Page 32 of What Whispers in the Dark
He was smiling.
Something in his chest tightened along with his jaw. A muscle feathered in his cheek. When was the last time that simple reaction was not forced or illusioned?
But he did not allow it to settle, uncertain if it was real. But … it must have been. Twisting on his face without a single thought.
He did not know what to think of it. What to say after. How Alora’s smile widened in the calm silence hovering between them. So, he asked, “How did you meet Rowlen?” Because turning the attention from his … uncomfortable expression was easier, even if it involved another male.
Fists threatening to constrict, he reminded himself,Her friend. Rowlen was her friend.
It hardly worked.
Alora stared a moment longer before twisting to the stars. “It’s a long story,” she answered. Silence followed. Along with an unfocused stare, as if dreaming with her eyes open. Locked in the memory that tugged her mouth downward.
“Hmm.” Garrik rolled onto his side, wrinkling the onyx blanket. Close enough to feel her warmth. Close enough that if he dared to lean down, their lips would meet. “Luck has it, I am in close council with the High Prince.” There was that flawless smile. Returned to her face as bright as the stars. “The bastard can be persuaded to allow the time. If not, I will fight him for it.”
An amused scoff. Another smile. This time pointed at him. But there was something else there. Something he could not place. Alora chewed on the inside of her cheek before attempting to divert him once again. “It’s so boring.”
He doubted that. Nothing about her wasboring.The exact opposite. “It so happens that I enjoyboring.”
Eyes as magnificent as sapphires dulled. Liquid lined them.
Garrik’s softened, and he felt the weight of his frivolous toying crushing down by the discomfort capturing her face. If she did not wish to speak of it… “It is alright. You do not need to?—”
“Have you ever held a jar of blazebugs?”
His brows furrowed. What did a winged fireflyer have to do with it? Still, he shook his head in answer. His mother never allowed him to. She sympathized with any and every creature, no matter how diminutive. Higher or lesser, fae or insect, their social standing did not determine their worth because they were already priceless. Not one to ever permit anything to be caged, but instead, vowed to release it. To her, being imprisoned was worse than death.
It was why Castle Galdheir was occupied with faelights and glowstones—the very magic of Zyllyryon. The torches lining the city streets, too. Her kingdom adored her for it. Fair and honestand loving toward everyone and every living thing … until Magnelis defiled it all.
Head angled, her gaze settled on a button near his chest, as if looking him in the eyes would bring her a great deal of shame.
He did not like it, but something whispered to remain silent?—
“They remind me of pixies. The ones the privileged in Telldaira enslaved to illuminate their lanterns at celebrations,” she explained. “I sat on a roof just beyond where Kaine would have the western wall built, cutting through the city, not more than three years after my parents…”
Even in his own lungs, the air felt tight.
That pain—that deep-lying, echoing, unending pain—stole the color from her skin.
Half-expecting her silence, Alora instead weathered it expertly, pulled her arms from behind her head, and crossed them over her abdomen. Then hinted, “Something about it … something about the pixies’ faces, how their light dimmed as the hours went on. I hated it. Couldn’t let them die.”
If it could, Garrik’s chest would have warmed.
Even so young, she was a fighter. She should never have needed to be.
Alora went on, “I didn’t quite know what I was going to do, but my hand felt as fiery as my temper. Mother warned me of my powers being seen, but I was …soangry.
“If everyone attending hadn’t been so concerned with themselves, they would have seen a faeling outstretch her hands to those posts. But not one noticed as I lit the strings aflame that held the lanterns.” She sighed, her grip around her torso tightened. “It wasn’t until the first one dropped and shattered that I realized perhaps it wasn’t the best idea. But I had lit another before that one fell, and I couldn’t stop the flames fromeating away at it. I was never taught how—only to conceal my flames—never let it burn.”
Her stare moved above his shoulder, somewhere distant. “Something small knelt amongst the shattered glass. A young male who flinched when a voice shouted at him, and I noticed then he held an injured pixie in his palms.” Alora’s lips quivered. “Because ofme.” A tear slipped down her cheek, swift and brutal. Hot as molten steel and just as scathing.
She did not flinch when Garrik tenderly brushed it away. Another quickly followed, and he collected it, too. His heart dropped—nearly split. This pain he understood deep in his core … a relentless torment not so simply eased.
Yet, he would not allow her to undoubtedly blame herself for the aftermath—not her. She was not a monster like he was. Her actions werepureeven when the consequence was not. “You did not know, Alora,” he argued lightly, wanting to pull her close, wrap her in his arms, allow her tofeelhis words.
Though he knew she did not believe it, her eyes thanked him as he brushed another tear away.
Alora swallowed. Emotion dammed the liquid in her eyes, prepared to flood at any moment. He nearly suggested a shift in conversion when she murmured, “The young male wrapped the first pixie in a cloth napkin and ran to the next. Doing the same before slipping them under a silk-draped table. He didn’t have time to withdraw from underneath because an older male wrenched him out by his ankle.” Her voice broke. “He slapped him. As if shattering the lanterns was his fault.
