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“No. That’s on.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know.” He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders back, a look of determination on his face. “You need to eat dinner before the clinic. Keep up your strength so you can heal.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

“And, partner, I’m eating alone.” He turned around, busying himself with the mats.

We hadn’t agreed to anything. He hadn’t changed anything about our relationship or our plans. But my gut was sinking. He was trying to pull away again, and the idea of Rhyan pulling back, separating from me, even on just an emotional level, left me gutted.

I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, full of goosebumps from a chill in the air I could feel through the windows. Bells rang, the hour being called, and little blue lights from the ashvan horses lit up the sky.

I grabbed my soturion cloak, wrapped it around my tunic and over my shoulders and head, and without a word, I walked out of the room, leaving Rhyan alone.

CHAPTER FIVE

Anhourlater,Istood at the entrance Tristan had specified to the arena, my heart still hammering. I’d eaten dinner alone in the dining hall, but I’d barely been able to touch, much less stomach my food. I had been too aware of Rhyan’s presence on the other side of the room; I’d felt his distance more strongly than I’d felt the presence of the other soturi dining at the table right beside me.

I hated how we’d left things. Knots formed in my stomach every time I replayed his words in my head—every time I thought about the way he’d looked as he’d said them. But as the hour had passed, more and more dread had begun to plague me over seeing Tristan again.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot, both nervous to see Tristan and still trying to find a way to stand in which my back didn’t ache and I couldn’t feel the ghosts of the Imperator’s fingers piercing through my flesh or the bruising on my knees.

Galen and Haleika found me on their way into the Katurium after what I assumed had been a normal, unremarkable day for them—one where they got to leave the Academy, take a break, and have dinner. One where they hadn’t been publicly tortured or caught in a position that left them without any easy answers.

They beamed when they saw Tristan approach, neither one seeming to notice the tension or awkwardness pulsing between us. His head was cocked a little to the side and his neck still reddened—his tells for when he was angry. He was trying to hide it, to act calmly in public like the cool, collected future lord of Ka Grey. But I knew better. Inside Tristan, there was a fire raging, one hellbent on racing back to my training room and seeking out Rhyan for a fight. His silver scabbard was jutting out to the side, like he’d shifted it when slamming his stave back inside of it and was too angry to fix it. He normally never appeared with even a wrinkle of clothing out of place.

I tried to give Tristan a reassuring smile, one that said I was happy to see him and grateful that he was in my life. But his eyes quickly darted to Haleika, who jumped and wrapped her arms around her cousin. Galen grabbed his fist, and they both slapped each other on the back as Haleika bounced over to me and linked our arms. The four of us walked outside into the shouting and excitement that filled the arena.

A cool gust of wind blew through my hair, and I shivered. But it was nothing compared to the icy feeling I had when I spotted the black pole—the Godsdamned pole I’d been tied to and whipped against. The ropes, the ones that had been tied around my wrists, were hanging loosely, their vile ends blowing lifelessly in the wind. I’d of course seen them the morning after I’d been lashed and this morning as well, but seeing the pole and its ropes now, in the dark, against the circle of torchlights above us lighting the rounded arena and beneath the black and starry sky, I was suddenly tied to it again, trapped, exposed, and screaming in pain. The lashes across my back seemed to pulse in response, as if the sheer memory of what had happened could conjure up fresh torture.

The Imperator’s recent assault was more likely to blame.

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook out the memories, hearing Rhyan’s voice in my head reminding me only to look ahead.

Haleika had sensed my nerves. She pulled me closer to her and asked if I was all right. She’d witnessed my lashing, seen me screaming and crying in pain.

I gave her a shaky nod, not wanting her to realize how upset I was or how much pain I was still in. I didn’t want her alerting Tristan. The sooner he forgot his fight with Rhyan and the sooner he forgot I’d ever been injured, the better.

She gave me a strained smile, tightening her grip on me, and we moved forward.

We wound through the stadium seating up several levels until we found four open seats together. The night air cooled rapidly around me, full of an iciness that was less a promise of fall and more like the coming kiss of winter.

“Cold?” Tristan asked.

I nodded, pressing the side of my body against his, seeking out his warmth. I had my soturion cloak wrapped around my arms and torso, but come the end of the week, if this weather continued, I was going to need to trade in my sandals for boots.

Tristan wrapped one arm around me and pulled his stave free from his silver scabbard.

I winced then schooled my expression.

His arm tightening around me, Tristan’s gaze narrowed on my face just for a second before he conjured floating flames. The tiny little fires circled around the four of us, spreading a warm, soothing heat. But he still remained tense, clearly uncomfortable holding me—uncomfortable with how I’d reacted to him pulling out his stave.

“Ah, this is what we need mages for,” Galen said appreciatively, rubbing his hands together.