He walked backwards, then fell onto the bed so that my knees rested on either side of him on the coverlet. One gloved hand gripped my waist, then slid over the curve of my hip, while the other cupped the nape of my neck, gently tugging me downward. The feel of leather against my skin irritated me for reasons I could not quite articulate, and I resisted, bracing my arm against his shoulder. “Then why the pretense?”

He turned his head, cheek pressing against the bed as he stared into the fire burning in the hearth. “In case I was wrong.”

His doubt gnawed at me, and I sensed it was for reasons other than the subject at hand. And also that he had no intention of talking about them. Sighing, I relaxed my arm and lowered myself to his chest, listening to the measured thud of his heart. I wanted to stay like this for as long as I could, content in his arms, the warm glow of the fire in my eyes. But there was no time. For us, there was never time. “Tell me.”

Tristan’s hand dropped from my waist. Lifting me up slightly, he extracted something from his coat pocket. I blinked and focused, then frowned as I saw it was Anushka’s grimoire, the latch unfastened. “You left it open after you helped Aiden,” he said. “I found it when I went back to the council chambers. There’s a spell in here that I think we could use.”

Rolling me over so we were facing each other, our legs tangled together, he held up the grimoire and illuminated the text with a ball of light. “It’s near the back,” he muttered.

Flip, flip. His gloved thumb turned the pages, and my head felt light as though I were about to faint as I waited to see where he would stop. Because somehow, I knew what page he was looking for.

Chapter 14

Tristan

“Does this spell work?” I asked her, wishing that I didn’t have to. Wishing that I’d never picked up the grimoire and flipped through the pages. Hating the pragmatic and logical part of myself that had seen the spell and immediately considered how it could be used for my benefit.

The shot of anguish was immediate and fierce. Cécile’s eyes shut, but tears squeezed out of the corners and dripped down her cheek. “Why?”

I let the book slip out of my grasp to fall with a soft thud on the bed behind me. Pulling off my glove with my teeth, I wiped away one tear, then kissed away another before pulling her close so that her head rested under my chin.

The words stuck in my throat, coming out as a slight exhalation of air. “I…”

Her shoulders were shaking, a damp spot growing on the front of my shirt where her face was pressed against it. Was it even worth it, given the grief it would cause her? The grief it would cause me? Closing my eyes, I remembered my argument with Marc deep in the mines. If I backed away from this, I’d be nothing more than a coward and a hypocrite.