The Ivory Rite

Chapter 40

The old Adair is back.

The arrogant, rude, unkind Adair.

I tell myself it makes things easier. I tell myself it doesn't feel like dying, but that doesn't stop me from lying awake at night and wondering about the truth. Either everything was an act and he was only after my crown, or he meant all of it—every word, every touch, every breath—and now he's lashing out.

I can't decide which option is worse.

I fully expected him to abandon our training, but he hasn't. Instead, he's involved Dillon. All drills requiring touch now fall to his friend. Adair stands a safe distance away, barking instructions at us. He hurls criticisms at me every chance he gets, telling me I'm too slow, soft, stupid.

"Again," he calls this evening, after I disarm Dillon of his longsword. Adair offers no praise.

"That was much better," Dillon tells me under his breath, as he bends down for his weapon, giving me a small smile. I return it automatically.

Adair misses nothing.

"Is something funny?" he demands, walking over to the two of us. "Because from where I'm standing that was sloppy, at best." Dillon frowns at him, looking from one of us to the other. I can tell he doesn't understand what's changed between the two of us, but he knows better than to ask.

"None of this is funny, Adair," I snap at him, showing emotion for the first time in days. I've been doing my best to remain neutral, to let him take out his aggressions on me. He can have whatever he needs. I don't have the strength to fight with him.

Also, I feel guilty as hell.

"Great," he agrees. "Go again."

After another hour he strides from the room without comment, ending our time together. I won't see him again tonight—it's obvious that he expects Dillon to take me on my evening run. In fact, I've seen much less of him in general. He says little during Trinity briefings, and only escorts me when it's necessary. He leaves the rest to the other Watchmen.

I slump to the ground after the door shuts behind him, out of breath from our last drill, my head falling against my knees. Dillon comes and sits beside me.

"Are you alright?" he asks, looking at me sideways. I turn my head toward him.

"Just out of breath." I give him a joyless smile.

"I'm trying really hard not to ask what happened, you know." He frowns at me when I laugh.

"Not that hard, apparently."

"You don't have to let him talk to you like that."

"He can have what he needs for now, behind closed doors," I say, turning my face back to my knees. "If he needs to yell, let him do it. I couldn't care less." Dillon nods slowly.

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Oh, please. You almost just ran me through with a sword. I think we're past that kind of formality. Call me Diem." He hesitates, but relents.

"Diem," he says, trying it out. "Do you want to skip the run tonight?"

"Absolutely not," I tell him, getting to my feet.

† † †

Adair's new indifference regarding my whereabouts has presented certain opportunities. I've gotten to speak to Toryn four uninterrupted times over the past few weeks.

I finally worked up the courage to approach him, with less than ideal results. I was awkward, certain he'd be furious over the execution of the rebels. "That happened without my permission," I tried to explain, eager for him to understand my predicament. He gave me a strange look, his attitude unchanged despite the fact that he assured me he knew I wasn't capable of such a thing.

"Then what's wrong?" I asked, perplexed. "Is everything going smoothly with the rebuild?"

"As smoothly as it can, I suppose." It took me a solid ten minutes to pry the truth from him, but he finally turned on me, his eyes accusing. "I just don't understand how you can stand being around him. Why you would choose to be around him."

"Who?" I sighed, already knowing.

"The Dara. Everyone knows you're spending time in his quarters."

I'll never forget his look of pure disgust. Strangely, the fact that I wish his false implication was true stings more than his disappointment in me, even now, days later.

"He's training me with weapons," I said mechanically, not wanting to discuss it further. "He wants me to be able to physically defend myself." Toryn's brow furrowed at that. He was forced to admit he didn't hate the idea, that it made sense.

"Besides, I don't think he'll be around quite as much anymore," I assured him through gritted teeth. As soon as that turned out to be the case, our relationship improved.

Landon's behavior was similar. "You're doing the right thing," he told me, once he noticed Adair's cold indifference toward me. I can tell he finally believes me when I say what I've said all along—that Adair is my third, and nothing more.

Although I would never admit it out loud, I'm enraged by the improved dispositions of the two people who mean more to me than anything else in this world. Their new satisfaction is a direct result of something that makes me feel miserable. It doesn't seem fair, but I try not to think about it. I have more pressing things to worry about.

Thane still hasn't returned.

I still haven't met with Tricouncil.

I know I can't put my duties off forever. Just one more day, I tell myself, losing count of just how many times I make that claim.

These things don't compare to what weighs heaviest on my shoulders. I'm in constant terror over the possibility of another Great Thaw. Every day there are small signs of melt within the castle. A drip from a sculpture. A drop from the ceiling.

I have no idea how to stop it.

My dreams don't help. I wake up in a cold sweat almost every night, expecting to see blood on my hands. It's always the same—I'm standing somewhere with Adair. Sometimes it's my room or his room, sometimes it's outside. Last night we were in the garden. We stood right next to my favorite ice sculpture, the angel. The one that's been there since my childhood, where Colter and I used to play hide and seek. The spot where I was ripped from my mother. That statue has been a constant in my life for as long as I can remember, her expression unchanging, her wings spreading into hopeful flight.

You can trust me, Adair said, as he always does. He wrapped his arms around me as I pressed my face against his chest, only to feel something liquid and warm.

The blood is always there. So much of it, too much to survive. He always goes limp in my arms. I scream for help, scream until my throat feels like it's bleeding, just like he is.

Last night when I looked up the angel's wings were missing, melted straight off her back, trapping her on the ground to burn with the rest of us. I watched as she continued to dissolve, as the blood drained from Adair until there was nothing left of either of them.