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TWENTY

THE ESTATE IS QUIET, HEAVY WITH SLEEP, when we arrive. We part ways with murmured good nights, eager for baths and beds, but Jost takes my hand as we climb the steep stairs into the mansion. He holds my hand when we get inside, but he doesn’t ask what Dante and I were talking about on the ride home.

An angry voice echoes through the silence, and I freeze. Jost tugs me along but not before I overhear the argument.

“You are not to remove her from this estate again,” Kincaid commands. “I expect better judgment from you.”

“It was a simple gathering trip. We set up the panels and enjoyed some sun. It was fine,” Dante says. His lie is smooth and believable.

“This is a warning. Consider what would happen to your precious girl if they caught her. She’s here under my protection.” The song is out of Kincaid’s voice, his words fierce and demanding.

“I appreciate that,” Dante says.

“Do you, Dante?” Kincaid asks. “You have a strange way of showing it.”

Their voices fade, but I’m sure Jost heard it, too: Dante lied for me. I can’t digest what it means, any more than I can understand Jost’s silent treatment.

“Come on,” Jost says. “I’m tired.”

But before we can continue toward our rooms, Dante speaks. He’s quieter than he was with Kincaid, so I dart closer to his voice, coming from the large assembly room. I hide in the shadows of a neglected piano.

“It was a long day, Jax,” Dante says. I imagine him running his hands through his hair as he speaks.

“Trouble?” Jax asks.

“Remnants. Mines. You name it.”

Dante is telling Jax what really happened, which means he trusts him, unlike Kincaid.

“Do I want to know how you got yourself into that mess?” Jax asks.

“My daughter.” The word is overemphasized, as though Dante is tasting it to see if he likes it.

“She must take after you,” Jax says, clearly amused.

“Don’t start,” Dante warns. “She could have gotten us all killed, and she might as well have sent Cormac an invitation to our outing. It was so obvious that we were there.”

“What are you going to do about her?”

“Knock some sense into her?” Dante says. “I don’t know. She’s stubborn. Oh, don’t give me that look. I know: she gets it from me.”

“She’s been through a lot,” Jax says. “Her life in Arras. Her mother. Even what that scum Deniel tried to do to her. Give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“I’m trying, but I don’t want to see her get killed.” There’s a pause in the conversation, and I realize I’ve stopped breathing. “I barely know her.”

“Do you want to?” Jax asks him.

“Yes, I do.” There’s certainty in his words, and I find I’m relieved.

“Did you manage to get any solar energy above the quota?” Jax asks, changing subjects.

“No. I’m sorry. I know how important it is to your work…”

Jost guides me away, urging me to the elevator. We’re both too tired to take the stairs tonight. I have no more interest in Dante’s conversation, but plenty to contemplate. Dante wants to know me. I’m not sure how to feel about that.

When we reach our suite, Jost fills a basin of hot water in his bathroom and brings it to me. We’re both filthy, covered in dirt from the road and ash from the explosion at the ammunition factory. I dip my hands in the basin, rubbing them clean. I’ll take a bath later.

“Dante was upset,” Jost says finally, and it’s evident from his clipped tone that he is as well.

“According to Dante, I have no control over my talents,” I say.

“You sure about that?” he asks.

“I’m always right,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

“Don’t I know it,” he says, unamused. Sullen Jost has returned. Until today’s disastrous events it felt like our relationship had turned a corner, as though we were finally moving forward. I thought he could be happy again. But shades of angry Jost are showing themselves, and suddenly I don’t want to discuss anything with him. Not that he’ll want to talk anyway. He never does when he’s locked inside his own head.

So instead of telling him anything more, I watch him stand and move to the washbasin. I keep watching as he strips off his dirty shirt.

Why don’t I want to go to him? Not so long ago, seeing him like this, being alone with him, would have been enough. But now I feel like I’m the only one wanting, and it’s making me numb.

I force the hurt down and go to him. Before he can turn to me, I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his back. He smells like sweat from our adventures earlier, and when I press my lips to his skin, all I taste is salt.

