I forced a smile as I plucked another glass of wine from a passing cupbearer’s tray, nodding as if the patriar’s words were anything more than self-important drivel. Why should I care about their feeble wants? These people—if they even deserved to be called that—were all the same. The only difference was who had the decency to be honest about their intent and who preferred to hide behind polite deception.
I much preferred honesty.
Would Wyll notice if I left? He was, after all, quite occupied playing host, exchanging pleasantries with the pompous leeches who thrived on gatherings like this. A collection of power-hungry hands, grasping for influence with practised smiles and—
The grand doors opened with a screech.
Then I saw her.
Unfortunately for myself, I couldn’t stop my eyes from widening, my breath from hitching.
Shadowheart walked into the hall with all her splendour, and though she greeted no one, her very presence shifted the air. She looked no different than I’d last seen her, raven hair parted and matching the slit of her dark dress. She seemed to absorb the candlelight with each step she took.
I wished she reflected it instead, but all was said and done.
And she was not alone.
Beside her walked the only other being that could stir the embers of my caring—yet, pathetically, I didn’t even know their name. I didn’t care about them, but I cared about the way their stride fell naturally into Shadowheart’s. How their hand rested ever so slightly on her forearm. How they dipped and whispered something in her ear, provoking the most minuscule of nods.
Colour drained from my face.
“Tav?” the patriar called, his voice distant as he reminded me of where I was. “Are you well?”
Yet in the crowded grand hall, like a moth to flame, our eyes found each other. I smiled, and she returned it—soft, fleeting, once meant only for me
“I am.”
That smile was not a lie.
I don’t know who reached for whom, but it didn’t take long to find one another.
“Look at you,” I said, drinking her in—if only to ensure she was burned into my memory. “It has been far too long, Shadowheart.”
We stood face to face at arm’s length, away from the gathering. Every bone in my body ached to cross the distance and reclaim lost time, but off in the distance her companion masterfully schmoozed the same group of useless patriars.
“Indeed, it has.” I didn’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t for her to devour me with her eyes. “My doors have always remained open to you, Tav.”
My chest ached, the bitter taste of regret souring my lips.
“Yes, well… patience wanes when all you find is wanting.” I sighed. “But I suppose I was duly warned.”
“Oh?” She crossed the distance—half a step—and tilted her head. “Is that why you stopped darkening my step? Here I’d thought your taste in company had worsened.”
"Hasn't yours?" I challenged. “Who, exactly, is your friend?”
“Does it matter?”
It shouldn’t.
“Perhaps.”
Amusement and bitterness flickered in her eyes and mirrored in mine, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she glanced past me—toward them. The one who offered charming smiles and knowing nods. Shadowheart studied them, then slowly—so bloody slowly—turned back to me.
“You never answered my question,” she murmured, tilting her head just so. “You knew that our partnership had certain… eccentricities. Was that what drew you away, or someone else?”
A test. She already knew.
My fingers curled at my sides.
“No one,” I began, voice quieter than I intended, but failed to finish my sentence. I swallowed my words.
“Ah,” she hummed as my throat constricted. “So your escapades meant nothing?”
I could have lied. I should have. But the truth slipped between my teeth before I could stop it.
“They were not you.”
A slow inhale. A shift in her stance. And then, as if to prove a point, her gaze flicked away from mine—back to them.
The jealousy flared before I could strangle it. She was doing this on purpose.
My pulse pounded in my ears. “You didn’t answer my question either.”
“Must I?”
“Consider it a courtesy.”
She breathed in sharply—surprised, perhaps, by my nearness—but recovered quickly. She didn’t step back. Instead, she let the corner of her lips curl, just barely.
“What do you want me to say?” Her voice was softer now, barely above a whisper.
Her words lashed me, but I didn’t falter. Not this time.
“Is it more?” I pressed, the question unraveling in my throat, raw and low and dangerous.
Shadowheart scoffed. “My heart belongs to my Lady, Tav. You would know.”
In that moment I saw the truth. This companion was nothing but a piece of meat: flesh, used for pleasure and pain, perhaps a bit of company. I needn’t be jealous of them, but Shar. Everything was Shar.
That was it. That was the breaking point.
I reached for her—or maybe she reached for me—but it didn’t matter. Our mouths collided, the tension snapping like a bowstring drawn too tight for too long. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was fury and want and something just shy of desperation.
My hand found her waist. Hers tangled in my hair. I swallowed the sharp gasp she gave when I pulled her closer, when I poured every unspoken word, every lingering ache, every ounce of jealousy into the way I kissed her. If she wanted to make me burn, then fine—I would set her alight too, if only for a moment.
And yet, despite everything, despite the hunger and the anger, I knew I would let go first, for I could not compete with a god.