I chew my bottom lip, wishing I knew how to dispel it. It is not yet twilight, but the sky is dark. Thick black clouds billow in on the heels of an all-too-familiar misty haze. The palm trees look out of place without a vibrant blue backdrop, the sandstonebuildings around us no longer white but ashen gray. Even the waterways have dulled, from radiant turquoise to a darker teal.
Surprisingly, Soren makes not a single snarky comment on the subject. He seems content with our silent stroll. His gait is leisurely, his expression relaxed. He does not even look at me—something I find shockingly irritating.
An hour ago, he was inside my head, his intentions so interwoven there was no untangling them from my own. Now, from the bond, there is resolute silence. More than silence. A void. I can sense nothing at all. Normally, that would not bother me in the slightest. After today…
Nothing feels normal.
This muted censor is such a stark contrast to the intimacy of channeling, it gives me whiplash. Curiosity claws at me. I want to crack open his skull and peer inside, if only to cast some illumination on his thoughts.
Are they back at the docks?
Back with Arwen?
As introductions go, ours could have gone better. I have no real explanation for her instant dislike. So far as I can tell, I did nothing to inspire her wrath. Yet the mere sight of me standing there beside her brother, dripping wet from the harbor, hair a sticky mess of webs and snarls, made her bristle like a guard dog scenting an imminent threat to its master. She’d taken one long look at me—evidently finding me lacking—then turned on a booted heel and stalked back to her magnificent white winged steed without a word of farewell. Her squad instantly fell into step, leaving Soren and me staring after them.
“She never can resist a dramatic exit,” he muttered, watching the five riders mount and, with a swift press of knees to flanks, take off at a gallop down the docks, then launch into the sky.
“Exit?What about her entrance?”
He glanced over at my incredulous comment, lips twitching as he read the clear awe on my face. His eyes slid to my sodden, snarled hair for a long beat. With a sudden flick of his fingers, a wave of maegic washed over me. When it receded, I found my clothing completely dry, as though every particle of water had been sucked out of it.
I was still reeling when Soren further stunned me by reaching up and pulling a thick, sticky web from where it was fused near my temple. My muscles locked, rendered utterly immobile as he worked it free of my skin, his fingers moving with a gentleness I had not known him capable of, slowly peeling the adhesive spider silk off my face, my neck, my collarbone.
It was a task I easily could have done myself, but I did not tell him that. I could not seem to find the powers of speech. My lungs were paralyzed, my throat lodged. I did not take a breath until his hand dropped back to his side and he turned away to speak to the dockhands. And, even when I did manage to inhale, the air felt paltry in my lungs.
Aftereffects of the seawater I choked down.
Or so I told myself.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I jerk out of my memories at the sound of Soren’s voice. In my dazed state, I failed to notice he stopped walking several paces back. I look around, startled to see we are at the base of the Easterly Beacon. The lighthouse is embedded in the city walls, but double their height. Even with my neck craned back, I cannot make out the roving beam affixed to its top.
“Erm…” I shuffle from one foot to the other. “Back to the villa?”
“Not that way, you’re not. You’ll never make it up all the stairs, and I for one don’t fancy carrying you. Might pull a muscle.”
My eyes narrow at his teasing tone.
“Glaring at me, when I’m about to show you a shortcut home?” He tsks, head shaking.
Before I can retort, he turns away and steps through a doorway at the base of the tower. With no other option, I trail after him into the dark, circular space. It takes my vision a moment to adjust to the shadows. When it does, I see Soren standing beside a thick wooden ladder bolted to the far wall. My gaze tracks its rungs endlessly upward, until I lose sight of them at the very top of the monolith, where a weak ring of daylight marks the exit to the lightkeeper’s quarters.
“You expect me to climb all the way up there?”
“Not all the way to the top.” There is a brief pause. “Halfway.”
That is hardly better. Halfway is still an unappealing distance.
“I don’t suppose you’d care to fly instead?”
I scoff. “Amusing.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
My head swivels his way. He does not, in fact, appear to be joking. “But—”
“Or, I could call Arwen back,” he continues, bemused. “She might give you a lift to the royal grounds on Atyr. No assurances she won’t dump you into the sea on the way there, though, if the mood strikes her. The Paexyrian riders are as high-strung as their mounts.”