“I believe you, but she’s my sister, and—”
“You feel the need to protect her.” Joel smiled and nodded. “I know. I’m the same way with Heidi and Carmen.”
Kirk bowed. “Farewell. Please tell your sister that I wish her and Nawaz Arrio all the best.”
“I will. Goodbye.”
Joel watched Kirk slip into the crowd, a warm, pleasant sensation spreading from Joel’s belly to his chest. I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to smile, to laugh—to have a friend I can talk to. I forgot how much I missed it all.
Marc’s boisterous laughter cut through the air, catching Joel’s ear. The dean and Lady Beatrice now stood at the foot of the dais, conversing with Koal, who’d also taken a break from dancing.
Gib.
Joel looked to the place where he’d last spotted the understudy. Gib was no longer there. Frowning, Joel scanned the entire room. Still there was no sign of his former companion. He even walked the entire length of each banquet table. Nothing. Where had Gib gone? He hadn’t left, had he?
Weaving through the ballroom toward the grand entranceway, Joel continued his search.
“Hello? Gib?”
Gib blinked. He’d been so transfixed watching Joel as the mage went to the front of the ballroom and began to speak to Nawaz that he’d missed almost everything Tayver had just said. Forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the dais, Gib cranked his neck around and met his brother’s critical glare. “Sorry, what was that?”
With an exasperated huff, Tayver rolled his eyes. “I was asking what you thought about the dress.”
“Dress?”
The younger brother groaned. “Heidi’s dress! You know, the one I helped design?”
Gib winced. “Oh, right. It’s great, Tay.” When that earned him only a baleful scowl, he sighed and issued an apology. “I’m sorry. My head’s been full all day. Really, you did a great job on the gown. I should have told you so earlier.”
Tayver leaned back in his chair, cocking one eyebrow. His gaze flickered past Gib, and even without looking, Gib knew his brother was watching Joel as the mage spoke to those sitting on the dais. “You should go talk to him.”
Gib stiffened. He really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. “I already tried. He shut me out.”
“Then try again. I mean, it’s obvious you aren’t ready to give up on him.”
“It doesn’t matter what I want. I can only push so much. He clearly wants nothing more to do with me.”
Tayver’s voice grew softer. “You might not get another chance. Stop being stubborn and go say whatever is on your mind, because it’s clear that you have something you want to tell him.”
Gib bit his lip and stole another forlorn glance at Joel. Heidi was making her way back to her seat, and Nawaz had reached across the table to clasp Joel’s arm as the two exchanged goodbyes. Gib sighed. “Fine. I’ll be back.”
Tayver gave him a hearty thump on the back. “That’s the spirit. Let me know how it goes.”
Gib swatted at his brother, but Tayver was crafty enough to escape the blow. Mustering up what little courage he could find, Gib slipped from his chair and started to weave through the crowd. He didn’t make a straight line for the dais. Instead, he meandered slowly, giving plenty of time to start doubting himself. Would Joel be receptive to talking? Would he feel the same way? Or would he become angry or even hostile?
Gib stopped in his tracks, wringing his hands together as he stared at the tiled floor. Maybe this is a bad idea. I promised to give him space. I promised myself I’d try to move on. I can’t keep doing this— Gib locked his jaw. He and Joel had been companions for nearly three years. He couldn’t walk away just yet. One more attempt. One more try. If he doesn’t let me in now, this is it. This has to stop. With renewed determination, he lifted his chin.
“Gibben!” Marc’s jovial voice cut through the crowd.
The dean and his wife, Beatrice, came to a stop before him. Marc wore a black overcoat while the lady donned a flowy, velvet dress. Dressed in matching colors, they looked the perfect couple.
Marc reached out to pat Gib’s arm. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Yes,” Gib replied. “I can hardly believe all this was thrown together in less than two sennights.”
“Aye. The power of the pocketbook.” Marc grinned, staring past Gib in the direction of the dais. “My nephew cleans up well, doesn’t he?”
Gib chuckled. “Surprisingly, yes.” He gave a little bow to Lady Beatrice, his former Ardenian Law professor. “How are you feeling? When is the baby due to arrive?”
Beatrice set one hand on her very round belly. Her smile was tight. “Any time now. I’d feel much better if there weren’t reports of an influenza outbreak in the Northern provinces. Hopefully it stays far away from Silver City.”
Marc rubbed his wife’s shoulders. “Stop worrying so much! Your constant fretting isn’t good for the baby, you know.”
“I’m fretting because we have a little one on the way. I’d like to not have to worry about the baby falling ill.”
“On the bright side,” Gib offered, clearing his throat. “If the influenza does reach Silver, you can take comfort in knowing that you’re married to one of the most capable Healers in the entire city.”
Beatrice smiled up at her husband. “I suppose he’s capable enough—when he’s not busy being a clown.”
An infectious beam spread across Marc’s face. He gave Gib a wink. “She likes my roguish charm. That’s why she married me. Don’t let her convince you otherwise.”
Beatrice slapped his chest lightly. “I married you because you wouldn’t stop asking. Eventually I had to do something to get you to shut up.” She narrowed her eyes at her husband. “You really are a clown though.”
Still chortling, Marc motioned toward the dais. “Speaking of clowns, we should go see Nawaz before your feet start to swell again.”
“Yes, all right.” Beatrice snickered. “I wouldn’t want to ask you to carry me home or anything.”
Marc and Beatrice said goodbye and walked away. Gib watched them depart, shaking his head. Like Koal and Lady Mrifa, the dean and his wife seemed to be in one of those rare, fairytale relationships that always seemed to be perfect. Gib knew it wasn’t true—no relationship was without its share of hardships, but he couldn’t help be a little envious.
I used to think I’d fallen into such a romance. Joel and I were perfect for so long. I can hardly comprehend how broken we’ve become.
Sighing, Gib turned to look upon his former love—and froze.
Joel hadn’t moved from his position near the dais, but he was no longer alone. The Imperial boy who’d come through the portal with the envoys, Kirk, stood beside him. