Page 74 of Bound to the Shadow Queen
Soren shrugged, pretending not to notice the tension as he pulled out two unopened bottles of Emberkiss from his cloak and waggled them at us. He might have succeeded at looking oblivious, if not for the concerned glances he cast to his side.
“That he asked one of us to come,” he said, stepping further into the room with his beverage offering. “Me, obviously.”
Wynnie laughed and snatched the bottle from his hand. “Lord Soren, I do believe that I find you delightful as well.”
He let out a low laugh, and I surmised Wynnie was referring to something from their first meeting. The two of them headed into the sitting room, speaking animatedly about whiskey and wyverns and shards knew what else.
I shut the door, hanging back to stand with Nevara.
Her grip tightened around her staff, her milky eyes sadder than they usually appeared. Draven might have wanted her here, but I could see her uncertainty over it. Her concern. Her guilt.
“You don’t See everything,” I said quietly.
A reminder and an absolution, for us both.
“No,” she said quietly, her bow-shaped lips tugging downward ever so slightly.
“You didn’t know that we’d be friends,” I added, and her head tilted curiously.
“Are we friends?”
I took a breath, pushing thoughts of torture and bloody estates from my mind. Batty chirped against my wrist, almost like she was encouraging me.
“We will be.” If I’m here long enough.
Shards, if we live long enough.
She smiled, but it held a forlorn edge, like she had heard every caveat I gave. Like she had already Seen them play out more than once.
Emberkiss was…infinitelymore intoxicating than wine.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re really doing shut up in here?” Soren asked after his second glass of whiskey.
“...convalescing?” I offered, casting about for the likely excuse Draven had offered his people.
Wynnie let out an unladylike guffaw before dramatically composing her features and taking a delicate sip from her glass. Tendrils of smoke from the Emberkiss curled down from her nostrils to form a curly mustache.
Soren chuckled, his gaze flitting from the doors to the windows, both of which were sealed with a thin, unbreakable layer of ice.
“I get…so overheated sometimes,” I said half-heartedly before taking another swig of the spiced whiskey.
He glanced between the roaring fire in the hearth and the pile of furs surrounding me on the floor. Then, he pursed his lips in an expression that told me exactly how much he believed that.
“What she means is that sometimes she gets the uncontrollable urge to jump out of the window,” Wynnie supplied in a voice just a little too loud, giving me a reassuring look.
“Yes,” I nodded, the room spinning a little faster with the movement. “That is… exactly what I mean.”
Nevara scoffed, tilting her face toward the ceiling, her shoulders swaying like the room might be spinning for her, too.
“I see,” Soren said. “Shall I tell you the going rumors?”
He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Wynnie and I crashed into each other in a fit of giggles as we tried to sit forward at the same time.
“Obviously,” I said.
“Right now,” she demanded.
