These Ivory Swords

| Chapter Eight |

Carefully tucking the edges of a thick, feathered comforter beneath the mattress he'd commandeered for the last three evenings, Noah Whitecross found himself counting each second apart as he waited to leave the island of Chiori Faire.

Even limiting his interactions had become challenging as Sorein warmed to his company again.

He expected the guilt to creep in any day now, but nothing managed to keep him awake at night more than the facade.

Noah managed to muster the energy to play young and naive for the sake of his friends, often shoving away minor annoyance for a good laugh. Royals felt comfortable speaking freely with him if he maintained a lopsided grin and recycled the information he was given as if he'd never heard it before.

Iliya seemed to be the only one who'd noticed.

His heart stopped in the meeting earlier when he mentioned her runes.

That had kept him up last night.

But Noah entering Nynoli, not to mention answering a litany of idiotic questions spewed from his cousin's lips and checking Carya's Temple meant a small reprieve before he traveled to Toskapel. Heilos knows he'd leave now if it didn't risk more suspicion than he already felt glued to him.

Sorein wouldn't look away for long enough for a trip down the eastern corridor, let alone some much needed tea.

Exhausting.

His friend was exhausting.

A worrisome, overbearing hen who couldn't find a path out of his own way long enough to read between the lines.

Noah paused to assess the room. He'd strapped his longsword to his belt and hidden a few blades for good measure. The journal Iliya had left with him as a backup plan was under this mattress.

Not that revealing her death sentence to Rhydian was any more comforting than her absence.

He'd shoved the book so far toward the center, lifting wouldn't uncover a thing.

Secrecy wasn't something he missed.

Of his memories from the last civil war, humanity manipulated the truth significantly more than the immortals. Unburdened by agelessness, they'd bear grudges for long lengths of time, as if it were a threat.

Wasting each other's time, that's what the humans did.

He scoffed, shaking his head.

This definitely smelled an awful lot like espionage.

No more slip-ups.

He'd make sure his tongue wouldn't move without him again.

Noah knew he could be careless around Sorein, even Jeremy, but not when it came to those runes. Not when it came to Ezre and his masterful manipulation in hiding every trace of Alette Chakrine from Chiori Faire.

Attlis wouldn't have much to say to him anyway.

He'd spend the night in the old, stone castle in desperate need of repair—fight the urge to comment on a remodel—and quickly board the next ship to Toskapel to check on Iliya.

RIM asked him for relationships.

Solid, concrete relationships between Darkwell and the Wildlands, as they'd never maintained proper representatives from their communities.

Simple. Easy.

He could auto-pilot his way through such a manageable request and still focus on protecting Iliya while Damien trained her.