, lean my back against the door, and then slide down it so I’m seated. Dorian approaches and sits next to me.
Searching the ground for something to pick at, I’m pleased to find a scattering of gravel on the cave floor. I pick up a handful of pebbles and then drop them. Over and over.
Out of nowhere, Dorian blurts, “Pebble for your thoughts?” He holds a small rock atop his palm.
I look over at him, scrutinizing his face, unsure whether to laugh or slap the stone out of his hand. “You’ve literally been with me for two days. Do you really not know what I’m thinking?” I say.
He raises his eyebrows. “I assume you’re angry with me?”
“A bit.”
“It’s fair. Warranted. I shouldn’t have overruled you, and I got a mouthful from the Sindaco about it if that makes you feel any better.”
“It does.”
Dorian laughs under his breath. “Good.” He glances over at me. Narrows his eyes. “But there’s more, isn’t there?”
I only meet his stare.
“Is it Nico?”
I shrug, my insides cramping with guilt and disappointment. I couldn’t begin to delve into all of that right now. Still, I answer honestly. “Nico’s on my mind, yes.”
“I know you’re close to him. I imagine facing him like that, the idea of drugging him, dragging him down here was hard. On several levels.”
I nod. Several levels is right. But does Dorian know I’m developing feelings for him? Does he have feelings for me? Last night … Sleeping next to him … I’d have never admitted it, not even a few hours ago, but within those hours everything’s changed. Dorian’s becoming more and more comforting. A source of laughter and happiness. A bright flicker in all this darkness.
And I don’t know if my heart can take the confusion. The pulling in two directions as I lose Nico, yet gain Dorian. And I have lost Nico, haven’t I? To the Imperi. To duty. To everything I always knew would eventually tear him away from me.
We both know it. That look we shared after our kiss confirmed it. The memory tears an invisible hole through my chest, makes me want to curl up into a ball. The place he held in my life used to be so full of light and love and everything Nico. But now it’s empty. Dark.
“It’s hard seeing him this way…” I take a deep breath. “So much has changed. I’ve known it for a while, but it feels so final now.”
Dorian glances over at me, dropping the sarcasm, any and all pretenses. “What feels final?”
“Nico and I … Our friendship … It feels finished. And maybe it was always doomed.” I’m saying it for myself, but also, I think, for Dorian to hear too.
He scoots closer. “I’m sorry, Veda, I really am sorry. For the mission. For you and Nico … For…” His words trail off, but I can see he means it. All of it.
I take a deep, shaky breath and I pat the top of his hand. “Thanks.”
Dorian nods, then turns his head, looks me in the eyes, and I realize how close we’re sitting to each other. When he speaks, his breath grazes my ear and despite the weight of the moment, my heart quickens. “You love him?”
My answer is automatic. “I always will.”
“I understand.” His words are soft, genuine, and at the same time he says it, Dorian pulls back, puts a bit of space between us.
I’m a little worried he took what I said the wrong way. I love Nico, but it’s not so simple. So far from simple, I’m not sure I’ll ever understand it all. But back at the pond, just after our kiss, that was goodbye.
We both saw it, both undoubtedly felt it.
I turn my head to look at him. I’m about to explain this when he asks, “Do you want me to walk back with you?”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll stay here a bit longer. I’ll find my way.”
He gently pats my hand, then stands. “Hey, I’m sorry again. For everything.”
“Me too.” I nod.
I sit for a good five minutes pelting tiny rocks and staring down the dark cave, the empty place where Dorian had been sitting next to me.
The place where, in another life, Nico might have been by my side.
* * *
I’M LOST.
I’ll find my way … Those might have been the most idiotic words I’ve said in a while.
I have absolutely no idea how to get back to my room. I’ve given it a good go, but I’m certain the path I’m on is taking me farther into the endless labyrinth. Everything looks the same: tunnels, unmarked doors, stone and dirt, darkness. I take yet another set of rickety stairs only to hit yet another fork.
I flip a mental coin and choose left.
And I thank the Sun because I did find my way.
Eventually.
In a big circle back to the map room.
I march right by—I definitely know the way from here. But despite my mind trying to will my feet forward, I skid to a stop only a few feet past the door.
As if that isn’t enough, I knock.
Then enter.
The Sindaco glances up, motions I come inside. He’s in the same place as when I left, but instead of standing behind the table, he’s sitting on the floor, papers spread out all around him like fallen leaves.
I sit down across from him, narrowly avoiding several maps.
After a short beat of silence, not looking up, he says, “I understand your frustration, you know.” The Sindaco jots something down on the page before him. “My entire childhood, much of my young adulthood, was spent with choices always being made for me.”
“So, you know how used I feel?”
The Sindaco looks up, meets my eyes. “Yes.” He releases a sigh. “But…” I raise an eyebrow. “It’s not the same.”
“How so?”
“My father, those around me, all they wanted was to control me.”
“And this is different?”
He nods. “Veda, you don’t see it now, but you will … You are the opposite of powerless here. You are the power. The influence.”
“You keep saying that, but it doesn’t feel that way.”
“Be patient. Be open. Sometimes you have to read between the lines, so to speak. Refocus to truly see.” He sits up straighter. “All of this…” The Sindaco shuffles his papers. “It’s just details … Important details, but details nonetheless.” He leans forward, speaking more lightly, but with emotion accenting his words. “Your task, your destiny, it’s superior to details.”
“Maybe … But it doesn’t help I’m so in the dark to the details either.” I shrug. “Shouldn’t I have some information? I mean, how am I supposed to be Lunalette when I know less than everyone around me?” Honestly, it makes me feel naive. More like a child and less “legendary savior to the revolution.”
He looks across the space at me, seems to consider my words, then digs through one specific pile of papers. Plucks a page out and hands it over. It’s a map, ink lining different routes, X’s marking specific spots. “We’re attacking in six days, during the next Offering.”
I glance at the large mural of the map on the wall, as if it holds answers. “How?”