“Mine, too.”
“I know,” she whispered, her grip on my hand tightening, “so do me a favor. If you really feel that way about Ilyan, don’t let him get away, even if you both are going to die tomorrow. One day of promise would be worth it. It’s better than having none. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
The smile that had lingered on my face faded as ice washed over me. I knew what she was talking about. I didn’t need it spelled out because I had heard my heart plead the same words to me. I had held them safe, not really trusting myself to agree.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, even though I knew. Even though I could feel my heart rate increase, even though I could feel each push of blood through my body. I knew.
The earth seemed to spin faster as I looked at her right as the door swung open soundlessly behind her, and Thom and Ilyan walked in. Ilyan’s face smoothed at seeing me, his eyes lighting up. My heart rate relaxed as unabashed joy spread through my joints. I felt it rock through me in a pleasant ocean of happiness.
That was, until Wyn spoke, and the words that came out of her mouth sent my joy into a wave of nerves and embarrassment.
“Bond yourself to Ilyan, Jos,” she said, oblivious to the boys behind her. The blood drained from my face, the look of shock and embarrassment mirrored in Ilyan’s face as my vision focused on him—my nerves unable to respond—even though I begged them to look away.
“Don’t wait,” Wyn continued.
My eyes widened as her hands gripped around my forearms, bringing my attention back to her and away from the way all the blood had drained from Ilyan’s face.
“If I had known I only had a day, only an hour. If I had known everything when I had made the choice,” Wyn’s voice broke as she looked into me, her eyes shining with the emotion she had tried so hard to keep away, “I would still do it again in a heartbeat.”
“That is awfully deep for you, Wynifred,” Thom barked as he strode into the room, his deep voice only increasing the uncomfortable, smothering blanket that had covered me. He laughed as his hand slid over Wyn’s shoulder, causing her to freeze in place, her eyes widening in as much fearful embarrassment that had been raging through me for the past few minutes.
Her jaw dropped slightly before she recovered, her mouth shutting with a snap as she turned to glare at Thom.
“Yes, well, what can I say? I am a shallow pool of misery, Thom.” Wyn dropped my arms as she spoke, her body quick to turn and grab one of the other glasses she had filled minutes before.
She said nothing else as she drained the glass in one gulp, slamming it on the table as she had with the last one before she walked toward Ilyan, her face screwing itself up into a mischievous grin.
“Do yourself a favor, Ilyan. Think of yourself every once in a while. It’s what Talon always said. He worked so hard for you because he wanted you to have something for yourself. You can’t think of everyone else all the time. Find your own happiness.” Wyn said it all very quickly, her sass seeping out like some sort of poison as her words slurred together.
I stiffened at her bluntness, the way she spoke to Ilyan more shocking than what she had said. I swallowed as I forced myself to look away from the rebuttal that I was sure Ilyan was going to dish out.
Nothing came.
“Thank you, Wynifred.”
I would have expected Wyn to shy away from the acid in his voice, yet she stood still, her body swaying slightly as the over-potent alcohol began to take effect.
Ilyan looked down at her briefly before he moved away, walking right up to me and wrapping his arm around my shoulders. He said nothing as he held me against him before his hand slid down my arm, his fingers intertwining with mine.
I could feel that his body was somehow warmer than it had been before. Everything felt heavier just knowing he had heard what Wyn had said. At his touch, my heart rate sped to match the quick drum that lay in Ilyan’s chest. I almost cringed at the nervous pressure that had built up inside of him, a shadow of it moving into me as his skin slid against mine. I let my magic flow into him, desperate to hear even a shadow of what he had heard—what he had thought—only to be met by a dark wall of Ilyan’s magic.
He had blocked me out.
I could feel his mind, his emotion. I knew they were there, but what he was thinking—what he was guarding—was kept from me.
Ilyan? I sent to him in my panic. He didn’t so much as look at me. He only leaned down and grabbed the last full glass, his eyes focused on the blood-colored liquid in his hands.
“Where did you find the Slivovica?” he asked as his hand tightened around mine. “I had thought we had used the last before we burned the manor in Brno.”