Page 80 of Avalon Tower

I remember how hurt you were that summer dance when I refused to dance with you. Back then, I was so worried about what my friends would say. And now, I would give anything for one last dance…

I wrench myself away from the woman, heart thudding. She’s talking to someone across the table, saying something inane about the primrose and violet salad, and her turbulent thoughts still whirl in my mind, intermingling with those of the rest of the people I touched. Almost automatically, I move forward and touch someone else.

I wish I were dead. I will never forget the humiliation and embarrassment. Why?

Why have I done it? That waitress told me, “Enjoy your meal,” and I told her, “You, too.”

You, too.

As if she were also eating a meal.

That smile she gave me, that damnable, pitying smile. And now I see her across the room, talking to another waitress. I know what she’s doing. She’s telling her about me. How I said, “You, too,” like an imbecile. Now they’re laughing! As they should. I wish I were dead. Did anyone else hear me say it? I can never show myself in public again. I should walk off the cliff into the ocean before I do something even more mortifying. Oh, gods, now I’ve spilled wine on my trousers. Why me? What have I done to deserve this?

And I stumble away as the anxieties churn and roil in my mind like a storm. The woman’s grief twines with other emotions of desire and irritation and anger. They’re drowning my own thoughts, but Raphael needs me to do this.

I don’t remember why, but I touch someone else.

He calls me a friend, a cousin. But how much does he really respect me? “Lumos, take this to my room.” Or “Lumos, go get us some food.” Or “Lumos, make sure my horse is ready.” I’m third in line to the throne. Why order me around and not the others in his retinue? If he were no longer alive, I’d be second in line to the throne. And he’s never managed to have children, which surely is a sign from the gods.

Well, I won’t take his disrespect much longer. Next time he tells me to do something, I’ll tell him to do it himself. Ha! He should be serving me. That would be a shock for him. “Talan, why don’t you find us a couple of girls for company?” “You know what, Talan, why don’t you carry my satchel, you dog?”

Of course, he’s the prince. But I’m his cousin. And father used to tell me that a man has to have a backbone, or people will tread all over him. And he was right. It’s time for me to grow a backbone.

I totter away, not sure who I am, just knowing this is what I do. I touch people and take their thoughts as my own. I am all of them. I reach out to take another one.

I just can’t stop thinking about her, no matter how much I try. Even right now, with the dancers on stage, all I can do is watch her. Those turquoise eyes, that sweet smile. The way she tilts her head when she’s amused…like she’s doing right now.

How do I tell Elora how I feel?

Do I show her the poems I wrote about her? Oh, gods, even the mere idea makes me shudder. Those terrible poems. If anyone ever found them, I would die of shame. I should burn them, except that would be burning my own love.

Perhaps I should send Elora flowers. From a mysterious admirer. A dozen forget-me-nots every evening, so she always remembers me. And then, one night, after she’s been showered with hundreds of blooms, I will tap on her door with a bouquet of a dozen more—vibrant violet-blue petals. And then she will know…

Oh, gods. She’ll know that I am a creepy and deeply obsessed man. That’s all she’ll know.

Oh, Elora. For years, we have been friends. How can I stretch my hand across to meet yours beyond friendship, reaching for something more?

My body is gone, and I don’t know who I am anymore other than a fog of thoughts. Am I eating a strawberry right now? Or drinking mead? Am I even here, or is this a dream? I had a purpose once, and a name, but I can’t remember either. It’s Lumos, right? The prince’s cousin and third in line to the throne.

I need to get back to my body, but I can’t find it, and there are so many thoughts sweeping through my skull. I’m lost in a labyrinth of emotions. I am not Lumos, that’s absurd. I don’t even like Lumos. Once, he grabbed my ass in the hall to impress Talan.

No, wait, he didn’t grab my ass. He grabbed someone else’s. Who am I? I search for myself, but I’m too far gone.

All I can do is add more and more minds to the din in my head.

This salmon is overcooked. I should get the waiter, but then everyone will say that I’m being a killjoy again. Is it my fault that I have a sophisticated palate? Surely—

I know I forgot to buy something. Let’s see. I bought a dress for Callice, and the goblets. And of course I remembered the necklace for Astrid. And…

“Nia.” A voice is calling me, familiar and so far away.

The dueling sword for Marcus. Oh, I know! I forgot the—

I can learn to dance like this. One step forward, two steps back, then sweep the hands. I can practice in my room later…

“Nia, snap out of it.” That voice again, calling me, so sweet and alluring, but it’s getting in the way. I need to concentrate so I can get the dance steps right.

How do they twist their hips like that, though? Can I do that? I’ll try in front of the mirror—

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