A Hand Weaving Chaos (Book 2 of The Fallen Gods Trilogy)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Guessing the time was a habit Jill picked up from Ross ages ago. He compulsively split time into tiny ordered segments and set strict guidelines on where it could be spent. Work received the most. Relationship was sandwiched somewhere between time at the gym and picking out clothes in the morning. And he didn't just use his phone to check the time like everyone else. No, Ross's apartment was full of clocks and he had the largest assortment of statement wristwatches Jill had ever seen outside a department store. So because of him, she constantly wondered how long she had been at a particular place, or if she had overstayed her welcome, or when she was supposed to be onto the next event. And though her own watch had long since been broken and lost, and her phone was a distant memory, she sat up in bed and tried to guess how long she'd been asleep.

Clarine had fed, bathed, and sent her to bed presumably hours ago, but her sleep had been a restless one. She strongly suspected the large drought of resaden sap Clarine recommended was the only thing that kept her under so long. Still, she wasn't in as much pain she expected. Then again, Aden had abused her magic and taken care of that, hadn't he?

She lay in the cot a while longer, trying to find a comfortable position in the feather mattress. The restlessness refused to let her settle. Too many images chased themselves in her mind. First the King. Then Tamas. Kydel. Brexten. Always Brexten. She couldn't lie there any longer and keep all the thoughts at bay. Not unless I want to go crazy.

Sitting up, she tried to orient herself. Flames burned low in the fireplace. They offered just enough light to make out the door, several pieces of furniture including a second cot, and the robe Clarine had left for her on the chair beside the bed. She slipped from the bed with a soft rustle of sheets and blankets. The robe was pale green silk. It went with the negligee Jill wore—yet another outfit from Geniece's endless stream of clothing. And the negligee, of course, was clingy and seductive. It looked better suited to a honeymoon than a night of being tucked soundly into bed directly after dinner. Didn't Geniece own any warm flannel pajamas covered with fluffy lambs or cuddly bunnies? Apparently not.

On her way out, she peered quickly into the second cot. Empty. She wondered if whoever was supposed to be in it felt as restless as she did.

A tiny lamp turned down low illuminated the hall. She paused and tried to remember the route Clarine had taken earlier. She couldn't. The entire episode seemed a blur. She padded barefoot to the end of the hall and down several flights of stairs. At the bottom was a large common room.

A fire burned in the hearth, large enough to drive the chill from the room. No lamps were lit, making it difficult to catch the room's details in the flickering firelight. A few people she didn't recognize huddled in the corners of the room. They clung to the darkness and talked softly among themselves. Jill could hear the clink of metal tankards and the slosh of liquid being poured. She ignored them. Instead, she went to the fire and the solitary figure hunched before it, prodding and rearranging the logs with a poker.

As if sensing her presence, the figure turned. Perren.

He watched her cross to him, dusting his hands off on his clothing. She gave a weak smile that he did not return. Rather, he looked back to the fire.

She hadn't expected to find him there. Hadn't even gone looking for him. Still, seeing him felt good even if she had no idea what to say. Despite everything, she felt comfortable with him. Not quite sisterly, but close enough. Perhaps he, better than anyone, understood that she remained just Jill. Not a goddess. Not Arianie's Chosen. Just Jill.

"I asked the Prince to be allowed to accompany you on your search for the dagger," he said without preamble.

Ugh, the dagger. That was the last thing she wanted to talk about. Still, it was the only opening he'd given her. She stood over him, looking at the back of his head when he so obviously did not want to look at her. "Why?"