Broken Throne (Red Queen #4.5)(112)

“Neither do I,” he replies quickly, forcing another sip of beer. I remember his nightmares, some quiet, some thrashing. About his father dying at his own hand. I still can’t imagine what that must feel like. And now I bet he dreams about Maven. The body he found, my wound in his belly. I dream about him too.

“I try not to think about him,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself. A sudden chill blows over me. From Cal or the mountain, I can’t say. “It doesn’t work.”

Another gulp of his drink. He breaks first, looking away from me, his gaze like embers. “I know.” After a long moment, his eyes sweep back to me. The sorrow clears from his face. “So what’s next?”

I’m not sure what he’s asking, so I answer the easiest interpretation of the question.

“Proper resettlement. Gisa is supervising a move from the palace to a town house of our own, up the slope.” I point over his shoulder, gesturing in the general direction of our new home. “She said it has a beautiful view, and I guess it’s close to where we electricons can train.”

One side of his mouth draws up in a grin. “I figured that storm up the mountain wasn’t natural.”

I return the smile and gesture to my ragged appearance, sweat and all. “In case you couldn’t tell.”

“You look beautiful. You always do.” He says it so nonchalantly, then takes another sip of his drink without blinking or breaking his gaze.

Cold air whistles past my teeth as I suck in a breath, a last gasp before the plunge. My grip tightens on the glass in my hand, until I’m afraid it might shatter. “You saw me last night,” I whisper, my voice almost lost in the tavern.

An emotion I can’t name shadows his face. “Yeah.”

I hoped for some clue in his voice or expression, but I’m left to stumble in the dark for understanding. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask, trying not to sound desperate. I can’t tell if it works.

He forces his trademark grin, lopsided and easy. “You wanted me to wake up half the palace, including your dad?”

“That’s not why.” At least I know how to see through his charm by now.

A blush blooms over his cheeks. I unsettle him as much as he unsettles me. Frowning, he takes another drink of his beer. A long one, as if he can just wait me out. Fat chance, Calore.

I don’t waver, staring until he can’t avoid the question anymore.

“I figured you needed every second you could get,” he admits, biting out the words. As if there is shame in them. “I didn’t want to rush you.”

His warmth ripples over me, tentative and searching. “Into what?”

“Into making up your mind, Mare,” Cal huffs, throwing up one hand in exasperation. Like this is the most obvious thing in the world.

I swallow around the tightness in my throat, biting my lip. He notes every movement in me, watching my face like a battlefield. Looking for an advantage, looking for opportunity. “I did a lot of thinking up at Paradise,” I say. I feel like I’m balancing on a cliff, ready to tip in either direction, with no idea how far the drop might be.

He didn’t say a word. I won’t ask you to wait for me. The thoughts are haunting.

“I would certainly hope so,” he says, laughing darkly. He even shakes his head, then takes another gulp. His frustration doesn’t last long, quickly melting into apprehension. I shiver as his eyes dart over me, his lips parted. “And?” he adds quietly, as if holding his breath.

“And I don’t know. I still don’t know.” Before he can react, my head bows and I look at my hands twisting in my lap. If anyone at the tavern is listening or even looks our way, I don’t notice. Again, the world has narrowed to him and only him. At first I clench my teeth, to hold back the words rattling in my throat. No, I think. You don’t have to do that with him. “I missed you terribly,” I whisper. “I was so afraid to speak to you this morning.”

The heat grows, cocooning me from the cold air of the mountain. “I was afraid last night,” he murmurs.

My head snaps up to find him leaning closer. The edge of my vision swims. “And now?” I ask, feeling breathless.

He doesn’t flinch, his face stone, his eyes fire. “Terrified.”

I’m all lightning, my nerves crackling beneath my skin. “Me too.”

“Where does this leave us?” One of his hands brushes mine on the bar top, but doesn’t linger.

I can only shake my head. I don’t know.

“Let me simplify.” He licks his lips, and his voice takes on a warrior edge, resolute and unyielding. “In a perfect world, without war, without the reconstruction, without the Lakelands or the Guard or any other obstacle you can think of, what would you do? What would you want for us?”

I sigh, waving him off. “It doesn’t work like that, Cal.”

He never wavers, only leaning farther into my space, until our noses are just inches apart. “Humor me,” he says neatly, as if carving every letter.

My chest tightens. “I suppose I would ask you to stay here.”

His eyes flash. “Okay.”

“And I would hope that, in a perfect world, every time you looked at me, you wouldn’t see your brother’s corpse.” The last word comes out hoarsely, broken apart. I lower my gaze, looking anywhere but his face. I settle on his fingers as they twitch, betraying his own pain. “And every time I looked at you, I wouldn’t see him, and what he could have been. If I could have . . . done more.”