Page 97 of Cursed Shadows 2

Gaze fixed over my head, Eamon looks across thecourtyard, wearing a frown on his mouth.

Leaning up on the toes of my boots, I look between the solid figures of the crowded fae to the coffee-brown eyes aimed at me.

Father.

The sight of him is a punch to the gut. An instant rush of tears barrels through me, and it takes everything in me not to crumble.

The confusion is visible in the small creases etched onto his face. He wears them around his pinched mouth, at the tip of his nose, and the pinch of his brow. His stare flickers over my plain breeches, the snug fit of my sweater, my loose waves, before it lands on my face.

Father is easy to read. He wonders why I’m not dressed for the Sacrament.

Beside him, my sister scrutinises me but with less of a frown.

Pandora is quicker to realize my abandonment of the duties I owe the Sacrament.

She sighs something heavy enough to deflate her chest and shoulders—but not the large swell of her belly that only seems to get bigger each time I see it. Something about the time here in the Midlands is speeding that pregnancy up.

I could turn my back on them. I could snub father and sister. But something stirs in my chest, and I find myself lifting my hand. The gesture snares in both coffee-brown stares. And I wave. A small, slight gesture without malice.

I hope they read what I say with that wave.

I’m safe.

The bitter part of me scoffs, ‘Like you care.’

It’s all I give them before Eamon leads me up the stairs of the stand. He takes me to the fifth row, where some familiar faces look our way as we sidestep down the seats.

Eamon’s mother, Morticia, offers me a strained smile but it’s fleeting and she fast returns her whispers to her sister. Daxeel’s mother, Melantha, isn’t so quick to tug her attention away from me. It lingers, runs me over, then—before she finally turns back to her sister—her face twists with plaindistaste.

Aleana is slumped on the seat closest. It would be a buffer between me and Melantha if it weren’t for the spat I had with Aleana two Quiets ago.

We haven’t talked since. Haven’t even seen each other.

Eamon stands aside and guides me past him.

Aleana and I watch each other as I move for the seat beside hers, then Eamon takes the other. I’m tucked between them, but Aleana and I are in our own world right now, our gazes hooked, and I’m distantly reminded of when we first talked on the tower, and we sized each other up in total silence for a while too long.

Then—

I breathe a sigh of relief.

Exhaustion clings to Aleana, but she forces a smile at me. She stays slumped in her seat, deep shadows under her eyes, and a half empty bottle of tonic in her slender fingers.

I return the smile.

Neither of us apologise. I’m not sure we are sorry. But we move on from it, and that’s enough for me.

“Is it true?” her whisper croaks and I realize how much it’s worn on her, all the drinks and smokes and late hours, and now, the anxieties we share for Daxeel in the first passage, but ones she harbours for Caius, too. And Rune, and Samick. Maybe even Dare.

I reach out for her hand and steal it in mine. With a small smile, I give her palm a gentle squeeze and a nod. I answer her question with that gesture alone.

Yes, Aleana. We are bonded.

And with that, I leave the conversation for another time. I ease one worry of hers. It’s all I can do.

And we wait.

An hour passes before the stands are crammed full with the spectators. Not just nobles and families and friends, but a lotof admirals and generals and their seconds, too.

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