I know what he’s asking. Who I would have chosen between Cal and Maven, long ago, before we knew what his brother was, and how far he had fallen. It seems like an impossible question. Balancing two people who don’t actually exist.
“I can’t answer that,” I mutter, slowly removing his hand from my face. But I keep hold of him. “Not because I don’t want to, but because I simply can’t. It isn’t something I can ever solve.”
His grip tightens on me. “I don’t see him every time I look at you,” he says. “Do you really see him every time you look at me?”
Sometimes, yes.
Every time? Now?
I search him, my eyes weaving back and forth over every inch of skin I can find. Sure, callused hands. The veins of his exposed neck. A shadow of stubble already spreading over his cheeks. Strong brows, straight nose, the forever crooked smile. Eyes that were never Maven’s.
“No,” I tell him, and I mean it. “Did you wait, Cal?”
His fingers weave through mine as he grins. “I’m still waiting.”
This must be what it feels like for a gravitron to fly. Somehow my stomach drops and leaps at the same time. Despite the warmth of him all around me, I begin to shiver. “I can’t make promises,” I sputter hastily, already trying to get ahead of the admission we’ve both made. “We don’t know where the world is going. My family is here, and you have so much to do back east—”
“I do,” he says, nodding. “I am also very good at flying jets.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You and I both know you can’t just commandeer a jet when you want to see me.” Though the thought does make my heart skip a beat.
“You and I both know you aren’t going to stay put here either,” he retorts, and his free hand goes to my chin again. I don’t push it away. “The future won’t let you. And I don’t think you can let yourself sit still much longer.”
The words continue to spill out, as quickly as they pop into my head. Obstacles in our way, problems to be solved. “That doesn’t mean I’ll be anywhere close to the States, if and when I do decide to get involved with all this again.”
Cal just grins wider. For a moment he is a second sun, beaming warmth all over me. It breaks and re-forms my heart. “If geography is really the only thing standing in our way, then I consider this settled.”
Sighing, I allow just a bit of the tension in me to release. I relax into his hand, angling my head. Can it really be this easy? “Do you forgive me?”
His eyes darken and his smile seems to fade. “Have you forgiven yourself?”
Again he looks me over, hunting for an answer. Ready for me to lie.
It takes all my strength not to.
“No,” I whisper, expecting him to pull back. To turn away. “I don’t know if I can.”
He has his own demons, as many as me. I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to shoulder the burden of mine too. But he only tightens his grip, until I can’t tell where my fingers end and his begin.
“That’s okay,” he says simply, like it’s just so obvious. “We have time.”
I blink as I feel myself fall from the cliff, the balance finally tipped.
“We have time,” I echo.
My heartbeat thumps, a steady rhythm. The electricity in the walls, in the lights, responds to my call, humming with energy. And then I simply shut it all off, plunging the tavern and the street into embracing darkness. It’s as easy as breathing. Voices around us rise in alarm, but I ignore them, focused on Cal instead. No one can see us now.
His lips meet mine slowly, a steady invitation. He always lets me set the pace, always gives me a chance to step back. I have no intention of slowing down, or stopping. The sounds of the tavern fade away around me and my eyes slide shut, until the only sensation is the feel of him. And the crackle of electricity beneath my skin, begging to release again.
If I could hold it back forever, I would.
When the lights return, buzzing back to life, I pull away first.
He lingers, reluctant, then smirks as he reaches for his money. But I’ve already left some on the countertop, my hands quicker than his ever will be. We grin at each other. I wish I still had the coin he gave me, that night when I stood in the shadows and waited for someone to see me for who I was.
I take his hand and lead him back up the mountainside. To his room, to mine, to the forest. To fire or lightning. It doesn’t matter.
I am almost nineteen. I have nothing but time. To choose, to heal.
To live.
SIX
Cal
By the time the gala catches us, I would rather sleep through the evening. And it really does feel like a predator, crouching at the end of the week, waiting to pounce. I’ve had more than my fair share of balls, parties, and overblown celebrations in my lifetime. I know how this goes, and I know how boring, exhausting, and otherwise nauseating this night will be. After our days filled with meetings and debates, small talk with the delegates will be salt in an open, oozing wound.
At least I’m not alone here. Mare hates this as much as I do, but when I suggested we both conveniently come down with sickness, she set my hair on end. We spend enough time together. People would believe it.
But she’s right. We owe it to the alliance, to our delegations, and to ourselves to make a show of this. In the end it’s just a party, and maybe we can hunt down a little fun in the midst of it all. Not to mention, Carmadon has had the kitchens working all week. At the least, I’ll leave tonight very well fed. Besides, I’d rather not risk Nanabel’s wrath or Julian’s gentle disappointment. Both have worked too hard this week, especially Nanabel. She settled after our first meeting, doing her best to bridge the gap between the Silvers of Norta and the rest of the alliance. Without her work, and Radis’s too, we might have another rebellion on our hands, with more nobles ready to join the Secession. Instead, we have allies.
Tonight she intends to bask in her small victories, bedecking herself in the old jewels she once wore as a queen. As we wait for Julian and Sara, she inspects herself in the mirrors of our salon, turning back and forth to let her fire-colored gemstones catch the light. Her long, flowing orange gown seems to dance as she whirls. Anabel is no fool, and she was careful to avoid wearing a crown, even if she does still dress like a queen.
“Julian tells me you’re going to be staying on a few days after his wedding,” she says to her reflection, though the words are meant for me.
I’ve been ready for half an hour and I’m almost asleep on the couch when she speaks. Her voice jolts me back, and I sit up, sharp as ever in my plain black suit. Only the badge on my collar, the joined circles in red, white, and silver, adorns my clothing.
“Yes,” I reply after gathering myself. Her eyes follow me in the mirror. “A few weeks, I think. Then I’ll head back to Archeon and return to work.”
My body tightens, bracing for a scathing remark or scolding refusal. Instead Nanabel just fixes her hair, smoothing her gray locks back behind her ears. She draws out her response, making me wait.
“Good,” she finally says, and I nearly fall out of my seat. “You’ve earned a break.”
“I—I suppose so, yeah,” I sputter, surprised. She knows who I’m staying with, and why. Mare Barrow isn’t exactly her favorite person in the world. “Thanks.”