The wet blotches made by a handful of tears that spot against the page aren’t helping either.
I let out an aggravated shudder, clenching my fists against my knees and willing my body to get a hold of itself, willing my eyes to focus for once, when the key rattles in the lock.
Before I have the chance to jump, Nox and his dreadfully silent feet enter the room. Pages rustle as I rifle through them in an attempt to hide the fact that I’ve soiled a centuries-old manuscript with my tears, but given I’m also attempting to wipe my face clean of the evidence, all I manage to do is drop the grimoire. It lands pages-first, splaying across the stone floor, as if it’s aiming to punish me in the most masochistic way possible.
I leap off the dais to scoop it up, but Nox is already there, kneeling before it.
Our hands brush as we both reach for the book. A shiver sends the hairs on my arms standing up, and when I meet his gaze, he’s examining my face, probably the blotches smattered all over it courtesy of my meltdown.
Hiccups have the tendency to launch their assaults at the most inconvenient of times, and this is no exception. The sound that bursts from my lips is sharp and loud and echoes off the stone walls.
I yank the grimoire from his hands before he can examine the damage I’ve done too closely, and turn my back to him, setting the grimoire on the counter and rifling through it, like I’m trying to find my place.
As if I have any idea where I left off.
But then a presence draws near to me from behind, and I feel the warmth of his chest brush against my back. With a slowness that is altogether agonizing, he slides his fingers down the length of my forearms and places his hands on mine, prying my fingers from the grimoire.
I clutch my fists, making like I’m fighting him for control, but my heart isn’t in it, and he turns me to face him with ease.
He’s watching me again, calculation stirring in those pale blue eyes of his. While I expect him to ask me what’s wrong, he doesn’t. Instead he simply says, “Reading is difficult for you,” with the same matter-of-fact tone that he might use when stating, “Cryostone combusts when it reaches freezing temperatures,” or when he repeats Gunter’s assertion, “There are a multitude of binding agents in this realm, but blood is the most potent of all.”
My voice is still trembling when I answer. “Typically I’m used to it, but I figure I must be under stress for some reason.”
A kind smile brushes his mouth, the edges of his eyes. “Can’t think of why that might be.”
“I know how to read,” I feel the urge to divulge, to convince him of. “I’m not illiterate. The words—they just get away from me sometimes. It gets worse the longer I stare at the page.”
Nox cranes his head to the side and examines me. I don’t miss the fact that he’s still got my hands in his, and he’s tracing his thumbs over the backs of my knuckles absentmindedly.
When he doesn’t say anything, words start pouring out of my mouth unprovoked. “It probably makes me seem dumb, I know. But I promise I’m listening when you tell me all about the interactions in potions.” I rattle off a list of interactions Gunter explained to me just yesterday, my cheeks heating with embarrassment the more I talk and betray how desperate I am to prove to this male I’m not stupid.
His gaze lingers on my burning cheeks for a moment before he steers his eyes back to mine. As if reading my mind, he says, “I don’t think you’re stupid.”
The laugh that escapes my throat is rather unflattering, more of a strangling noise than anything. “Well, you and my tutors would disagree then.”
A shadow seems to flash over Nox’s face, but the glaze over my vision obscures it; it’s gone by the time I blink away the tears welling in my eyes.
“My friends were always holed up in books,” I say, thinking of the girls whose company I kept before Clarissa entered my life. “I never quite got the point. Seemed like an agonizing waste of time, and not worth the headache.” I furrow my brow as my head, indeed, pounds.
Nox pulls away from me, and the absence of his touch hurts, because I’m afraid he’s seen right through my defenses. That they come across as the poorly formed excuses of a lazy girl who never worked hard enough to learn what came so easily to everyone else.
“Why don’t we take a break from that”—he nods toward the grimoire behind me—“for a while, and try some reading for pleasure.”
My heart deflates a bit, because he doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand that there’s no such thing for me. It doesn’t matter if the content between the pages is life-altering, thrilling—I don’t have access to it, and I never will.
Nox crosses the room, taking a swig from the canister attached to his belt.
“I can’t believe I just told you I had a headache and you didn’t offer to share,” I say. When he wrinkles his brow, confused, I nod toward the canister.
“Oh, this? It would only make your headache worse in the end,” he says, though his grin is tight-lipped.
Nox attaches his canister to his waist and returns with a leather-bound book that’s rather tattered and looks as though it’s suffered under the oily fingers of plenty of readers. Then he plops down on the floor, propping his back up against the dais, and beckons me to sit next to him.
When I do, peering over his shoulder to try to decipher the words, he shakes his head. Before I know what’s happening, he’s wrapped his arm around me and pulled me into him. My heart practically stops, but I tuck my head into his shoulder all the same. “Now close your eyes.”
“I hate to break it to you, but I can hardly read with my eyes open.”
Nox chuckles, then teases, “Fates, Blaise. Hasn’t anyone ever read aloud to you before?”
I close my eyes and allow myself to settle into him. A yawn escapes my mouth, the aftermath of my tears combined with the warmth of Nox’s body lulling me into an ease I’ve yet to experience since waking in this dungeon.
“My father tried once, but my tutors told him not to.”
Nox goes still, his chest ceasing to budge. “Why did they tell him that?” he finally asks.
“Apparently I was severely behind my peers. They claimed that if my father read aloud to me, I would use that as a crutch. They said if I wanted access to books, I would have to apply myself and figure out how to read the words myself.”
Nox’s shoulders tense. “Your tutors sound lovely.”
“Well, we can’t all have a Gunter, can we?”
“I suppose not.”
When Nox reads, I find I like the way the words seem to dance. There’s a rhythm to the prose, a cadence so unlike everyday speech, it’s difficult to believe at times that the words aren’t set to music.
Several minutes in, and I’m no longer hearing the words at all. I’m simply seeing.
Seeing the shimmer of a dragon’s scale, and the flash of lightning loosed from its tongue. I’m hearing the clash of swords in battle, feeling the heat of healing hot springs against my skin. I’m frightened and inspired and aggrieved and triumphant, and by the time the story ends, I wish it would continue on forever.
