where the thorns grow

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN,

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN | WHERE THE THORNS GROW

THE FACT THAT he was barred from the ensuing mission was expected. The fact that both Ronan and Rhys were banned from it, he simply couldn't understand. Perhaps his brain was simply too small to play these games.

  So now he and Rhys paced outside in a garden. Ronan had run off a little bit ago with Io, probably to catch up. Io would be screaming at him, probably, but they were far enough that Dom heard nothing. That was nice. Ronan deserved a bit of a screaming match anyways. Io would give him what he needed to be knocked down a couple pegs.

  She was rubbing her eyes. He looked at her. "What do you think they're discussing?"

  Rhys replied, sarcastically, "Matters of life and death and the course of history?"

  He tilted his head. "Fair guess."

  She snorted. "It's kind of funny, isn't it? How casually we discuss these things like it's just the weather? When there's thousands and millions of lives that will be affected by a single word we say?"

  "Well, not us, exactly."

  "Not us, but the people inside the room." She nudged her head at it. "What do you think it feels like, being them? On top of the world?"

  He said, "I've never let myself think about that. Excellent question, though." Now he thought about it. The responsibilities, the burden, would he feel it? Yes. He would. So many lives in his hands. He could save or destroy them all. He supposed, in a way, that was what everyone was trying to do, even the Meliqueans. But different people had different approaches to that, and sometimes they clashed. Sometimes they fucked up other people's interests. That's when trouble started brewing.

  Everyone liked to be right. They rarely were.

  It was the middle of the day and the sun was burning hot in the sky. Dom glanced up at it, squinting. "Remind me again," he said aloud, "why we're waiting out here instead of giving into a pavilion or the sort."

  Rhys shrugged. "We're... too lazy to move?"

  Dom pursed his lips. "You're not wrong, not precisely."

  A smile stretched over Rhys' lips. "I rarely am, Dominic Lang. Have you not realised this yet?"

  "It's the Notus to you, Briar. People could be listening," he scolded mockingly.

  She stuck her tongue out. "Notus my ass. You sound so pretentious when I call you Notus, which is why I don't do it. I'm not Zhang daren, I don't feel the need to call everyone by their code name when we're off duty."

  "You call me Dom half the time when we're on duty," he pointed out.

  Rhys winced. "Gai kou bi jiao nan, you know? It's difficult to swap. My brain isn't wired like that. You, are Dom. Not the Notus or whatever other bullshit. Just Dom. Plain old Dominic Lang, who also just so happens to be an Iron Wolf. But then so am I and half my friends, so what's so special about that?"

  Dom blinked. 'That's one way to put it."

  Rhys flashed a blinding smile. "I'm very good at doing that, have you realised?"

  "You're very good at many things," he said earnestly. He wasn't lying or pointlessly trying to flatter her. Rhys was a master in many arts and skills. Besides, if he was just trying to appease her ego, Rhys would have him ripped into pieces. With the knowledge of the full extent of her powers, the red smoke, the daggers and the tendrils and the knives...