Page 48 of The Blade in the Ashes
Iris
Istared unblinking at the looking glass, unable to figure out what about my appearance wasn’t sitting right with me. The hair color perhaps? I sent a rush of magic towards the loose tendrils dangling over my shoulders, shifting them from fiery orange to a glowing silver. No, maybe it was the length. I tilted my head, letting it grow down my rib cage, until it danced at the top of my hip bones.
Better.
But still not quite right.
I leaned forward, squinting at myself. Perhaps the eye shape could be adjusted. I narrowed my eyes, lining them with lashes that were slightly longer than they had been moments ago.
Maybe black hair was in order.
No.
I pushed back from the vanity in a rush, letting the bottom of my chair scratch against the hardwood floor without caring if it scraped against the polish. It didn’t seem to matter how long I stared at myself, shifting tiny freckles, dimples, and features. I wasn’t happy with what I saw.
Whatever. It didn't matter anyway.
“Iris,” Clay pushed open the door to my bedroom, the fall of his boots like a drumbeat. “Can I come in?”
“You’re the king, you can do whatever you want.”
He gave me a crooked, sheepish grin. Clay’s father had always taught him that maintaining power relied on consistently reminding those beneath you of your status as their better. Now that Clay had stepped into that role as a ruler, though? Well, he seemed somewhat uncomfortable with the dynamic.
“Here to see me off?” I asked, forcing lightness into my voice as I began tucking blades into the many sheaths of my thick vest.
“Something like that.” Clay let his attention scan over the room, from the large windows to the elaborate bedding, to the fine upholstery on the chair by the door. He picked at the frills on the delicate throw pillow atop that chair. “Such luxury here at the expense of the people he’s stolen from.”
I hid my smile by scratching the tip of my nose, turning to start folding garments to bring with me. Nothing elaborate. Some clean and simple tunics, thick woolen leggings, and rags. Always good to bring rags to clean blood or dress wounds.
“You don’t like him.”
“What’s not to like?” He intoned sarcastically. Clay tucked his hands behind his back, straightening into that board-like posture he’d perfected as a child. “So, you and Nikolai…” his voice trailed off, but his meaning was clear.
I met his gaze, taking in his combed hair and freshly shaven face. His tunic was freshly pressed, tucked neatly into his pants, and the buttons of his embroidered jacket had been freshly shined. He was dressed like a king, as much as he could be, at least, during a time of war in a home that wasn’t his own. The only thing missing was a crown.
I wondered if Nikolai had an extra one lying around somewhere. It wouldn’t surprise me.
“Are you ready to travel to Inanis?”
He lifted a brow at me. “You’re avoiding the question.”
I tied together the ends of my travel bag, throwing it over my shoulder before glancing around the room to confirm I wasn’t missing anything I needed to bring with me.
“There’s nothing between us.”
“Hmm.” A pause. “Do you want there to be?”
An uncomfortable fluttering sensation was settling over my chest. “I do not.”
Why did that sentence leave my stomach twisting?
Clay shifted, sighing as he seemed to contemplate his next words. “Well, I think he wants something to be.”
I fought the urge to growl in frustration.
“Why doyoufeel the need to play matchmaker?”
He chewed on his cheek, a sudden seriousness falling over him. Slowly, he stepped forward, tugging the pack off my shoulder and throwing it onto the bed so that he could embrace me.
