“I’d never have guessed,” he said faintly, feeling a thrill run down his spine as she chuckled in response. An actual laugh, in response to a joke? After a week of stone-cold silence from Acantha, this was almost too much for him. Emboldened by the social contact, he moved over to the table to join the scholarly trio, leaving the smoldering presence of Acantha by the doorway for now.
They quickly filled him in on what they were working on, and he realized quickly that this was why Acantha had brought him here. These three were embarking on a study of the Fog, inspired—it seemed—by a magical disappearance that had taken place a year or so ago. He’d gotten bits and pieces of that story from Acantha during the interrogation, but it was useful to hear the whole story from the scholars, albeit with perhaps more details than necessary. As he listened, he found himself amazed by just how little they knew about the world beyond their borders—but at the same time, inspired by their determination to figure it out.
It wasn’t until he felt his stomach growling that he realized they’d been talking for hours. Cato sat back in his chair, a little startled by how completely he’d lost himself in the conversation. He’d barely thought about Haspar and the plan, barely considered what kind of information he was sharing. He’d just been talking, so thrilled to be part of a conversation that he’d forgotten to filter himself. His mind racing, he mumbled something about a lunch break to cover his discomfiture. He could almost hear Haspar’s voice in the back of his mind, dripping with scorn. Really, that was all it took? A week of the silent treatment and you’re spilling your guts to the first dragons you meet? Had he really allowed himself to be manipulated that easily?
Arric and Hartwell left the room, so deep in a fresh argument about the interpretation of one of the texts on the table that neither of them seemed to notice Acantha stepping forward to open the door for them. As it clicked shut behind them, Cato tried to get control of his racing pulse, his now-panicking mind. He’d let his guard down. So stupid of him. And now he could feel Morgan’s gaze resting lightly on him, those thoughtful green eyes of hers so like her sister’s, and at the same time so unlike them. So warm, so reflective, so responsive. Compared to Acantha, who even when she’d been willing to speak to him had been like a solid stone wall—well, the sisters may have looked nearly identical, but even without the cue of the length of their hair, he’d have had no trouble telling them apart. Something about that warmth was drawing him in, unwilling as he was to admit it.
“Are you alright?” Morgan asked now, reaching out to touch his forearm lightly. He felt the warmth of her hand, and for no reason at all thought of what it had felt like the one and only time he’d touched Acantha. The spark that had flown between them, the way his whole body had seemed to light up. It had felt… he’d been working so hard not to think about how it felt…
Morgan’s eyes widened just a little as he leaned closer, and he felt her pull her hand away from his forearm. What the hell was he doing, he wondered? It didn’t matter. He was committed now. Maybe this would change something. He’d spent a week trying to get Acantha to talk to him. Maybe this would finally put a crack in that stone wall of hers—
Rapid footsteps. A sharp and oddly familiar pain in his head. Then nothing but darkness.
Chapter 13 - Acantha
Acantha stared down at the crumpled form of Cato, feeling an odd sensation of déjà vu. Her sword was still vibrating in her hand with the impact with the back of his head, but there was no blood showing against his white hair, so she was reasonably certain the blow hadn’t been fatal. Her heart was thudding uncomfortably hard against the inside of her chest and she was aware that her mask of decorum had well and truly slipped as she silently sheathed her sword again. Decades of training and discipline had flown out of the window the moment she’d seen the mage leaning in to kiss her sister. She’d flown into action to stop it, taking the path of least resistance. That had always been her sword.
But what had she been trying to stop? Cato kissing her sister… or her sister kissing Cato?
“Are you alright?” she asked, finally tearing her eyes from Cato’s unconscious form to check on Morgan. Her sister nodded, but her attention wasn’t on the unconscious thief. She was looking at Acantha.
“I’m fine. Are you?”
Acantha gestured at Cato, knowing what Morgan was actually asking but not wanting to go down that road. “I’d say I got the better of him, wouldn’t you?”
“Acantha… I think you’ve made your point now. It might be time—”
“I know.” She shut her eyes for a moment. “Just—I’ll talk to him, okay? I’ll talk to him.”
“I feel a little sorry for him,” Morgan murmured, looking down at Cato with an expression that made Acantha grind her teeth. “He was so desperately happy to have someone to talk to.”
