The Ivory Rite

Chapter 36

The next morning I open my eyes to find Raina's face hovering over mine. 

"He's back," she says.

I don't have to ask who she means.

"When?" I ask, scrambling to get out of bed, realizing that it's actually not morning. My room is pitch dark.

"Now," she whispers, as someone bangs on the door. "That's him. He came and ripped me out of bed, insisting he needs to see you." Propriety dictates that one of my ladies serve as a liaison for male visitors, although I'm surprised he bothered with going to get her. He's burst into my room plenty of times in the past. 

Never in the middle of the night, I remind myself.

"What time is it, Raina?"

"A little past three in the morning." She wrings her hands, looking troubled. "He's been riding all night, Diem. Something is wrong." She hands me a robe, and I barely have it draped over my shoulders as I swing the door open.

"What is it?" I demand, my eyes scanning Adair's body for signs of injury. When I don't find any I look past him into the hallway, finding it absent of his men. He must have sent them away.

"May I come in?" he asks, his voice weary, his eyes bloodshot. "I need to see you." He glances at Raina, who peers out at him from behind me.

"Of course." I step to the side, allowing him to enter the room. His eyes are still on Raina.

"Privately," he adds, turning to me. I pretend to consider it, already knowing I won't refuse him.

"Raina, we're fine here. I apologize for the intrusion. Go back to sleep." I force a look that's meant to be reassuring in her direction. I can sense her worry, her curiosity, but she obeys and exits without a word.

I turn my attention back to Adair. He's wound tight with urgency, so much so that his body can't contain it. His need for something I can't identify bleeds into the air; I can almost taste it as I force myself to take a breath.

I wait for him to do something—yell, scream, anything really—but after the door shuts behind him, he just stands there. Shaking some freshly fallen snow from his hair, he stares at me, breathing heavy. I can see the rise and fall of his chest. I'm suddenly very aware of how revealing my sleeping garments are, ivory colored and almost sheer. I look down, pulling the robe closed as I cross my arms over my chest.

"Are you hurt?" I ask him, still afraid I've missed something. Even though his face is hidden in the shadows of the hour, I can tell his complexion is pallid. There are deep circles under his eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept since the last time I saw him.

"No. I'm fine." He frowns. "What happened to your hair?" For a second I'm reminded of when Toryn asked the same question. Guilt washes over me, though I'm not sure why.

"Adair, you didn't ride all night and burst in here to ask me about my hair." Whatever news he has isn't good, but he is in no rush to convey it. Part of me feels the anticipation keenly, as palpable as a physical pain in my side. Another part of me wants to prolong my ignorance for as long as possible.

He ignores my statement, moving closer. There's something about the darkness that's too intimate for me to handle, and his new proximity isn't helping. It allows me to see the ache in his eyes as clearly as if the sun was shining.

Even in his current state, he's easily the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I'm surprised to find that my instinct is to comfort him. I want to reach out and put a hand on his face, to stroke it with my fingertips. I want to touch his hair, to wrap my arms around his neck. I want to tell him to lie down on my bed and rest. The layer of guilt sitting on my skin gets thicker, and I do none of those things.