Page 46 of Fortress of Ambrose (House of Marionne #3)

The brutalist-style bedroom was basic, with a simple stone headboard.

The whole room wept gray. Parted gray shutters flanked the windows.

Beside the cold stone fireplace there was a fraying gray blanket and two circular pillows on the floor.

Beside a slab of concrete desk with a metal chair beneath, shelves stuck out of the wall like blunt teeth piled with books.

She crossed the room, and her foot nudged a book beneath her bed.

There were stacks of more books in every corner of the room.

Yagrin gave her space to take it all in.

On a tall pile of tomes was a small frame.

In it was a picture of her mother holding Ellery on her hip and Nore wrapped in blankets.

The glass of the frame had cracked, and parts of it were chipped.

She set it back down as a draft whipped in from the windows.

She moved to the hearth and poked a dark log.

She rubbed the lighting stick along it, but nothing happened.

When Yagrin joined her, she almost yelped. She’d forgotten he was there.

The nearness of him toyed with her senses, sending tiny bumps up her arms. His smell was one she used to miss when he wasn’t near. There were a few of his shirts she still had in her things somewhere.

“I know how to start a fire.”

He ran his steady hand along her shaky ones, gliding the igniting stick slower and smoother along the log. “I know you do.”

She bit back her retort and resisted everything in her that wanted to throw him out of her room. He had been helpful, and just because she couldn’t feel love didn’t mean she had to be cruel. I hope. She clenched her jaw as she thought of her mother.

“This log is too big,” he said, his body so close to hers, she could hear the rise and fall of his chest.

“I was thinking the same thing.” She struck the log hard with the poker, but the bark hardly chipped.

She heaved the poker over her shoulder to swing harder, narrowly missing Yagrin.

He grinned as he caught the stick in his hand.

Their fingers brushed, and it sent a thrill up her arms. It was no more than two days ago that she’d wept, hungering for a moment like this with the unveiled truth between them.

“Try your magic,” he said.

“I am clever. I don’t need magic.”

“Fair.” Darkness trickled from his fingers, and the log snapped in half.

He leaned in closer to her, guiding her grip of the igniting stick along the now-broken log.

He eased it backward and forward in a smooth rhythm, and she moved with him, his chest firmly at her back.

“But if you have it, you may as well. I can show you how.”

The back of her neck heated. She ripped herself away from him as fire finally ignited in the hearth.

“I won’t lead you on, Yagrin.”

He stepped toward her. She stepped back.

“You’re not leading me anywhere. I am here by choice.”

“I’m not sure you should be.”

He winced.

She folded her arms, but her cheeks burned with shame. He loved her. And he deserved someone who could love him back.

“You’re not yourself,” he said, with a kindness that deepened the sickness she felt. How was it possible to know something so strongly with the mind, but the heart just won’t follow? She raked her hands through her hair.

“Do you remember that time you let me take you into the city and we climbed to the top of that tower? We dangled our legs over the edge of its rails. The view was breathtaking.”

She remembered. They’d snuck into a fancy neighborhood, over its security gate, breaking its cameras just so they could access the water tower.

They climbed until the soles of her feet ached.

She’d never seen anything like it before.

Afterward, they picnicked on the ground, and one thing led to another.

He searched for her eyes. Her gaze fell to her hands, which were carving moons into her arms.

“That was a lifetime ago.” That night at the water tower, she was speechless.

Now all she could seem to recall vividly was the grime the rusted ladder left on her hands, the cut she got on her leg when they reached the top, and the disgusting stench coming from the water.

There was no sparkle in remembering. The Pact had robbed her of that.

It was as if the color had been drained from her life.

As if the gray rags she wore now veiled her eyes.

Yagrin ran his soft touch up her folded arms, but stubbornness kept her still. She was ice, and his touch was fire. “We can take it slow.” His other hand grazed her skin, drawing gentle circles. Then he cupped her arms, both of them at the same time, in his strong hands.

“I’m not sure I can survive this,” she said. “I’ve failed at so many things in life, I’ve lost count.”

He held her tighter. “Not the things that matter.” His stare bored into her with an earnestness that made her blink, expecting to cry. No tears came. No feelings rushed in.

“I won’t fail at us, too.” She peeled his fingers off her skin, recalling the memories that flooded her as they touched.

“You agreed to try,” he said.

“I need time alone.”

“I’ll see you at dinner, then.”

“I’m taking it alone here.”

He pleaded with her wordlessly. Nore was sure she didn’t have a heart because in that moment it would have shattered.

“After dinner?”

“No, Yagrin!” She should send him away from here, kick him off the property.

But she could not do it. He was the only person who knew her.

Feelings aside, he was trustworthy. And right now she needed people she could trust. “I’m sorry.

I will see you soon.” She marched to the door and opened it.

Yagrin didn’t move. He started to speak several times but stopped himself.

When he joined her at the door, he reached for her hair and ran his fingers through it.

“I was going to throw everything away until a free-spirited redhead made me realize there are things in life worth fighting for more than revenge. That bitterness is worse than death. I will wait my entire life for you, Nore. Because you gave me mine back.”

He stepped through the door, and she watched him go down the corridor.

There was a part of her that wanted to call him back.

She knew how he made her feel. She could not deny that he was on her side like no one else had ever been.

She knew he would never betray her. She knew how he could make her feel like the only girl in the world with a kiss.

He could tend her wounds with the way he held her.

He could make her feel things physically that made the world itself cease to exist. She couldn’t string him along.

It was selfish. Rationally, the kindest thing she could do was to push him away.

But as he disappeared around the corner, she shouted, “Wait!”

Yagrin’s chin slid over his shoulder.

“Tomorrow, could you be there? Beside me, I mean.”

“Of course. Sleep well.”

Ainsley was nowhere in sight when Nore shut the door.

She walked the length of her room, replaying the last day.

She passed the picture of her mother, her, and Ellery, and picked it up.

There were no creases of joy in her mother’s face.

Just a stoic, icy expression as Ellery grinned and she herself stared bright-eyed at the camera.

Nore sat on the edge of her bed and pulled the picture out of the frame and saw a faded message written on the back.

The sun shines, and it reminds me of you.

Storm clouds, thundering rain, behind them all, the sun remains.

She held a handkerchief to her face. But nothing came. So she hugged her knees and glared at the angry, unwieldy, powerful fire across the room until her eyes were heavy. Then she lay down and curled up on her mattress, handkerchief in one hand and the picture in the other.