Page 38 of The Frost Witch (The Covenants of Velora #1)

“Are you all right?”

I blinked through the weight in my chest, the block of ice that had formed the first time I’d met Rowellyn somehow present once again, as real as it had been that day in the glade. A place where you have felt peace.

Peace was not among the Dark God’s gifts to the witches. Nor had the gods gifted it to me in the twenty-three years of my mortal life. If I’d had any as a child, it died with my mother before my sixth birthday.

I refused to feel sorry for myself. But Tomin’s golden honey eyes shone with emotion he did not try to shield. Pity. Sadness. Even in the darkness of the cave-carved temple, it was impossible to miss them.

The scrape of his palms against was mine too intense to bear. The walls of the temple themselves pushed in on me, the darkness that was supposed to be a witch’s solace caving in until it threatened to crush me.

I jerked my hands from his grasp. “Keep your tricks for the fools who need them.”

The pity in Tomin’s eyes did not shift to hurt. He saw me pulling away, pulling into myself, and he felt bad for me, still.

He did not need me as a friend. I was a supplicant, he an acolyte. He had entire temples full of companions. Before long, he would be a priest in his own right and have a bevy of acolytes at his command. He did not want me as his friend.

I was alone.

I ran back to the dormitories, too deep in the torrent of my own emotions to care about how much noise I made. I wrenched open the door and threw myself into my bed. Across from me, Garrick sat up.

I buried my face deeper into the cloak that I’d layered atop the blankets and sheets.

I would freeze the sob in my chest before I would let him or that fae bitch hear it.

After several minutes, the mattress groaned.

Garrick laid back down. But neither of us pretended to sleep for the rest of the night.