I quickly turn away, shoving myself into my stool and busying myself in my plate I no longer have an appetite for. They have a history. It’s not a surprise. Sitri has already told me as much. It’s obvious they were close at one point, and something cleaved them apart. Vera turns away, swiping at her eyes as Sitri takes his seat beside me. I can feel his stare searing into the side of my face. I ignore him as my chest twists in a tangle of emotions I can hardly make sense of.
I don’t have a right to feel anything but gratitude towards either one of them after all they’ve just done. Vera had been willing to stop and sacrifice her time to take care of me. A nought she barely even knows. Is nothing but joyous to see I’m still here, still kicking. And, here I am feeling bitter…because…
I shove those feelings deep down in my chest. The shame lingers. I continue shoveling food into my mouth because I know Sitri will notice, inquire, badger me if I don’t. When I look up, Vera’s watching me, her forehead wrinkled with vexation.
I force all the undeserved feelings toward her down and offer her what I hope is a convincing smile. She turns her penetrating gaze on Sitri. “Sitri—how?”
Sitri just shrugs. “Many talents.” Vera frowns.
“Pet?”
When I peek up, there’s no humor or arrogance in his face. “I will likely be gone for the next few days.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Right now?”
“After I’ve cleaned up. I have things I need to… catch up on.”
“Oh.” I don’t know why it comes as such a surprise when he leaves every day. I just assumed with how late in the day it was he’d stick around. I was so excited to get back and now it just sounds…lonely.
“Is there anything you need before I go? I can swing you by the library?”
“You’re going to be gone…for a while?” The disappointment pushes its way into the center of my voice.
He looks straight ahead. “Three days at the most.”
Three days.
Vera circles around to give us another hug before we leave. She still looks oddly concerned as she squeezes my shoulders. “Thank you for—“ I struggle to finish the sentence.
She brushes me off. “I’m sure you’d do the same. I’m just glad you’re still here.”
We’re both ruminating in our own thoughts as we walk back to his chambers. Despite the impending loneliness, I do feel a tinge of relief as he opens his chamber doors. I take in a deep breath of the scent I’d grown blind to in my days of staying here. It smells like plants and herbs, aged wood, and the scent I’ve grown most familiar with—him. I immediately collapse on the couch.
“If you’d like the bathroom, I can find another place to get ready.”
“Go ahead,” I say, waving him off as I curl up on my side. He leaves his chamber door open as he collects fresh clothing and disappears behind the bathroom door. I’mstilltired. To my relief, so is the daemon.
When he retreats from the bathroom he’s fully dressed, wet hair curling against his forehead and the nape of his neck. The smell of his soap stirs through the air as he slumps down on the other end of the sofa to stuff his boots on.
He gets up, and for the first time I’ve ever noticed, he opens the chest of knives and slides one into the inner pocket of his cloak. He digs a sheath out for the other. Propping a foot on the coffee table to attach it around his leg above his boot. Stalking over to his shelf of vials, he fiddles through them for a moment before he uncorks one and carefully distributes a couple of drops to the blade he’s holding. The potion simmers as it dissipates into the gleaming silver.
Throwing me a cautious look, his gaze flits briefly to the door. A look that says he didn’t realize I was watching him, and he’s shown me something he didn’t want me to see. The knife is quickly tucked back into his cloak and the vial tossed on the shelf.
He stuffs a few more vials into his cloak before stopping to scan the room. Apparently finishing whatever mental checklist he’s working through, he turns back to me and he works a swallow. “Pan.”
Pan.
An alarming squeezing sensation envelops my chest.
Pan.
His expression turns quizzical as a flush works up my neck and across my cheeks. “Syra calls me that,” I say hoarsely.
“Should I not?”
