The Ivory Rite

Chapter 19

Adair lets out an audible sigh of relief as the castle gates close us in, close to an hour later. I watch as some of the tension drains from his body.

"It must be exhausting, worrying all the time," I say to him, when no one else is within earshot. Thane has already departed the carriage. He stands a couple dozen yards away, arranging Margret's transport to the burial site.

"Something like that." Adair gives a small nod of acknowledgement.

"How is he doing?" I ask, motioning to Thane. He's shown very little emotion over Margret's death. I find this to be surprising on several accounts, the first of which being their intimate relationship. In addition, I assume he holds himself somewhat responsible for her demise, as he was her Watcher. I know how hard these men are on themselves when things go wrong.

"He's fine. Why do you ask?" Adair narrows his eyes at me.

"What do you mean, why do I ask?" I look at him, surprised. "They were together."

"They were sleeping together," he corrects. "There's a difference." He looks over at his father. I can't read his expression.

"Is there?" I pivot in my seat to face him, lifting the black netting from my face. He studies me, his eyes darting over my newly exposed features. They stop on my lips.

"Of course there is," he says, his gaze locking back onto mine. The gold flecks in his bright green eyes burn brilliantly in the sunlight.

The wounds on his face have healed a considerable amount in the last two days, having almost completely closed. I can't say I'm surprised, as I've seen firsthand the curative effects of Raina's salve. The lacerations will heal nicely, but right now they serve as an interesting contrast to his perfect features. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but he looks more handsome than he did before.

"So you don't think he cared about her?" I ask, honestly curious.

"Did you?" He cocks his head, catching me off guard. I open my mouth to answer, but no words come out. He breaks our eye contact to look back at Thane.

"I was young when my mother died." He says it so softly I'm not sure I've heard him right. He's never spoken of his mother in front of me. Struggling to bury the shock in my expression, I don't move a muscle. I want desperately for him to continue, and I breathe a tiny, inaudible sigh of relief when he goes on.

"I remember how he used to look at her. How he used to hold her hand, like he couldn't stand to not be touching her." Adair's small smile is only present for a second—a single blink would have caused me to miss it. Then he shakes his head, and just like that, the spell is broken. His features shift, from fond to bitter. "But then something changed between them."

"What do you mean?" I can't hide my look of surprise.

"He stopped looking at her." Adair shrugs, closing in on himself more and more as I watch. "She became... ill."

"She got sick?" I press, holding my breath.

"Not physically." He shakes his head, trying to bridge the gap between thoughts and words. "She began to lose herself, little by little. My father claims there were signs of it for years, but that's not how I remember it. For me it was like one day she was my mother, and the next I could barely recognize her."

I frown, looking from his face down to his clenched fists. There's raw pain in his voice, and it affects me in a way I would not have thought possible.

"How did she die?"

I'm instantly horrified by my own lack of self-restraint. I try to grasp the regret in my hands, but there's nothing to hold onto. It escapes, mingling in the air with the question I should not have asked. It takes an unbearable amount of time, but Adair finally looks at me. "She threw herself off the bell tower a few days after my seventh birthday."