He kept his tone even, but there was something dark behind it. They might be bought and bound by Bastian’s threat of the Isles—a threat Lore knew wasn’t idle—but Gabe’s loyalty was free, and it wasn’t for the Sun Prince. It never would be.
“No.” Lore shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”
Relief softened Gabe’s shoulders. He nodded.
For a moment, they stood there, and they could’ve filled the space between them with so many things. But Lore turned on her heel and left it empty.
Behind her shut door, Lore put the salve on her vanity before changing into a woolen chemise she found in the bottom of the wardrobe. Still shivering, she dug out a thick robe, wrapped it around herself. She felt the chill of death down her to bones, as if seeing Gabe had somehow made her body remember.
Her fingers felt numb as she fumbled the cork off the bottle of salve, poured the medicine into her palms. Gabe was right; it did sting like a bitch, and she hissed curses through her teeth as she rubbed her hands together, spreading it over her fingers and up her wrists. Eventually, the sting gave way to warmth, and she crossed her arms, making herself small as she burrowed under her covers.
But sleep wouldn’t come. She was so exhausted, but she was so cold, and rest hovered just beyond her grasp.
Getting up wasn’t really a conscious thought. Neither was padding to the door and pushing it open, looking out into the dim glow of the banked fire, out to where Gabe huddled next to the door, bare chest gilded in ember-light, staring up at the ceiling with one blue eye and one leather-covered wound.
He turned to her as she made her slow way across the dusty carpet, arms still crossed, still huddled as if she stood in a blizzard instead of a courtier’s apartment. He watched her come and didn’t say a word.
“I’m so cold,” Lore murmured.
And he still didn’t speak as he took hold of his blanket and held it out, an invitation.
Lore lay down next to Gabe, and he let the blanket fall over her, turned so his back was to the door and his chest pressed against her spine. He was warm, and it seeped into her slowly, blotting out the numbness, reminders of life in a body that knew so much death.
Gabe’s arm settled over her waist, pulled her close. The bandage over the missing tip of his finger was stark against the dark blanket. His breath stirred her hair. And Lore closed her eyes and fell into deep, thankfully dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The significance of natural phenomena in fluctuations of divine power cannot be overstated. Apollius was the god of the sun, and Nyxara the goddess of the moon. Their union proved to be a volatile one, and one that spelled destruction for the world as we knew it before the Godsfall; however, when their symbols come together in the sky, it can be a time of great power for those who know how to use it. An eclipse signifies change, change to the very nature of magic. It is a time when opposites can come together.
—Solenne Bacque, lecturer in Cosmological Theology at Ularha College in Kadmar (pre-Kirythean conquest)
Ouch.”
Gabe’s voice startled Lore awake, much closer to her ear than it should be. Her eyes flew open, registering the world at an odd angle—sideways, and from below. Every muscle in her body felt like it was on the verge of cramping, and something behind her back pressed her forward uncomfortably.
It was Gabe, arching away from the door. Gabe, lying next to her with his chest bare. Gabe, whom she’d slept with the night before, chasing warmth and not thinking about how it’d leave them in the morning.
Lore scrambled up, taking the blanket with her, clutching it around her shoulders. She’d slept with plenty of people, in both senses of the word, and didn’t much care about modesty besides. But something about it being Gabe, pious, vow-bound Gabe, made her cheeks heat furiously and an uncomfortable vulnerability crawl through her chest.
The flush across Gabe’s cheekbones said he was having his own uncomfortably vulnerable moment. She saw the decision flash across his face as he chose not to address what had happened last night, and she was absurdly grateful for it.
Gabe reached behind him, picking up whatever had come through the door. She wondered how long he’d been awake, if he’d just lain there with his arm around her as she slept.
It was another envelope, pushed under the door, Remaut once again scrawled in elegant script over the front. A seal covered the envelope’s closure, deep-purple wax impressed with an image of the Bleeding God’s Heart. The Arceneaux seal.
“Is it a summons?” Lore asked as Gabe sat up and ripped the envelope open.
His eye tracked over the paper, then he handed it to her. “Not quite.”
An invitation to a dinner and a ball, to celebrate the coming eclipse. The ball was a large event, but the formal dinner afterward was only open to a select few, and she and Gabe counted among the chosen.
The date on the paper stared back at her. Midsummer. She hadn’t realized her birthday was so close.
A solar eclipse on her birthday, and a ball to celebrate.
A tremble in Lore’s fingers made the paper quiver, just a bit. Surely it had to be a coincidence. Anton had said they would plan a Consecration for her, but a ball was not a Consecration—
“Lore?”
Gabe looked up at her from where he still sat on the floor, face twisted in concern. There was stubble on his jaw—she’d felt it last night, rough against her hair. “Are you all right?”
She forced a smile. Waved the invitation limply in the air. “It’s on my birthday. My twenty-fourth.”
His brow climbed up his forehead.
“It doesn’t say anything about a Consecration, though. Hopefully I can avoid an embarrassing ceremony. I assume there’s no getting out of the dinner?”
“Not if August purposefully invited us.” With a groan, Gabe stood, stretching out his back. Lore looked away. “It’d be obvious if we didn’t attend.”
Lore nodded again, lip between her teeth. She went to go place the invitation on the table with the others—next to the remains of last night’s dinner; she’d have to find someone to take care of that before it got too disgusting—and another envelope stared up at her, one inscribed with just Lore, not her false surname.
Alie’s invitation to tea. At the croquet game, she’d said it was standing, that she and some friends got together every Sixth Day. “What day is it?”
“Seventh,” Gabe answered, headed to the door of his unused bedroom to find clothes.
So she’d just missed the tea. She should probably try to make it to the next one. It’d seem strange if she didn’t go at least once, and she might find out something valuable.
Even if she didn’t, it’d be nice to pretend to have friends for a couple of hours.
Lore changed quickly, once again opting for whatever dress was easiest to get on by herself. This one was a deep gold, with a flowy skirt made of layered chiffon that swished around her legs. The sleeves were chiffon, too, long and gathered at the wrists. Part of her wanted to dig further in the closet and find the winter gowns she was sure were waiting. She was still chilled.
The thought came that she could ask Gabe to hold her again, but she shook her head, physically pushing it away.
When she emerged from her room, Gabe was dressed, morosely rolling his voluminous sleeves to the elbows in an attempt to make them more manageable. He gave her a wry look. “I suppose you’re wanting to go straight to the Church library?”