where the thorns grow

CHAPTER THIRTY,

CHAPTER THIRTY | WHERE THE THORNS GROW

  "WHY SO FORMAL?" Ronan grunted as he smoothed his black and red robe, fixing the mask on his face. It would be taken off in a moment, but not yet. He smoothed his hair too in one swift motion, staring into a mirror. "I feel awfully out of place."

  Myrina swatted his hand. "Stop messing with your hair," the countess demanded with far more force than usual. "I spent so long on that, Tang Lin."

  Rhys sighed from the corner, where she was sitting, already done with her appearance. "The more formal, the more important this seems. They're still out there. No one caught the Zhang sisters. Zhang Najun and Zhang Nahuan are still at large. Diego is back in Melique, but he is still capable of damage. He's not the most rational person who ever existed. Not to start with the rest of the Falcons, all of who will be out for our blood. We are still traitors in their eyes."

  "It's a nice celebration," Myrina said curtly. "Just enjoy it."

  "There have been," Ronan said politely, "far too many celebrations in the past while, and none have been nice. My apologies, Myrina but I find it rather difficult to be enthusiastic about this one."

  "It's celebrating you."

  "Makes it even worse."

  Myrina sighed. "Just get ready, Ronan." The countess sounded so tired that Ronan obeyed orders immediately for once in his life, clamping his mouth right shut.

  Rhys stifled back a laugh.

  It wasn't just for them, of course. Justine was getting an award too. The Duke of Shui Xiang, and a few other lords and ladies and officials who'd been instrumental in Sai's efforts against Melique for the past few years. Not that that was the stated reasoning they were getting the awards, but it was clear to anyone with eyes and a brain.

  All the guests had left around two weeks ago. Two weeks, since she'd finally become free of Diego Contreras' endless pursuit. Two weeks of coming into the open, of letting herself go free without bonds, without restraint. Time passed quickly. A bit too quickly, perhaps.

  Rhys twirled her ponytail around her fingers. "It's almost all over, Ronan, hang in there. And thank you for your help Myrina, we greatly appreciate it."

  The countess straightened and murmured, "Just doing my duty. No need to thank me at all. I have to go now, I think, Irina will be waiting for me. Someone else will come and fetch you for the ceremony itself. It's going to take a while," a sympathetic look, "but I'm sure both of you are somewhat used to these kinds of events."

  Ronan shook his head with more force than necessary. "I am not."

  "Well," Myrina said, "start getting used to it." She shut her eyes. "Or find a way to get out of them. They happen a lot during peace times."

  "It won't last for long," Rhys said, batting her lashes.

  "But still." Myrina didn't say much more before leaving the room.

  Ronan and Rhys' eyes met across the room and both of them bursted into laughter.

  Rhys said, "I can never get used to you dressing formally. In my head, you're still that scrawny little kid I found bawling his eyes out behind a bush."

  That brought a glower out of Ronan. "Shut the fuck up, Rhys. Get that image out of your head."

  "Why?" Rhys asked. "Never forget your roots."

  "My roots, my ass," Ronan grumbled as he stormed towards the lounge in the side of the room, rubbing his eyes. "How long?"

  "Twenty minutes?"