Page 14 of The Call of Crimson
I feel the glass in my hand crack beneath the force of my grip.
“Aurelius,” Elijah says calmly, “I assure you that is not a fight you want to pick.”
“Or do,” Cillian offers, arms folding as he leans back against the wall. “It’s been a while since anyone was bold enough to challenge me directly. I’m sure after all your recent transgressions, it would send Breyla running right back into myarms. I did tell her I would be waiting when you inevitably fucked up.”
I snarl, but before I can reply, Elijah snaps, “For fucks sake. Cillian, I would also suggest not provoking Aurelius. Can you just return to whatever it is you normally do? You’re not a fucking barkeep. And I would like to drink in peace.”
“Very well.” Cillian downs his drink and pushes off the wall. “Breyla knows how to find me when the time comes. Good seeing you, Elijah. Don’t be a stranger.”
He winks at me before striding out, and I swear it takes everything in me not to go after him.
Elijah turns to me, serious now. “What’s going on with you, Aurelius?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, pouring another drink.
“You’re normally the level-headed one. Possessive, sure, but you normally talk Breyla off the ledge instead of flying off it yourself. That’s the third fight you’ve picked in as many days.”
I let out a deep sigh, contemplating whether I really want to have this conversation with him of all people. The alcohol swimming through my veins makes it a fight I lose.
“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you.” I throw back the remainder of my rum, swallowing hard. “I’m confused. I’ve felt nothing but anger since that night. Anger that Gen kept everything from me. I’m angry at her for dying, and at Ayden for revealing the truth the way he did—or that he feels like he has some claim to Breyla. Anger at Breyla for punishing me and refusing me a chance to make it right. But mostly, I’m angry at myself for not being able to save them or see Lord Seamus’ betrayal. Just so much anger.”
Elijah waits patiently for me to finish my explanation before speaking. “You’re not just angry, Aurelius. You’re grieving.”
The realization slams into me, and my shoulders slump.
The heaviness in my chest—the weight I’ve carried since that night—finally has a name.
“Why does this feel so much heavier?” I ask quietly. “I grieved Raynor, but this… this feels unbearable.”
“I’m no expert,” Elijah replies, taking a long swig of rum straight from the bottle, “but I think watching someone you care about die is probably more traumatic than just hearing about it. And grief compounds. With each death, we feel the previous losses all over again. We’re forced to relive that loss again in addition to the new one. Grief does not get easier or go away. We simply learn to live with it better each day.”
“For someone who claims not to be an expert, you certainly sound like one.” I pull the bottle from his hands and take a swig myself, the burn grounding me for a moment. “Where does such wisdom come from?”
He meets my gaze, eyes somber. “I lost them, too, you know.”
“I know.”
“But do you?” His voice softens. “Raynor and Genevieve were the only parents I ever really knew. I may not share their blood, but they never made me feel like I was anything less than family. I have burned two sets of parents in my life. Not to mention one of my closest friends and lovers.”
Our eyes meet, and an understanding passes between us. “You’re right, Elijah,” I admit. “In my grief, I have become selfish and blind to the pain in those around me. You wear it so well, but I can’t pretend to know exactly how you feel.”
“I don’t fault you for how you grieve or what you do not understand.
We sit in silence for a while before I finally work up the nerve to say, “I envy you, Elijah.”
His brow furrows. “Whatever for?”
“The way you know Breyla so well. You make her laugh when she should be crying. You push her buttons and somehow avoidher wrath. And when she’s hurting… it’s you she turns to. You seem to know what she needs before she does. She needs you, in the way I want her to need me.”
And maybe, in the way I need her, too.
“I’ve had years of knowing her. This connection didn’t happen overnight. But it’s also not one-sided. She lets me in because I let her in. As much as she needs me, I need her, too. Open yourself up to her,” he says encouragingly. A look I can’t decipher flashes across his face, expression turning solemn. “She needs you, too. As much as she denies it, she’s going to need you even more in the coming months.”
The way he says it fills me with an inexplicable sense of dread.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“That’s a story for another day,” he says, brushing me off. Before I can push, he changes the subject. “Why are you here exactly? Luella’s not enough for you?”
