Page 69 of A Tower of Half-Truths
“Fabrications…not-in-my-wheelhouse.”
Mavery brought the lift to a halt. She tried to ignore the dull ache in her arms as she resumed half-carrying Alain down the sixth-floor corridor. She supposed it was fortunate he was barely taller than her, and he was much lighter than he appeared, or else her knees and lower back would have already given in.
Once inside his apartment, Alain lurched toward the desk, but Mavery tightened her grip on his arm and pulled him in the opposite direction.
“No more work today,” she said. “That’s not where we’re going.”
“And wherearewe going?”
“You’ll see.”
She guided him around the sofa and into the bedroom. Onlyonce they crossed the threshold did she release him. He took a single step before he stopped, glanced at the bed, and turned to her with his eyebrows raised.
“That little demonstration left you ‘absolutely knackered,’ ” she explained. “Exactly as you said, and exactly as I wanted you.”
He leered at her—or, at least, that was what she assumed he was attempting to do. He was so spent, the faintest trace of a half-smile was all he could manage.
“Mavery, my dear, there are much easier ways to take me to bed.”
She laughed, though her face burned as she considered to what extent his delirium was to blame forthatspecificchoice of words.
“Oh, I’ve no doubt,” she said, and the burn became a blaze. “Now, get some sleep.”
“But it’s only—”
“I don’t care. You’re not leaving this room.”
She blocked the doorway with her body and pointed at the bed. With a dramatic sigh, he dropped onto the edge and slumped over to take off his shoes, but even his fingers were too fatigued to untie the laces. Mavery couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’ll handle those,” she said. “You just worry about lying down.”
She moved to the footboard, where she unlaced one shoe and dropped it to the floor. By the time she’d removed the other shoe, his eyes were closed. If he wasn’t already asleep, he would be soon. Her work complete, she headed for the door.
“Wait,” he said. “Stay for a moment.”
She paused, hand gripping the doorframe. She needed to wish him goodbye before she took this any further. But the earnestness of his request reminded her of another long-forgotten need.
So, against her better judgment, she unlaced her boots and approached the bed. The iron frame creaked as he inched over and turned onto his side. It creaked again as she lay down and faced him.
She knew they’d been physically closer while veiled in Ether, but she hadn’t been able to see his face then. Now, she could take in more details she’d never noticed before: a smattering of frecklesdown the length of his nose, traces of silver hair against his temples. Once again, she spotted that ink smudge on his cheek, persistent as the stains on his fingertips.
She glanced down at his hand inching toward her. He raised it slowly, brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, tucked it behind her ear. It was the most gentle of gestures, his movements no longer clumsy, and her eyes closed for a moment. When she opened them again, she met his gaze: soft, yet focused, despite his heavy-lidded eyes.
“Remember how I told you I’d never tried that spell with another person?”
She nodded, and he tucked back another lock of hair. The lightness of his touch warmed her, clouded her thoughts.
“That was the truth. I’d never done that before, but I’m glad I did. And I’m glad it was with you.” He gave her another weak smile. “Even though you tricked me.”
“Sorry,” she said softly, “but I wanted you to get some rest for once.”
She couldn’t change him. It would be foolish to think so, considering they’d known each other for only a few weeks. She couldn’t force him to stop sacrificing his wellbeing for his research, for the High Council, forher. But maybe she could guide him toward a different path.
“I worry about you,” she said.
His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushed the hollow of her cheekbone. His caress was so tender, so sincere, that her throat clenched. It grew sore as she smothered a surge that contained no arcana—only raw emotions that she dared not name. He continued, unaware of how each pass of his fingers against her skin roused the storm inside her. She closed her eyes tightly, and only opened them when he answered her confession with one of his own.
“I worry I don’t deserve you.”
