Page 49 of Starchaser
Will wraps his arms around me, the scent of roses and damp earth soothing the ache in my chest. “You’re safe now,” he croons, stroking my hair. He draws back, his gaze intense. “I swear to you, Aster, this Changeling will pay for what he’s done. I will see to it personally.”
My lips part, my breath quickening at the way his gaze drops to my mouth, the buttery light of the fire illuminating the constellations of freckles that scatter across the bridge of his nose.
“I thought you didn’t believe me?” I whisper, a single tear slipping onto my cheek.
Slowly, delicately, he leans in, his warm breath ghosting over my jaw as he presses a kiss to my skin, capturing the tear with his lips. “I never said that,” he whispers against my cheek, his hand snaking around my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair.
I inhale a shaky breath as his nose brushes mine, his lips hovering just over my lips, when an unfamiliar floral perfume assaults my senses, and I pull free from his grasp.
“Whatwereyou doing out so late?” I ask, stumbling backward. I fish the compass from where I hid it in the seat of the armchair. I flip open the lid, squinting at the timepiece in the scant firelight. “It’s the middle of the night! Were you…” I hesitate, heat flaring in my cheeks. “Were you with those girls?”
This time, his mouth babbles. His brows lift, a brief look of confusion passing over his face before he barks a deep, husky laugh, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Did you think—” He chuckles, eyes glittering with amusement, and my face is suddenly hot for an entirely different reason. Forget curses, I think I might die of humiliation.
Just as I’m about to order him to leave, he cups my jaw, urging me to meet his eyes, now soft and unguarded.
“I was following orders,” he says, his gaze locked on mine. “Clemson and Davina are the daughters of a very powerful woman from Fell by the name of Eva Mercer. Dawnrender sent a message through Killian, asking me to gather information on Eva. I was doing my duty to the Order. That’s all.”
I ball my fist around the compass, the tiny etchings of my father’s handwriting digging into the skin of my palm. “Why?”
He shakes his head, strands of dark hair falling over his forehead. “I’m not sure, but it could have something to do with the factthat Eva controls over half of the trade routes that transport goods to Castle Grim.”
I struggle to maintain eye contact when I know I don’t look as unaffected as I’d like to project. “Maybe if you weren’t such a good spy, the Order wouldn’t expect so much from you,” I say, trying to sound indifferent. Trying not to think about those women clinging to his side. Trying not to wish it had been me, instead.
“Maybe.” He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I almost forgot,” he says, reaching into his jacket pocket and withdrawing a sprig of blue salvia. “I came to find you shortly after we spoke in the graveyard, but your brothers said you already retired for the evening. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you and, well, the Crystal Atrium is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. The gardens are magnificent and…” He tucks the sprig behind my ear, and my heart soars when I remember what he once told me the flower meant.
This one means I’m thinking of you.
The gesture is almost enough to make me forget where I am—who I am. But a gust of wind rattles the doors to my balcony, and I flinch. Beyond my window, a storm rages, thick flurries of snow blotting out the lights of Jade.
“I can help you sleep,” Will says, his voice low as he follows my gaze to the locked doors. His fingertips graze my cheek, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “If you want.”
I seize his wrist, lowering his hand. “No,” I say, my voice firm. “No magic.”
He dips his head, clears his throat, takes a step back. “Of course,” he says. “It’s your choice.”
He turns as if to leave, but I tighten my grip on his hand. I think, hazily, that I mean to tell him I worry my ability to detectthe Sylks might not return, and how I still fear that Titus might act against Leo regardless of what I discover. But the words never materialize, melting on my tongue like snowflakes. “You could stay,” I say instead, breathless. The instant the words leave my mouth, I wonder why I said them.
Will’s body goes rigid, his throat bobbing as he inspects me with a curious look. “If that’s what you want,” he says, his deep voice like the distant roll of thunder.
I nod, threading my fingers with his. “I do.”
He tugs at his shirt collar, clears his throat. “Then I’ll stay.”
I mean to let go of his hand as I move toward the end of my bed, but it’s his fingers that slip from mine as he takes a step in the opposite direction. He smiles, soft and subdued, as he plops down in the armchair, his elbows resting on his knees.
He inclines his head, eyes glittering. “Sweet dreams, Aster.”
I don’t know what came over me, asking him to stay, but I’m relieved he understood I didn’t intend for him to sleep in my bed. As I crawl under my blankets, listening to the crackle of the hearth and Will’s steady breathing, all thoughts of Underlings feel distant, like a dream that fades upon waking. But the compass, still safe in my grasp, heats my palm. Fiery. Insistent.
The last thought that crosses my mind is not one of flowers or would-be kisses, and though I can’t remember why, as I drift off to sleep, the feeling that wraps itself around my beating heart isn’t one of bliss.
It’s one of dread.
Will is gone when Iwake, but the sprig of blue salvia remains.
And while the feeling of dread lingers, I’m finally able to give it a name.
Homesickness.
