Page 32 of Heart's Escape

I huff out a breath, sending waves across the foamy surface of the tub. My chest aches as I try to reason with myself. He hadn’t said no. Not exactly. It had been more of a not right now. Not right before we try to sneak into the towers of the Silver City.

With another sigh, I lower my chin into the bubbles. My body still feels like it’s been wound too tight, like it’s burning waiting for Phaedron’s touch. Well, I realize as I run my fingers down the inside of my thigh, at least I know how to take care of that.

My breath catches as I slip my hand between my legs, brushing the hidden spot I’d thought Balmyr brought into existence the first time he touched it. Pleasure spikes through my body, almost too hot, too much, like holding my hand to a candle’s flame. I close my teeth around my lower lip and try again, softer this time.

My eyes flutter closed, and my head tilts back against the tub. Phaedron fills my mind, his smile, the rasp of his shirt beneath my hand. The hot, hard length of him when I pressed my body to his, when his mouth opened for me, his lips soft and yielding, the rest of his body as hard as steel.

My hips wiggle against the bottom of the tub as heat surges between my legs. It’s not enough, not nearly enough to quell the desperate pressure inside me. I press harder at that secret spot between my legs, thinking of Phaedron. Phaedron’s pale hair drifting over his ears, his arm around my waist, pulling me close. His long, almost delicate fingers, how they might feel against my overheated skin. His voice, calling—

There’s the sound of a key in a lock, metal kissing metal, and then a sharp creak. My eyes snap open just in time to see Phaedron pulling the door to our room shut behind him. Even through the human illusion he’s wearing, his eyes look wide and panicked.

“Get dressed,” he hisses.

I jolt upright in the tub, sloshing water onto the floor. Phaedron pivots toward the bed, grabs one of the two thick, white towels that were waiting for us on hooks by the door, and thrusts it toward me.

“W-What?” I stammer.

“The man from the canyon,” Phaedron whispers as he closes his eyes. “The one who shot flames at us. He’s here.”

My gut feels like I’ve just fallen off a cliff. Malron? Malron is here? Panic swirls through the air like the soft lavender scent of the bubbles in the tub, or the sweet floral whisper of Phaedron’s illusion magic.

“Your illusion,” I hiss. Shock courses through me like a waterfall over an icy cliff. “Phae, drop it! He can smell it!”

Phaedron’s human illusion melts away, and suddenly he’s taller, stronger. And he’s still holding a towel out toward me, with his eyes very deliberately shut. My breath catches in my throat as I turn from Phaedron’s face, those pale features that seemed so strange at first but now feel as intimately familiar as the contours of the Barrier Mountains against the setting sun, to stare at the door behind him. It’s closed, and locked, but what good will that do? When did a locked door ever stop one of King Grathgore’s magicians?

I pull myself upright and stumble out of the tub, wincing at the sound of water hitting the slate floor. I tug the towel from Phaedron’s hand and run it over my body as my mind spins.

Through the door? Out the narrow hallway and into the common room? No, too dangerous. Up the stairs and into the stars only know what? No, that would be like running straight into a trap.

I yank my dress over my head and jam my feet into my boots. When I turn back to Phaedron, he has my heavy bag slung over his shoulder. And he’s staring out the window.

Right. It’s got to be the window, doesn’t it?

I wring my wet hair in the towel as Phaedron walks to the window. It’s cracked open, just enough to allow the scent of flowers to drift through the room and mingle with the lavender soap. Little, hidden gears squeal when Phaderon twists the knob. Both of us flinch as the window shutters open. It’s not that loud, I tell myself as the gears protest and the glass shivers. It’s not nearly loud enough to attract attention.

Still, by the time Phaedron twists the window fully open, I feel like the hum of conversation on the far side of the door has evaporated, like the entire inn is suddenly holding its breath. It’s still warm in this room, but a chill twists up the back of my neck and pulls my muscles taut. Phaedron frowns at the window, then turns to me.

“Ladies first?” he whispers, turning the words into a question.

I nod. The window isn’t big; I have to twist on my hips to fit through, and it’s a longer drop to the ground than I’d anticipated. I try to ignore the dull ache in my bruised and blistered feet as they find the ground. I’d been looking forward to that bath, damn it.

I smooth down my skirts and try to look like it’s perfectly normal that I’ve just climbed out of a window and dropped into the inn’s cute little flower garden as Phaedron thuds to the ground beside me. Our eyes meet in the thick, golden light of the falling sun, and for a moment I’m absurdly sorry that I didn’t offer him the first bath. Then he nods toward the far side of the garden.

“Over there?” he asks.

I follow his gaze to a low wooden fence beside what I’m guessing is a manure pile, and I nod. Slowly, we walk together through the garden, trailing between intricate knots of herbs and large, flowering shrubs, both of us trying to ignore the rows and rows of windows staring at us like blank faces and acting like we’re human. Like we belong.

Stupid. This garden is filled with a thousand scents, from lavender and mint to roses and the permeating aroma of frying onions and meaty broth drifting out from the kitchen. But nothing out here smells like magic. Nothing belongs to our world.

I never could have hidden here, I realize as my feet stumble on the pebbled path. Malron would have found me as easily as finding one piece of coal in a pile of snow. An illusion might have fooled the humans, for a while, but one of my own could find me with their eyes shut.

My own. I glance down and see I’ve clenched my hands into fists. Your people, Phaedron said once we’d escaped the canyon that should have led us safely into the Lands Below. Where will they be looking for you?

Everywhere, apparently. Even here, in this nest of humans. My eyes sting, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. Self-pity isn’t going to help.

“What is this?” Phaedron whispers.

I glance up. We’re at the far end of the garden, squeezed between doors that smell like they lead to the kitchen, a large manure pile, and a tall gate in the wooden fence, and I realize I’m smiling.

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