“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t even imagine what that feels like, Forest.”
He chuckled. A way to deflect, but there was a tremor in his hands as he also set down his tea. “The bad news is I need more surgery. But the good news is the doctor believes he can remove all the fragments, and while I’ll probably still have symptoms, they won’t be as bad as they were. The medicine will help me manage them.”
“And I’ll be here to help you,” Iris said. “When do they want to do the surgery?”
“Next Mir’s Day.”
Now Iris was the one to hesitate. The hospital was south of the river, and she wouldn’t put it beyond Dacre to bomb it.
“What is it?” Forest whispered, reading the lines on her face.
Iris told him about Dacre’s ultimatum. How she’d had to rush to the printer to force the edits, and how she believed certain streets and houses would be safe despite the imminent bombing. She hated how the words burned through her like smoke. How the hope in Forest’s eyes, kindled by his recovery and his hope for the future, swiftly dimmed.
He leaned back against the couch, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. “We won’t be safe here, will we?”
Iris wasn’t sure. Sometimes their flat had strange quirks, but she didn’t know if it was due to a ley line or the fact this building was old. She glanced around and tried to imagine what it would feel like if their home turned to rubble, but she still felt numb.
“I think we’ll need to shelter elsewhere. I know a few good places that aren’t too far from here.” She almost told Forest that she wouldn’t be with him the entire time, that while Oath was weeping, she would be in the realm below. But the words tasted like rust; she kept them to herself, and instead reached for a thick book on the table. “One of Prindle’s?”
Forest seemed glad for the distraction. “Yes. I’ve been reading to her in the evenings. She’s trying to convince me that I do, in fact, like fiction. I just need to find the right story.”
“Will you read it to me?”
Her brother gave a shy smile but accepted the book, opening it to where he and Sarah had left off. “I might put you to sleep.”
“That’s all right,” Iris said, pulling a blanket over her legs.
All right. Those two words again. They didn’t fit the night, or maybe they did, and she just couldn’t realize it until now.
Iris let herself rest, listening to Forest read, his deep voice a comforting burr. She didn’t tell him that she was afraid to sleep alone, worried about what she would meet her in dreams. Explosions and broken bodies and blood and Dacre following her through the smoke. She didn’t tell him that she was afraid, but the more he read, the more her fears gave way. They lurked in the corners, but were weak compared to Forest’s steady, luminous presence.
Iris fell asleep with her head on his shoulder.
* * *
There was no need for Roman to sneak back into the estate. After he had watched Iris leave the parlor that afternoon, he’d decided to approach Dacre directly, his heart smoldering. He had looked the god in the eye and calmly asked if he could trail her.
“Why?” Dacre had said. He didn’t sound suspicious, but he wanted to be convinced.
“So I can ensure she does what you ask,” Roman had replied.
“You think she won’t?”
“Did you not see how stubborn she is, sir?”
Dacre was pensive. But then, for some wild reason, he had agreed to it.
Roman had walked out the front gates of his own volition, and now he was returning, hours later. He knew his time of freedom was overspent and Dacre would be wondering what had delayed him. He also knew he needed to snatch the key from the war table where it had sat on a pile of papers, the iron darkened from Captain Landis’s blood.
Roman was thinking about that as he approached the front doors, clicking his fingernails together. The mist had beaded on his trench coat, soaked through his hair. He coughed into his hands, again and again, clearing his lungs despite the razor-sharp pain in his chest.
It tasted awful, but he swallowed it down, his stomach nauseous from the walk home.
His mind was far away as the doors groaned open. Two soldiers met him, stone-faced and silent as Roman started to walk past them, his wet shoes squeaking on the foyer floor.
“The Lord Commander is waiting for you at the war table,” one of the soldiers said.
It was never good to keep Dacre waiting, but Roman was prepared. He nodded and made his way to the parlor, but with each step, his confidence waned, until he felt like a husk of who he had been just hours ago when he was with Iris.