Page 145 of Fortress of Ambrose
“Don’t be. I hated him.”
“But you—”
“I’m fine.”
The fury roiling through him sears my chest. He is the farthest from fine. But how do you tell that to someone who has never been allowed to make space for their feelings? I can’t find words he’ll understand, so I grab him by the arm and jerk him with all my strength out of the chair. I nearly stumble into the table like a giraffe on roller skates. But he stands to help steady me on my feet.If my words won’t convince him, maybe my love will.I throw my arms over his shoulders, hoping we haven’t pushed the amount of physical closeness past whatever limits he’s set on it.
I grab him by the jaw and squeeze, wishing I could kiss him right here, right now. Wishing I could smother him with my affection to remind him even if the people who were supposed to love him didn’t, I do. Maybe that’s enough. But a smooch is definitely beyond his boundaries.
“Youwilldance with me.”
He tries to pull his beautifully sculpted face from my fingers, but I don’t let him.
“Because despite what you say, I know you want to.”
He stops resisting and finally settles in my arms. There is pain, sorrow, anger, so many things warring inside him.
“Only for one song.” When he escorts me to the dance floor, he stops suddenly. I follow his line of sight, and my heart hiccups. The door to the ballroom is slightly ajar. Both servers are still in here. One is assisting in the food line. The other is in a conversation with someone.
Ube is missing.
And so is Yani.
“We can’t both run that way.”
Jordan releases me. “Go through the other doors. You first. I’ll follow shortly after. Act casual. Watch but don’t apprehend. We need himin the actso there is no denial.”
I squeeze his hand. “This is it.” He squeezes back with his deadly cold hands. All that is in his eyes now—is anger.
I take the steps upstairs to the third floor two at a time. When I reach the doors of my room, they are open. My heart rams into my ribs as I summon cold magic to my fingertips. Black whirs in my one hand and sputters faintly in the other. With one hand full of power, I shove the door open.
The box on the living room coffee table is empty. Diadem gone.
But there is no one there.
The room has been turned upside down, the desk is half decayed. Picture frames on the wall are securely in place, but the glass on them is scorched. The door to my grandmother’s bedroom is open. I rush through, and my heart stops when I find a charred hole through her closet door. Beside it is Dexler, hunched over on the floor, unconscious with a blotch of blood on her head.
Her breathing is shallow. I try to sit her up, but she’s too heavy to move. I glare at the ripped-open secret closet, fully exposed, and dash inside.
The room is empty.
It’s gone. Therealdiadem is gone. A lump rises in my throat. I can’t breathe. What have we done? What haveIdone?
I back away and slam into Jordan.
“We’re too late,” I mutter, trying to swallow a sob. His head swivels as he paces the bedroom, then living room, searching to make sure there’s nothing we missed. He touches Dexler’s wrist, then her wound, smelling the blood.
“Get Abby now.”
I race downstairs and burst back into the ballroom. Ube has returned, standing near the dessert table with his hands in his pockets. When I spot Abby, I pull her outside and update her on Dexler before racing to her office for supplies. Then back upstairs.
Abby is pale as she rummages through her bag beside Dexler. “How long has she been like this?”
“A half hour at most,” Jordan says.
She dribbles an elixir onto Dexler’s lips. Then she pats another concoction on her wound. It fades almost instantly, the skin shifting to a healthy color. But she still doesn’t wake up.
“Is she going to be okay?” My voice cracks.
