Kinked (Elder Races, #6)(97)

As he listened, at first he didn’t remember his apology for his fight with Aryal in the hallway. For a moment he thought she referred to what he had done last year, and he felt shocked into newness, washed clean. Then the context of her message came clear, and he had to smile at himself, albeit a bit crookedly.

Still, a touch of that newness remained, and he took her message to heart, setting it all behind him to concentrate on now, and the future.

Ferion had also left a message, one filled with deep, heartfelt thanks to both of them. Quentin told Aryal about it as he texted Ferion in reply. You’re welcome. Ever heard of something called the Phoenix Cauldron?

Ferion replied almost immediately. No. What is it?

What the witch was looking for in Numenlaur.

Then, because the question remained on his mind, he shrugged and texted Dragos. Galya was hunting for an item called the Phoenix Cauldron. Do you know what that is?

The silence lasted just long enough to make him wonder. He had already heard from the older sentinels that Dragos didn’t like to put sensitive information into writing of any kind.

His phone rang. He answered.

Dragos said without preamble, “If Galya was looking for a physical item, it’s no wonder she didn’t find anything. The name is misleading—that’s a resurrection spell, not an item. The results are monstrous. Any records of how to cast it were supposed to have been destroyed a very long time ago. But you know how that goes. What people are supposed to do, and what they really do, are often two different things.” He paused. “How are you two doing?”

“Good,” said Quentin. “We’re good.”

“You did well in Numenlaur,” Dragos told him.

Quentin remembered all too well Dragos’s expression as he had stared at the witch’s body on the beach. He had looked astonished, then approving. Clearly he hadn’t thought that Aryal and Quentin could take down Galya by themselves.

Not that Dragos’s opinion mattered to him, but still.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling. Both men disconnected without good-byes.

Aryal recovered too, but she didn’t thrive. Her appetite was fitful, and she lost weight. At odd times he caught her looking out the window, up at the sky. Once he woke in the middle of the night. He rolled over to find her already awake, staring bleakly at nothing. She grew jittery, distracted.

He wasn’t having it.

He started to bark at her like a drill sergeant, driving her through the days and nights. Telling her to eat. Snapping when she didn’t pay attention.

On the fourth day, he nagged her into going with him to the gym at the Tower. People stared in wonder, especially at him. Either they were looking at his scars, or they were wondering at his sanity.

Bless them, they were probably doing both. He ignored them.

“Come on, let’s fight,” he said to Aryal. “What will it be—sword, nunchakus or hand to hand?”

She glanced at the training mats and shook her head. “I’m not interested.”

Inside, his heart pounded. Could she really pine away despite all of her promises to the contrary?

“Oh, no you don’t.” He advanced on her. “You will pick something, or I will pick for you.”

She shrugged and a touch of sullenness entered her expression. “So, pick.”

He snagged his ankle behind her foot and elbowed her hard, knocking her flat.

She took her time rolling over to her hands and knees. When he looked in her eyes, a faint anger had begun to spark.

He slammed her down again, hard as he could.

She came up faster.

Doctor said Aryal couldn’t use her wings. Didn’t say a word about anything else. And he discovered he was mad at her for scaring him when she jumped off that cursed bluff, and for not hitting him back. For not eating or sleeping well. For not trying hard enough.

He lunged forward again.

This time she blocked him.

They stood face-to-face, straining against each other.

She glared. “You suck!”

He smiled. “There you are, sunshine,” he purred. “I missed you.”

They fought each other single-mindedly until they were both on the mat. Then she scooted over to put her arms around his neck and hug him fiercely. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll do better.”

He put his face in her neck and held her tight.

When he finally loosened his hold and they went to stand, Graydon and Grym were there to offer them a hand up. The other sentinels wore sober expressions. Behind them, a wide-eyed crowd had gathered to watch the fight. Now that the fireworks were over, people began to drift away.

Graydon pulled Aryal upright and into a tight bear hug. “Good to see you surface,” Graydon said to her. “I almost came over to bang down Quentin’s door.”

“I almost did too,” said Grym, as he gave Quentin a smile as sharp as if he had pulled a sword. Telepathically he said, I have just one thing to say about you and Aryal.

Hit me with it, said Quentin with an equally sharp smile. He shook out his arm muscles and readied himself in case Grym’s message became physical.

If you betray her in any way, said Grym, I may not be able to kill you, because that would kill her. But I will hurt you very, very badly. And repeatedly. That’s a promise.

Quentin relaxed, and his smile turned real. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else,” he said aloud.