16. Kai

Chapter 16

Kai

“ A ny word on the next auric steel shipment? It’s been… Kai!” Kyrian snaps his fingers in front of my face as we walk together into the mess hall and its cacophony of banging utensils and overcooked meat. “Are you listening?”

“Not at all,” I answer honestly. I know I should be listening to Kyrian. He usually says smart things. But right now, I’m too busy not looking around to see whether the alchemist is already here. It’s lunchtime, so she probably is. Plus, in the week since I walked out after kissing her in the workshop, she seems to be… everywhere. Beautiful and alluring, and—more often than not—in Logan’s very close company. The fact that their sudden coziness started the day after that kiss can’t be a coincidence. No, it’s a purposeful show for my benefit. Or enlightenment. Or punishment.

Most likely punishment. For kissing Rowan or for walking away? Or for just having the gall to imagine that maybe there was a universe where she and I could be something more?

As if there was a universe where I could do right by both Rowan and Lilith.

Neither Logan nor Kyrian have confronted me about the kiss—but they obviously know it happened. How did they find out though? Does Rowan c onfide in one of them now? In both of them? Or had Ulyssus told the other draken, who’d then informed their riders?

It’s insulting you think I’d care enough to bother, Ulyssus chimes into my mind.

I haul my mental shields up in reply. That they’d been down to begin with is another sign of how distracted this mess with Rowan is making me.

“Auric steel shipment,” Kyrian enunciates the words as he thrusts a lunch tray into my hands. “When is the next one?”

“I don’t know yet.” I force my attention back to the conversation. Over the past two years, we’ve successfully disrupted over half the shipments of auric steel coming from Spire East. Sometimes directly, with an ambush on a moonless night when humans couldn’t see for shit; other times, whispered words in shadowy taverns did the trick. Not everyone in Eryndor thinks the war is worth fighting.

Destroying the auric steel shipments one wagon load at a time isn’t the solution, but it helps keep the alloy-coated weapons away from Eryndor’s armies. And more importantly, from the secret facilities where they take the draken they take alive. The ones we’re yet to undercover.

I focus on Kyrian’s question. “I expect the commandant to summon me for one thing or another soon. When I’m in her—” My steps falter, my thoughts derailing spectacularly as I catch sight of the corner table where Rowan and Logan huddle over a spread of books and papers.

No, they aren’t just huddling. Rowan lounges on Logan’s thigh as she writes something on the charcoal slate before them. His face is so close to hers that another inch and he’ll be licking her ear. Is that really necessary? No. Stop. You’ve exactly zero ground to tell Logan to cut it out. Weren’t you the one who’d ordered both males to do whatever is necessary to win the alchemist’s trust? Just because you weren’t strong enough to go through with your own orders, doesn’t mean the others aren’t.

Is that what Logan is doing now? Does he have his wits about him, and is now just building up the human’s trust so she comes with us willingly when the time comes? Is all this cozy touching between them a way to divert her attention, so she does not realize what we are really about until it’s too late? Or is there more to this?

I reach out to my draken with the question and get an irritated huff in response.

It’s Logan. How much ahead does he ever think? Ulyssus grunts. Now stop bothering me with frivolous concerns. I’m busy with what little hunting this forsaken kingdom offers.

Ulyssus hauls his shield up, shutting me out with the experience of a five hundred year old draken. I know better than to push.

At their table, Logan says something to Rowan. Whatever it is makes Rowan throw her head back in laughter. The sound doesn’t carry over the general noise of the mess hall, but I can imagine it perfectly—bright and melodious, like wind chimes in a summer breeze.

It’s the same laugh she had for Logan yesterday when he lifted her over the training yard fence; and the day before, when he bumped her shoulder as they broke formation. And every day for the past week. Every day since I tasted Rowan’s mouth in that forsaken workshop and then left her standing there with no explanation.

An unwelcome tightness grips my chest, cinching tighter as I watch Logan casually drape an arm around Rowan. Has she noticed yet that for all the contact Logan makes, it’s always him touching her and not the other way around? Has she picked up on his practiced habit of gracefully catching women’s hands and redirecting the movements with such skill that few ever notice the pattern? Does she know that he always ruts clothed and from behind? Does she find it odd?

My teeth grind together at the thought of Rowan knowing how Logan ruts.

“You alright, mate?” Kyrian slaps a bowl of venison stew on my tray, since I seem incapable of basic tasks. When I fail to answer at once, he shakes his head. “Fine. Look, there’s Logan.” He motions to the table I’ve been so carefully avoiding and whistles. "Those two seem to be getting on well. Let’s go see how well. ”

The hint of amusement in Kyrian’s eyes says he knows exactly how much salt he’s pouring into a wound. Bastard.

“I need to go.” I slap my stew back on Kyrian‘s tray. “Eat mine. Not hungry anyway.”

“Where are you going?”

Good question. “I’ll go to the commandant,” I say, making a quick decision. “I’m supposed to be taking one hundred and twenty toddlers out in two days, and I still know nothing of the assignment.” It’s all true. Irrelevant, but true.

“Aye. Good idea. See if you can get a visual on the steel transport plans while you are there,” Kyrian says, already striding purposefully towards where Rowan and Logan are sitting. Huddling. Doing everything that I’m not.

I mean to leave right away but find myself standing there instead, rooted to the spot as Kyrian approaches Rowan, his characteristic easy confidence billowing about him like a cape. He slides onto the bench beside her, bumping her shoulder and nearly brushing his hand over her belly as he reaches over to add his own marks to the slate.

None of them look back at me as I finally manage to get my feet moving again. What does it matter that Logan and Kyrian get to sit next to Rowan, inhale her scent, and make her laugh? Their pleasure is only temporary. Maybe they’re doing this to torment me—they absolutely are doing this to torment me—but ultimately, they’re just hurting themselves.

Because Rowan will only hate them that much more when the truth eventually comes out.