As I kiss his shoulder, I feel him exhale and then, to my surprise, instead of pulling out of my embrace, he wraps his hands around my wrists and pulls me closer to him.

A shiver runs through me, and I kiss him again. My arms thaw, followed by my chest, until my entire body responds to the contact. I push up on tiptoes to kiss his neck. Then his ear. He spins me to face him but he doesn’t push me away. His arms twist around my waist. But he doesn’t kiss me, he tucks his face against my neck, trailing his lips along until they’re in my hair.

He breathes in deeply and murmurs, “You smell like smoke and fire.”

I smile a little and somehow I know he is smiling, too.

But I don’t let him continue; instead I bring my lips to his. He meets my eagerness, and this kiss is different. His body reacts to mine, crushing closer to me, each of us trying to fuse with the other. I can feel the desperation in our embrace, but there’s want there, too. A need for closeness. A need for something we’ve been denying too long. Something we could lose any moment.

And then he presses me onto my heels and I realize as I stumble back, still kissing him, that he’s leading me to his bed.

I don’t need to think about it. I just have to keep going.

He lays me down gently, and the bed is too small, and I don’t care, because Jost is on top of me and he’s kissing me and I want him. And he wants me.

It’s right.

It’s right.

It’s right.

I bury my face against his chest as he moves back to my neck and I reach for his pants.

His hand grabs my wrist.

And like that the need—the desire—is gone. It sucks from the room, leaving only dry air in its wake.

“Ad,” he manages between breaths, “I can’t.”

“Won’t,” I accuse. It’s the same way he reacted in my room before the play. He pulled away from me then. He’s been pulling away since we got to Earth.

“Don’t start this again,” he says, standing up and grabbing a shirt from the dresser nearby. “I don’t want to argue.”

“Considering you force us to drop it every time we’re in this situation, I wouldn’t call it having an argument,” I snap, smoothing my shirt back into place.

He turns from me and leans against the dresser, and I can’t decide if I should slip out. Is this my cue to exit, because he’s done talking? Or does he expect me to stay? It’s hard to know since he isn’t telling me anything these days. After a few minutes I stand to leave, an embarrassed blush creeping onto my neck.

“Don’t go,” he says softly.

I stop and wait.

“This isn’t easy for me,” he continues.

“And it is for me? Do you think I’m happy here?” I wonder if I’m even capable of happiness anymore, but I don’t say this to Jost. Too much moving forward. Too much planning the next move. There’s no time for happiness, and it’s becoming clear that there’s no possibility of it with what we’ve discovered here. If we can’t get lost with each other, what’s the point?

“I could be happy with you anywhere if…”

And there it is: if. I’m not sure what I expect him to say. If you were happier. If you hadn’t brought Erik. If we weren’t caught in the middle of a war. If. If. If.

“Don’t you understand that we can’t sleep together?” he finally asks. It’s the last direction I expected this conversation to go in.

“Is that what this is about? Sex?” My voice peaks on the word.

“Ad, if we have sex, we can’t go back.”

I stare at him for a long moment, hoping he’ll elucidate what he means, because it makes no sense to me.

“Wait,” I say slowly, starting to grasp the heart of the problem. “Is this because of purity standards?”

“Of course,” he says. “If we have sex, we could go back to Arras to rescue the girls, but your skill is our most powerful weapon. We’ll never get to Sebrina or Amie without it.”

It’s hard to tell which emotion wins out at this proclamation: anger, annoyance, relief? They mingle and leave a sour taste in my mouth.

“You know purity standards aren’t real, right?” I hate how condescending I sound, but I thought Jost was smarter than this.

“How do you know that, Adelice?”

“Seriously? Because Cormac told me but also because half of the Spinsters were sleeping with officials and valets.” I bite my tongue to keep from using Erik as a definite example of this phenomenon.

“Are you willing to risk the girls on a hunch?”

That does it.

“Why don’t you ask your brother?” I say, without hiding the seething frustration in my voice.

