In the Veins of the Drowning(46)

Surprise shot through me. “To the Mage Seer?”

He straightened his coat uncomfortably and nodded.

“Another transaction, then?”

He flinched like I’d cursed, but that’s what it was. Another bargain. Another sacrifice so that I might receive a kindness.

“And besides, you can’t go with me. The empress is here. And your very pretty fiancée and those ridiculous contracts—”

A deep, remorseful crease wrinkled his brow. “I said I’d be scarce before the wedding.”

He had. I couldn’t help but wonder why he’d said it—how he’d known. “Still,” I argued, trying to keep my hair from blowing wild in the sea breeze, “they’ll feel slighted—”

“I’ll gift the princess some jewels. Set off some fireworks in the bay for her.”

I scoffed. “Of course. What woman wouldn’t be distracted by sparkly things—”

“Do you want me to go with you or not?”

“Yes,” I snapped.

“Then I’m going.” He was so still, staring at me just as he had when he’d quieted my tears before Ligea’s statue.

“Fine.” Even angry, I sounded too breathless, too caught off guard.

He dipped his chin. Swallowed hard. “Fine.” He turned from me and started toward the palace, but before he did so, I noted the flustered stain of color on his sharp cheekbones. The way his breath sped. Little glimpses of feeling that he didn’t—or couldn’t—control. He stopped, looked back at me, and spoke in a scraping voice. “If you wish to remain in the garden, you may. I’ll still go with you.”

Words wouldn’t come. Just a deep bloom of gratitude. I stepped onto the path that led toward the palace and gave an appreciative nod. “We should hurry back,” I said. “Duty calls.”

Not two hours later, I stood in an empty, sun-strewn stall in the stables, shoving a saddlebag full of spare trousers and shirts Theodore had lent me. He’d taken great pains to fold them into small, tidy squares and tie them tightly with twine.

The stable hands had been sent away, and across from me, sullen and edgy, Theodore tacked a horse himself. I watched him—the tight way he pulled at straps and tugged on the saddle. The sullen eyes, the stony set of his jaw.

His mood had begun to devolve the moment we’d returned to the Garden Room and the seemingly endless contracts. He’d calcified further with each point discussed, began to bite on his cheek, tap his fingers on the polished tabletop. I could only assume he regretted his decision to accompany me, and it was his gallingly relentless honor that had kept him from withdrawing.

“Will Agatha and Lachlan be here to see us off?” I asked from where I knelt in the clean straw.

“Yes.” He remained intent on his task.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Oh good.” I tied off the last saddlebag with a jerk. “You certainly seem it.” I hefted the bags toward him, and he snatched one from my grip. “I hope you don’t plan on being this broody the entire time. I’m already aware you’re regretting your decision to accompany me. There’s no need to make it so painfully clear.”

Theodore rounded on me. His green eyes blazed and pinned me still. “You’ve got me figured out, haven’t you?” He took one step closer, and I couldn’t speak. Some emotion had him by the throat. He took another step toward me. Then he raised a strong hand to my stomach and pressed me back against the wall of the stall. I gave a sharp gasp, overcome by him. “Would you like to know what’s actually bothering me, Imogen?”

I managed the barest nod.

“I don’t regret my decision, but I should.” His fingers curled into my ribs, as if he were trying to grab hold of me. Our bond glowed with delicious, glittering heat. It rolled and pooled heavily in my center. “I called you a gnat, and I detest myself for it. I am the bug. A moth. And you are the moon. Drawing me, pulling me. But I’ll never be able to reach you without destroying myself. All I can do is pray for the day.” He gave me a pleading look. “Do you understand? I am doing my very best to keep a grip on myself, to keep my distance, but everything you do seems in service of thwarting that goal.”

My heart rioted. I would have felt less shock had he pulled back the skin of his chest and shown me the fearsome, pulsing parts beneath. But this, his touch, his nearness, his outright admission. “This is a jest.”

He was so close, face tipped down toward mine. I could kiss him if I pushed up onto my toes.

His brow creased deeper. “Gods, I wish it were.”

My frustration rose at his tone of displeasure. “You speak of desire like it’s an illness. Like I have infected you with it.” I shoved halfheartedly at his muscled chest, only to curl my fingers into his shirt a breath later. “How dare you blame me. As if I’ve laid a trap for you, or as if it’s vile to want. I may be the object of your desire, but I am not its source.”

He blinked, mulled over my rebuke, and then fought to straighten himself. His warm hand fell away from my stomach, and I instantly mourned its absence. I released his shirt, but we remained close. Our eyes locked.

There was something between us after all, beneath the discord, the friction. I couldn’t tell if it was simply the bond stoking our attraction, but in that moment, I was desperate to know it. To chisel away at his stony veneer, uncover, explore. From the way he looked at me, I thought he might want the same thing.