“I’m fine,” she lied. She wasn’t. Cain had cracked one of her ribs, and it ached every time she breathed. He clenched his jaw, staring out the window. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked. She tried to reach out to grab his jacket, but it hurt too much and he was too far.
“I—I don’t know,” he said. The vacant, lost look in his eyes increased the tempo of her heart. “I haven’t been able to sleep since the duel.”
“Here,” she said as gently as she could, patting a space beside her. “Come sit.”
Obediently, he sat, though he kept his back to her as he put his head in his hands and took several deep breaths. Celaena gingerly touched his back. He stiffened, and she almost pulled away. But his spine relaxed, and he continued his controlled breathing. “Are you ill?” she asked.
“No,” he mumbled.
“Dorian. What happened?”
“What do you mean, ‘what happened’?” he said, keeping his face in his hands. “One minute, you were walloping Grave, and the next, Cain was beating the living daylights out of you—”
“You lost sleep because of that?”
“I can’t—I can’t . . .” He groaned. She gave him a moment, letting him sort through his thoughts. “I’m sorry,” he said, removing his hands from his face and straightening. She nodded. She wouldn’t push him. “How are you truly feeling?” The fear still lay beneath his words.
“Awful,” she said cautiously. “And I suspect I look as bad as I feel.”
He smiled slightly. He was trying to fight it—whatever feeling had been hounding him. “I’ve never seen you look lovelier.” He eyed the bed. “Do you mind if I lie down? I’m exhausted.”
She didn’t object as he removed his boots and unbuttoned his jacket. With a groan, he stretched out beside her, putting his hands on his stomach. She watched him close his eyes and let out a long breath through his nose. Some semblance of normalcy returned to his face.
“How’s Chaol?” she asked, tensing. She remembered the spray of blood and his staring, horrified face.
Dorian opened an eye. “He’ll be fine. He took yesterday and today off. I think he needs it.” Celaena’s heart tightened. “You shouldn’t feel responsible,” he said, turning onto his side to look directly into her face. “He did what he saw fit.”
“Yes, but—”
“No,” insisted Dorian. “Chaol knew what he was doing.” He brushed a finger down her cheek. His finger was icy, but she held in her shiver. “I’m sorry,” he said again, taking his finger from her face. “I’m sorry I didn’t save you.”
“What are you talking about? That is what you’ve been agonizing over?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t stop Cain the moment I knew something was wrong. Kaltain drugged you, and I should have known—I should have found a way to prevent her from doing it. And when I realized you were hallucinating, I . . . I’m sorry I didn’t find a way to stop it.”
Green skin and yellow fangs flashed before her eyes, and Celaena’s aching fingers curled into a fist. “You shouldn’t be sorry,” she said, not wanting to speak about the horrors that she’d seen, or of Kaltain’s treachery, or what Nehemia had confided in her. “You did as anyone would have—should have done. If you’d interfered, I would have been disqualified.”
“I should have sliced Cain open the moment he laid a hand on you. Instead, I stood there as Chaol knelt at the sidelines. I should have been the one to kill Cain.”
The demons faded, and a smirk spread. “You’re starting to sound like an assassin, my friend.”
“Perhaps I spend too much time around you.” Celaena moved her head from the pillow to rest in the soft space between his shoulder and chest. Heat rushed through her. Though her body almost seized up in agony as she turned over, Celaena put her injured hand on his stomach. Dorian’s breath was warm on her head, and she smiled as he brought his arm around her, cupping her shoulder. They were silent for a while.
“Dorian,” she began, and he flicked her on the nose. “Ow,” she said, wrinkling her nose. Though her face was peppered with bruises, miraculously, Cain hadn’t marred her in any permanent way, though the cut on the leg would leave yet another scar.
“Yes?” he said, resting his chin on her head.
She listened to the sound of his heart beating, the steadiness of it. “When you retrieved me from Endovier—did you actually think I’d win?”
“Of course. Why else would I have bothered to journey so far to find you?”
She snorted onto his chest, but he gently lifted her chin. His eyes were familiar—like something she’d forgotten. “I knew you’d win the moment I met you,” he whispered, and her heart writhed as she understood what lay before them. “Though I’ll admit that I didn’t quite see this coming. And . . . no matter how frivolous and twisted that competition was, I’m grateful it brought you into my life. As long as I live, I’ll always be thankful for that.”
“Do you intend to make me cry, or are you just foolish?”
Dorian leaned forward and kissed her. It made her jaw hurt.
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