I turn to go.
“Planning a late-night swim?”
I spin around, eyes sweeping the area again. It’s not until I walk to the edge of the musical steps that I finally spot him. He is lying on his back halfway down, his supine form mostly concealed by the marble. Just inches below him, waves pour into the lower half of the organ, producing deep notes of melancholy. If he is getting splashed, he does not seem to mind.
“I must warn you,” Soren goes on, voice even more fluid than normal, “I am not in any state to rescue you.”
My eyes narrow as I sit cautiously on the top tread, several steps above him. “Are you drunk?”
“I was an hour ago. Less so, now. I should’ve brought the bottle along.” He frowns up at the moon. I cannot quite keep pace with his rapidly shifting emotions. Despite his clear intoxication, he is still successfully blocking me out. “How did you find me?”
“I was sworn to secrecy, I’m afraid.”
He mulls that over for a moment, then mutters, “Vaughn. Meddlesome mammoth.”
I’ve never seen him like this before—so cavalier, so uncalculated in his responses. I find it both unsettling and intriguing. “Is it wise to be lying there like that, on the edge, while inebriated?”
“Worried I’ll drown, skylark?”
“Canyou drown?”
“Canyoudie of suffocation?” He snorts softly. “What sort of question is that?”
“I don’t know! You’re the Water Remnant.” My cheeks heat. “I thought maybe you could breathe underwater.”
The unbridled sound of his laughter rings into the night. When it tapers off, he raises his arms, knits his fingers together,and folds them beneath his head in a cushion. “It’s my half-sisters who have the gills.”
“Forget I asked.” I huff lightly, gathering the long train of my gown so it doesn’t slip down the steps. “Why aren’t you up at the villa celebrating with everyone?”
“I didn’t feel much like celebrating.”
My brows sail upward. “I thought you liked Alaric. I thought you supported this match.”
He is quiet for a long time. “That’s not why I don’t feel like celebrating.”
“Ah.” My mind races, considering all variables. “You’re upset about Arwen going away.”
“Arwen.” He nods. His voice is thick. “And you.”
The breath snags in my throat.
“That’s why you’ve come here, isn’t it? To tell me you’re leaving. To tell me goodbye.”
My tongue is not complying with orders to produce coherent words. “I…That’s not…I’m not…” I shake my head vigorously to clear it. “I’m not certain what I’m going to do.”
He sits up suddenly, planting his boots against a mostly submerged slab of marble. He does not seem to notice they are getting soaked. He does not turn to meet my eyes. He speaks to the sea instead, his words so hushed I can hardly make them out over the mournful soundtrack of the sea organ.
“But he’s asked you to return with him. Pendefyre. He’s asked for you back.”
“Yes,” I answer truthfully.
Tension ripples through his shoulders, quickly steadied. “If you’re planning to leave, just go. There’s no need for some long drawn-out goodbye.”
My features contort into a wince. He sounds so unlike himself. So…resigned. Almostdefeated. I cannot bear to hear himlike that. It causes me physical pain, sets off an ache inside my chest cavity I cannot endure for longer than a few agonizing heartbeats.
Before I know it, I am sliding myself down the steps one at a time, my silken skirts slipping against the marble as I make my way to sit beside him. I do not say anything as I come to a stop. I merely lean my side against his, pressing my bare shoulder to the thick fabric of his ornate navy tunic.
He takes an audible inhale as he feels my weight. “What are you doing?”