right into his shoulder, my forehead inches from him. “Sorry—” I begin, my mouth moving faster than my brain.
He turns, face blank, looking down on me from a familiar height. Everything about him is familiar and inviting. The warmth, the smell, the shadow of stubble along his chin and cheeks, the flickering bronze of his eyes. Every piece of him threatens to draw me in. So I resist, doing my best to ignore how much he affects me. I square my shoulders, clench my jaw, and give him my most polite nod. It must combine into something frightening, because he pulls back, the beginnings of a smile dying on his lips.
“Good to see you, Cal,” I say, courteous as any noble he’s ever known. It seems to amuse him.
Cal nearly bows, but thinks better of it. “And you, Mare. Hello, Tyton,” he adds, reaching around me to shake hands with my companion. “No Kilorn today?”
This is far from the ideal place to speak, let alone have a conversation of any importance. I grit my teeth. Half of me wants to bolt and half of me wants to latch on to him with no intention of letting go.
“He’s prepping for the refugee meeting, as Radis’s aide,” I reply, eager for the easy topic. Anything to distract from the very large elephant in the very narrow hallway.
Cal’s eyebrows rise a little. Like the rest of us, Kilorn has certainly changed. “I suppose I’ll see him in my next meeting, then.”
I can only bob my head, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Good.”
“Good,” he echoes, almost too fast. His eyes never leave my face. “I’ll see you . . . around?”
“Yes, I’m around.”
How is it possible to sound so stupid in so few words?
Unable to stand there any longer, I give Cal one last nod and seize the opportunity to push through the crowded hallway, leaving him in my wake. He doesn’t protest or try to follow. Tyton says something behind me, probably a proper good-bye, but I keep walking. He can catch up.
When he finally does, I’ve escaped to one of the wider halls with fewer people and more room to breathe. Tyton all but snickers as he approaches, hands shoved in his pockets.
“Do you two need help speaking or something?” he murmurs as he falls into step beside me.
I snap back at him, lashing out. “As if you can lecture anyone on the ability to talk.”
He only stares at me in silence, a lock of white hair falling over his eyes. “Point made.”
Tyton isn’t the only one to have followed me, apparently. I whirl around at the grating sound of metal boot heels, clinking with every step.
“Can I help you, Evangeline?” I growl.
She doesn’t break stride, moving with her lethal grace and lazy detachment. Montfort has given a cold glow to her skin and a new, mischievous light in her eyes. I don’t like it one bit.
“Oh, darling,” she purrs, “I hardly require anything from you. But I agree with this one—you certainly need help where Cal is concerned. As you know, I’m always happy to oblige.”
It wouldn’t be the first time. My heart squeezes at the memory of Ocean Hill and its secret passages. The choices Cal and I couldn’t make there—and the choice we made later, after Archeon. The choice I’m still trying to understand.
Evangeline just leers at me, waiting.
“I’m not here to entertain you,” I mutter, turning my back on her. Certainly she can find other ways to fill her time.
She isn’t thrown off in the slightest, even when Tyton levels a glare at her that would send most running off. “And I’m not here to pester you,” she says. “Much.”
I keep walking, the other two matching my pace. “Isn’t that your primary function?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve had to find a profession.” Evangeline pulls a face and gestures to her drab uniform. Well, drab for her. Up close, I can see she’s worked bits and pieces of iron through the green, sharpening the joints and seams. There’s iron in her hair too, tiny bits of it woven into her braid like shrapnel. “After abdicating and becoming a citizen here, I enlisted in the Montfortan military. I’ve been assigned to guard duty, specifically in the premier’s residence.”
The thought of Evangeline Samos standing at doorways and following Red dignitaries around is particularly delicious. A smirk spreads across my face. “Do you want me to feel sorry for you?”
“Feel sorry for yourself, Barrow—I’m your bodyguard.”