“So he screwed Maela. That hardly proves your point. She didn’t have any talent anyway.”

“Well, what about Enora?” I ask. “I’m sure she and Valery, you know…”

“Do you know?” he counters. “Did either of them tell you? Have you asked Valery?”

So that’s it. We’re going to have an argument without any way to prove that I’m right without risking I’m wrong. Perfect.

“Cormac wouldn’t have been planning to marry me if sex was going to destroy my skills,” I argue, because I’m sure that was where most of his attraction to me lay.

“But he knew how to map you. He could have fixed your skills after or given them to someone else and kept you home…”

Barefoot and pregnant. The thought is enough to make me sick.

“You are going to have to trust me on this, Jost. It’s a lie. Ask Erik,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “On second thought, don’t. That would be weird.”

“Come here,” he says, the hostility of his tone dropping off. I bury my face in his chest and marvel at how soft his shirt is and how, even now a world away, it still smells the same as it did in Arras. His scent makes something ache in my chest, but I’m not sure if it’s longing or sadness now.

“Ad, it won’t be much longer, and then…” He trails off, and I can almost hear the hesitation in the air.

“Then?” Surely he won’t reject me then.

“Then we can be a family,” he says, and now I understand.

If sex is the topic Jost is skirting around, then family is the one I’m trying to avoid. I want Amie and Sebrina back, but I’m not sure I’m ready to be a family. Going back for the girls isn’t where things end, it only puts me in more danger than ever. Danger I want to avoid placing the girls in.

“What if we can’t be?” I whisper.

Jost’s eyes narrow and I can see the condemnation in them. “Because you don’t want her.”

I want to deny this. I want to explain the danger and my need to protect Amie and Sebrina, but I can’t. So I don’t say anything at all, which is probably worse.

“I didn’t ask you to be her mother, Ad,” he says quietly, but his tone is anything but soft. It tears with accusation. “Why did you even tell me she was alive?”

“How can you ask that?”

“It’s what I’m honestly wondering,” he says. “Why are you even here now?”

“I-I-I care about you,” I stammer, shocked at the way his words cut. “We belong together.”

“Maybe we did in Arras, but what about when we get them back?” he asks. “I can’t abandon my daughter. I thought you understood that. What about your sister?”

“It’s different,” I admit.

“Because she won’t come between us,” he says wisely.

“No, it’s not that. I can’t be a mother. Amie won’t need me that way.” And they’ll both be safer without me, I add silently.

“I didn’t ask you to be,” he repeats.

“No, you might not have, but, Jost, you’re going to be a father—”

“Ad, I’ve always been a father,” he says in a tired voice. “That never went away.”

But you didn’t seem like one, I want to say. He’s right. I’ve always chosen to ignore how awkward his past made me feel, especially when it came to his daughter. And I’ve denied how things will change once she’s back. I won’t be able to protect her or care for her. Even my being with Jost would be a risk to her.

“I can’t waste time waiting for you to be ready. I won’t be like you and Dante. I don’t want to be a stranger to Sebrina. Maybe we need to focus on a plan for now,” he suggests.

My eyes meet his and I understand exactly what he’s saying, and something twists and snaps in my chest, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. But I want him to say it. I want him to own it.

“Instead of?” I ask quietly.

“Instead of worrying about us.”

I have to push against the raw ache in my throat to keep my voice steady, but I manage to ask, “Like, we’ll figure it out later, or like, we’ll remove the ‘us problem’ altogether?”

“Altogether,” he says in a firm voice.

Why had I wanted to hear him say it? So I wouldn’t have to dissect exactly what he meant by “instead of worrying about us”? Because this wasn’t the answer I was hoping for, even if it’s the one I knew was coming.

I want to crumple onto the floor. Part of me wants to sob and beg, making me feel like a traitor to the person I thought I was. As the rawness builds in my throat, I nod, without a single tear, and turn on my heel. The door feels like it’s a million miles away and with each step I nearly lose my resolve, but Jost doesn’t say anything to stop me and that helps.

The tears sting my cheeks as the lock clicks behind me.