“More people to manipulate, you mean.”
“Maybe.” Morgan tilted her head. “People can be doing more than one thing, you know. Maybe he’s trying to manipulate us, but he wants to help, too. What he’s told us about navigating the Fog today… I mean, even if he never says another word, we’ve discovered more today than we have in the past six months.” Morgan sighed. “Though I think we’ll continue by ourselves today.”
“I’ll take him back to his room,” Acantha said reluctantly. “Sorry again for all of this, Morgan. I know you and the archivists had a lot of fieldwork planned for this week.”
“Are you kidding? What we’ve learned today has more than made up for it. Whenever you’re ready to take us back out there, though…” She hesitated. “Feel free to say no, but I know Arric in particular would love to take Cato along for some fieldwork—”
“We’ll see,” Acantha said firmly, stooping to haul Cato’s unconscious form off the ground. More déjà vu rippled through her as she slung his weight over her shoulder, widening her stance to accommodate the added burden.
To her relief, she didn’t run into anyone on the walk back to Cato’s room. She didn’t much like the prospect of explaining why she’d seen fit to knock out their hostage-come-guest. Mostly, she didn’t like the way she was still feeling about what had happened. She couldn’t chalk it all up to simple defensiveness of her sister. She’d been sticking up for her soft, gentle baby sister all their lives, she knew what it felt like when her protective instincts flared. This was something else. This was something that felt uncomfortably close to jealousy, which was another reason she’d wanted to get out of that room. Morgan could read her like a book, and Acantha had no doubt she’d have recognized exactly what was going on with her.
It was humiliating. Following him around for a week, taking a secret pleasure in completely ignoring every attempt he made to speak to her—she’d hoped that getting her revenge on him would make her feel better. But as he’d slowly crumbled under the force of her cold shoulder, just as she’d hoped he would, she’d found herself crumbling, too. The pathetic fact was that she didn’t want to freeze him out. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to trust him. She wanted—
She slammed the door to his room behind her and carefully lowered his unconscious body to the bed. Much easier job than with the narrow bed in the prison cell. It had annoyed her a little that he’d been given such comfortable quarters, but locking him in the prison every night would mean she’d have to sleep there too. Not that she was getting much sleep at the moment. It was an old guard’s trick she’d been honing for a while, sleeping on her feet. She’d stand at attention in the corner of his room until the slow rise and fall of his breathing had evened out, and then she’d prop her back discreetly against the wall and drift off. She wouldn’t be able to keep it up forever, of course, but the effect on Cato was very satisfying. He’d clearly become convinced she was some kind of machine. Good. Let him fear her. Let him worry that he’d failed to comprehend her capabilities.
Still, something stopped her from standing by the door to wait for him to wake up this time. She sat by his bed instead, and knowing he was unconscious, she let a little of her discipline slip. His face looked quite different when he was asleep. He looked—more real, somehow. More like a person. She could see the fine lines of worry around his eyes, see an odd kind of sadness that was usually obscured by his mobile features. Human, she thought, still a little unnerved by how different he truly was from her. The Queen had told them all a little about humans, who were plentiful in the world she’d come from. They lived short lives in their fragile little bodies, which healed very slowly. Acantha bit her lip, beginning to worry about how hard she’d hit him. She knew how much force she’d used. Any dragon would have been back on its feet a few seconds after a blow like that.
But what if Cato was different? What if he was less resilient than she’d thought? She’d hit him no harder when they’d first met, but he’d been wearing his armor then, protected by all kinds of magic she couldn’t even begin to understand. But he was unarmed now—she’d made sure of that. Her heart was beating faster and faster as she watched his breathing. Was it slower than usual? More shallow?
What if he never woke up at all?
For the first time in years, she could feel real panic beginning to overwhelm her. Acantha didn’t panic. Fear was for the weak, for the unprepared—she’d never been either of those things. But right now, looking down at Cato’s sleeping face, she was deeply, deeply afraid. Afraid that she’d done something terrible. Afraid that she’d never have the chance to speak to him again, never be able to tell him that—
His eyes slid open. Acantha’s breath seized in her throat as he blinked drowsily, his brow furrowing a little as he took in the surroundings.
“Where did—how—”