"Don’t be stupid."
"Then you’re staying," he said as if it was settled, and added helpfully, "You can still pretend you don’t like her," then laughed at the expression on her face.
"You’re just as full of yourself as she is."
"Probably." Sebastian was inexplicably pleased.
Hunching her shoulders, Kendall looked up at the jagged wreckage in the middle of the Arkathan and then headed through the nearest door. "Do you believe Rennyn likes Captain Faille?"
"Who knows? The most she ever said about him to me was that he was dangerously intelligent. And I would have thought any kind of relationship with a Kellian was out of the question, that our inheritance of control would make us completely intolerable. But Lieutenant Faral wasn’t even surprised when I asked. None of the Sentene mages knew, but it looks like all the Kellian did. She said they were glad. Glad. Faral acted like she still was, didn’t she?"
"I guess. What she told them gave them the horrors, and I don’t see any chance that that’ll change, but they didn’t blame it on Rennyn. Maybe they won’t want to have much to do with her, but do you think it likely they’d hate her for saving them?"
"No." Sebastian breathed the word, then shook his head to banish whatever thought lay behind it. As they reached the dormitory he looked around as if he hadn’t realised where they were walking.
"Goodnight," Kendall said pointedly
He smiled. "I don’t think I have a hope of sleeping. But I’ll leave you to try. Thank you again. And, Kendall–"
"What?"
"It’s not that Ren needs students, or probably even wants them, but she likes you and so there’s a place for you if you want to be taught. All you have to do is decide whether you want that."
A place for her. Kendall thought about it for a long time after, and decided that Sebastian was definitely as annoying as his sister.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The wrongness of the empty bed filtered through layers of cloth and wool. Looking at it brought Rennyn a tidal surge of panic, slow and overwhelming. It should not be empty.
A touch on her shoulder broke into the suffocating waves, and she managed to turn her head, then let out her breath. Illidian.
"Hello," she said, or tried to. The tiny croaking noise she managed was lost in the dry cough that followed it, and then the pain which overwhelmed everything. The itching of her throat was overwhelmed by the need to not breathe, to prevent the agony of coughing. Her chest stabbed at her, her face ached alarmingly and the rest of her made muffled suggestions that all was not well.
A glass was pressed to her lips, and Illidian’s hand curled behind her head, lifting her enough so that she could swallow. Honey water. The itching faded, but the pain blocked everything out, and she closed her eyes again.
The light had changed when she next looked. All shadows and glowlight instead of sunshine. This time she was facing the right direction, and could see Illidian. Long form balanced on a small chair, he was reading a book held loosely in one hand. He was here, with her.
The instinct which served him so unerringly brought his eyes to hers, and in that intent, searching look she found an echo of her own questions. But drawing a breath brought back a memory of dire consequences and she stopped any words. Illidian immediately turned and picked up a glass. Diluted apple juice this time, which she could feel all the way down her throat to a hollow stomach. Swallowing it made her realise her weakness. Without Illidian’s help she wouldn’t even be able to lift her head.
He propped two pillows behind her, moving her with infinite care while she catalogued the failings of her body. She was still a roiling mass of hurt, but there was a casting which turned a thousand alarms into a little list she could review without flinching. Other spells seemed to be holding bits of her in place. Bruises everywhere.
"I dreamed that I’d killed you," she said, her voice small and worn, but working this time.
"No."
Even more uncommunicative than usual. She gazed up at this man who had so unexpectedly become central to her world, who she had used as a weapon, who had every reason to want to be as far from her as possible. It had astonished her beyond words when he’d been able to step across the chasm of her control, but that divide would always be at his back, dragging him away. And that even before the final lies, before she’d nearly killed him.
He was watching her steadily, but she could not see the distance she had dreaded.
"Are you angry?"
"For the deception?" His gaze shifted from her face, and she felt a moment’s terror, but then he curled his hands through hers and leaned over her, pressing his cheek against the undamaged side of her face. As close to an embrace as he could manage without hurting her. "I am not such a fool." The words, breathed into her ear, were accompanied by a tremor which ran through both their hands.
Rennyn closed her eyes. She hadn’t pushed him beyond endurance. The tangle of lies were so much what she suspected he would despise, yet he did not hate her for them.
But his hands. She managed to tilt her head to look at them as he straightened, the fingers long and tapering and blunted. He’d trimmed the nails. Both hands.
"For always?"
"I don’t know."
She curled her fingers further around his, unable to completely hide her distress. He might have chosen to be here with her, but he was fantastically upset. None of the Kellian trimmed both of their hands: it would be a denial of their selves.
Exhaustion was blurring thought. She had let his hands drop without realising it, and when she tried to lift her head further she couldn’t manage it and realised he’d moved, that she’d been asleep again. Not so long this time, for it was still dark and he was sitting holding her nearest hand between both of his, face meditative.
"I don’t think I’m going to like being kitten-weak," she said.
"No."
The certainty of his agreement made her laugh, and laughing made the world turn black with dancing white spots. She stopped.
"We are all adjusting," he said. The words were quiet, but the lines on either side of his mouth had deepened during her small episode, and his grip on her hand had briefly tightened to steel. Illidian wasn’t going to enjoy her recovery either.
"Seb?" she asked, when she could. Her voice worked better this time.
"Uninjured. Sleeping."
A small part of her relaxed, enough that she could ask: "My Wicked Uncle?"
"No trace."
He was less than pleased about that. She wondered incuriously how much time had passed, and drank some more of the juice Illidian had ready, feeling markedly better for it.
"Are the Kellian confined to barracks again?"
"No. At the moment there is too much which needs doing."
The words were full of the knowledge that while the Kellian were spared imprisonment because of their usefulness, the Sentene uniform would no longer deflect attention now that the people of Tyrland had been given a demonstration of how dangerous they could be. Their future would not be simple.
He rubbed the ball of his thumb around the palm of her hand, soothing. "The Court officials have tentatively scheduled your annunciation as Duchess of Surclere. Two months from now."
"Bah."
"You had not intended to make the arrangement known?"
The neutrality of the question made her remember Lady Weston on the subject of Kellian offering their opinion. Rennyn had no doubt about the depth of what was between herself and Illidian Faille, for all that there would always be barriers to overcome. And Illidian changed everything. All those plans to have no plans, to please only herself, to not be weighed down by any more grand responsibilities.