“Sel’s in charge while he’s gone, William said.”
“Unfortunately.”
After Nick had been recovered alive, but injured, Sel took him straight to the Lodge. The long walk back through the woods had given me a lot of time to think about my “mission” here, and the danger it was putting both me and Nick in. With every step, guilt dropped into my body, one heavy brick at a time.
Sel may be terrifying and cruel, but he’s the only reason the Shadowborn’s plan to kidnap Nick failed tonight. Sel’s role as Kingsmage is more critical than ever right now, and his suspicions of me are taking his attention from his job. It’s worse, too, because those suspicions are unfounded. He’s wasting energy on me when, after tonight, there’s no doubt that Nick’s life is in danger. The Order is an army, and the Legendborn are its soldiers. Could I really keep going in the tournament and become William’s or Pete’s or even Nick’s Squire if my only intention is to gain the title so that I can find out what happened to my mother?
This afternoon with Patricia, finding the truth had felt like the most important thing in the world. Important enough to lie to my father, lie to Alice, and lie to everyone at the Lodge every time I showed my face. My mission still feels important and necessary, because how can I rest knowing that someone may have taken my mother away from me? That it might not have been an accident at all.
But whether or not Camlann arrives, and whether or not someone in the Order killed my mother, Nick needs a real Squire, not a fraud.
For the first time, I wonder if maybe Sel’s right and I am born of shadows. Or maybe those shadows aren’t who I am, but I keep finding my way to them anyway.
Nick huffs. “Earth to Bree? You’re just standing there, zoning out. It’s making me anxious.” He pats his bed, and his eyes hold a hint of their old mirth. “You can sit down, you know. I won’t bite.”
I stare at him then, really stare at him. Someone I care about is alive but hurt. Someone I like very much is right here in front of me, asking me to sit with him. It dawns on me that if I ignore that or forget how important that is, then I truly will make the shadows my home.
I take a deep breath and step forward, pulling off my shoes and climbing onto his bed, and just like that, the nearness of Nick pulls all of my focus: his warmth; the bright scent of William’s aether mingling with the detergent smell of fresh clothes; his half-lidded eyes that follow me as I move toward him and watch me as I get settled. It’s too much all of a sudden, and my entire body knows it. I lean back a tiny fraction.
Of course Nick notices. He presses his lips closed to fight a grin, and the expression somehow makes his already handsome face more endearing, more inviting. “You nervous, B?”
“No,” I say, and raise my chin a fraction to feel—and appear—convincing. I’m not sure it works, because he makes a soft, curious sound.
“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head to the side in query, but it causes his matted hair to flare up comically. I cringe and laugh.
“You look like a rooster.” It takes everything in me not to stretch up and press it down.
“A rooster?” He tilts his head the other way, sending his hair flopping again. I blow out a laugh, just like he wants me to, and he smiles.
I can’t help it. I lean forward on my knees and smooth his hair down. Once the soft strands lay flat, I notice how carefully Nick watches me, how still he’s gone. His eyes are slate blue with dashes of gray, his lashes fine strokes of paint against his skin.
I wonder if he’s holding his breath too.
I start to pull back, but he catches my wrist with one hand and passes his thumb, calloused and warm, over the inside of my palm. The motion tingles and tickles, until his thumb presses down and sends an arrow of heat from my hand to my toes.
My heart beats so rapidly I’m sure he must see it, feel it through my palm.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” I ask. This close, Nick’s laundry-and-cedar scent is rich enough to make me dizzy. There are other smells that I pull in with a silent breath: green grass on a warm summer day, the slight bite of metal.
His eyes travel an unhurried route over my face, from my brows to my nose. They flicker to my mouth and back up to my eyes and, just like that, my breath is gone again.
“For still being here,” he says, his expression a mixture of wonder and gratitude. “Even after the hellhound, and the uchel, and Felicity being Called, and now a sarff uffern. I never thought we’d be this close to Camlann, but I’m glad you’re here with me.” His eyes lower; he shakes his head. “When we first met, some part of me trusted you. I don’t know why. I just did.”
Despite my guilt, I think of how, in so many moments since I’ve met him, my own trust had risen inside to meet his, sure and steady.
Call and response.
Maybe Nick’s thinking of that too, because he caresses my palm once more and takes a ragged breath.
“How about now?” he whispers, his voice rough.
“Now?” I breathe.
Something heady and dark pools in Nick’s eyes. “Does this make you nervous?”
The last boy I kissed was Michael Gustin in ninth grade in the corner of the school dance. I remember being terrified and, after the too-wet, too-sloppy ick of it, disappointed. But that was ninth grade and Michael. This is now. And this is Nick.
I don’t feel nervous. I feel desire batting against my ribs like a caged bird. I feel hesitation. I feel overwhelmed. Then, I feel mortification when I realize that Nick, with his sharp, perceptive eyes, has seen it all.
He smiles, small and secret, and brings his free hand up to cradle my jaw, sweeping his thumb over it. His eyes follow the movement thoughtfully before they rise to claim my gaze again. He squeezes my wrist, then lets me go.
I lurch backward on my knees, my cheeks heated, the ghosts of his hands on my skin.
I’m grateful that he’s busy adjusting his pillows and not looking at me.
I have a feeling he’s doing it on purpose, giving me a moment to collect myself.
Once he finishes, he settles back against the headboard and folds his hands in his lap. “Will you sit with me?” he asks pleasantly.
And just like that, the air between us feels lighter, easier. Like nothing unusual had happened at all.
I’m impressed, despite my still-racing heartbeat. How does he do it? How does this boy navigate my emotions like a seasoned sailor, finding the clear skies and bringing them closer, when all I seem able to do is hold fast to the storms?
He waits patiently for me to decide, his eyes soft and open. Finally, I nod and crawl up to the headboard, making myself comfortable in the space beside him.
We sit like that for a long time, until our breaths rise and fall as one.
* * *
I must have dozed off, because I jump when I hear the Lodge’s front door slam downstairs.
The room is black. For a moment I forget where I am.
Nick presses a hand to my knee and says in a groggy voice, “If it’s bad, they’ll come find us.”
The digital clock above his door says it’s close to one a.m. “I should go.”
“If you leave now, Sel will know you’re still here and yell at both of us,” he says reasonably. “Stay.”