The Ivory Rite

Chapter 43

I jump right into Toryn's arms.

His back hits the wall of the castle, bracing both of us. The scaffolding I abandoned swings violently, while ours barely moves. All of the air in my lungs comes shooting out, right against his shoulder.

"Are you hurt?" he demands, allowing fear into his voice for the first time.

"No," I whisper, blinking back tears.

"Great." His laugh is nervous, but relieved. "Then let's get you down." He takes his time about letting go of me, giving me instructions for the descent.

"I'll go first," he says. "I'll be right underneath you." He goes on to tell me where to put my hands and feet. He also tells me where not to put my hands and feet.

I've aged ten years by the time I return to solid ground. I turn toward Adair, anticipating the fury he's about to unleash on me, but I'm not the one he goes for.

"How did she get up there?" he shouts, getting right back in Toryn's face. Toryn glares at him, but says nothing, holding his ground.

"Adair, stop!" I cry. As I grab for one of his arms, it occurs to me that we're reliving the encounter in the Mart—Adair's yelling, Toryn's silence, my alarm.

"It's not a worker's job to see to my wellness," I snap, putting myself in between the two of them. "Take that question up with the Watchmen." I press a hand to Adair's heaving chest when he doesn't retreat, physically pushing him back. "Your Watchmen," I add for emphasis. He stares at me, then nods like someone who isn't really listening.

I struggle to decipher the look in his eyes. He's looking at me like he can't believe I'm standing here, like I'm someone who's just risen from the dead. Another moment passes before he takes a step toward me, grabbing my head with both hands. His face stops inches from mine.

"What happened?" he demands softly, his eyes darting to every one of my features in turn. "Why were you up there? Why were you so close to the edge?" His voice breaks on the last word.

For a second, I'm too stunned to say anything at all. The feel of his hands on my face has paralyzed me more than the fear of falling. Then I come to my senses, yanking myself from his grip.

"Do not place your hands on me, Dara Belmont," I rebuke him, ice in my voice. An invisible but powerful energy hums in the small space I've placed between us; I think it's mutual anger. An avalanche of emotion—fear, relief, fury, embarrassment—ruins his blanched face before he seems to remember himself, pacing one step back, then another.

"Forgive me, your Majesty," he chokes out, still looking at me like I'm some kind of a ghost. "This has been an unexpected experience for all of us. You should take some much needed rest." His face gains color with growing unease, as he becomes aware of our multiplying crowd of onlookers.

"Please, just come with me," he pleads under his breath, at the very least acknowledging that he's not the one who should be giving the orders.

"One moment, Dara Belmont," I say, turning to face Toryn. I don't miss the storm clouds that roll over Adair's expression.

"My apologies, Master Gaffer. Thank you for risking yourself to correct my foolish mistake." My voice is loud enough for every Watchman and worker present to hear. "You will be generously compensated." There's a long moment of silence while we stare at each other.

"Your safety is all the compensation I need, your Majesty," Toryn says, turning away and bending down to pick my shoes up from the ground. I allow him to assist me with putting them back on, bending down to whisper in his ear.