“Hellas knows we meet,” I said.
Bel’s switchblade stilled.
I wasn’t bothered by what Hellas said, but how he had said it. “Is he . . . jealous we meet?” As soon as the words came out, I wanted to take them back, melt into the floor. “Not that we’re anything . . .” I added. Oh god. Boil me. “Forget it, forget it. Forget I even asked.” I sat down on his sheet and cringed when gold paste squished under me.
Bel was quiet.
The silence was unbearable. My insides twisted. I forced my eyes down between my boots, as if the floor held all the world’s secrets.
After a long while, Bel exhaled. “Hellas and I . . . We were together once. Long ago.”
“I had no idea.”
“Not many do. There was a time when I was closer to him than anyone, back when we were both trying to prove ourselves to Alastair.” He frowned. “But then, slowly, we started to notice what was happening around us. I wanted to investigate, but Hellas was nervous to do anything that might get him in trouble. I would get so mad.” A terrible expression crept over Bel’s face. “But Hellas had a good reason for being nervous—a reason that I refused to acknowledge at the time.”
I titled my chin, curious. “What reason?”
“It’s . . . not important anymore,” he said. “I don’t like who Hellas has become, but I could never hate him for it. Looking back, the fact that our relationship ended as badly as it did probably nudged him to be the person he is now. And how it ended was all my fault. The things I said . . .”
He shut his eyes. I could tell it was hard for him to talk about, and my heart cracked open a bit. This made me see the Botaniste in a whole new light, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, and for Bel.
“Hellas is allowed to still be angry with me. Regardless, he reports to both Yrsa and Alastair, so promise me you’ll be careful around him.”
When I nodded, he exhaled and sat down beside me. His thigh brushed my skirts and my skin tightened at the contact. The silence in the room felt tense. I turned toward him, searching for something to say, but my attention shifted to his clean shirt that hung unbuttoned. A swath of his smooth, muscled chest peeked through.
Last night, I’d dragged my fingers over that same chest hoping his bleeding would stop, but this felt different. My cheeks warmed. He caught my eyes. His were dilated. My lips parted to tell him I should go, but nothing came out because his eyes moved to my throat. When my breath hitched, they moved to my mouth as if he might . . . as if he might kiss me.
I shot up and started toward the door.
“Wait.” He took my arm. “Your cut.”
The cut from the vendor’s cart was now a puckered slash crusted with blue dust. I’d forgotten it.
Bel swiped some paste from my hair and smeared gold over the cut, erasing it before I could pull away. His fingers lingered against my skin. “Thanks,” he said. “For the paste.”
“Right. The paste,” I repeated.
He then added, “Even though it was a horrendous idea to retrieve it in the first place.”
I scowled while he fished a towel from a shelf and held it out.
“I didn’t ask for a towel.”
“Washroom’s in back.” When I balked, he wiped a streak of paste from my lip. “You look like an overly lavish truffle. Walk around like that and the guests will try to eat you.” He threw the towel at my head and left.
Bel had taken us to Morvay, one of the smaller nations east of Preet. I knew it not from the guests’ flowing robes or understated wealth, but from the cats. Sleek Morvayan leopards, straight from Maman’s bedtime tales, padded though the lobby leashed by ropes of twisted silk.
I hid in the shadows while the leopards drew everyone’s attention, including Alastair’s. He clapped his hands, ordering citrus-infused water to be put out. Staff scurried around setting down trays of raw meat. Leopards growled, fighting for the larger morsels. One fixed its ocher eyes on me. My heart beat furiously. Thankfully, I didn’t pass another leopard before my shift.
“Decided to show after all,” Chef said as I arrived in the kitchens. She placed a silver tray with an enchanted meringue decorated with blooming fondant flowers on the top of a delivery cart.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
She fluttered her hands. “Béatrice explained. Don’t know how you’re standing after tumbling down a flight of stairs.”
Béatrice had covered for me. I started toward the soup station when Chef pulled me back.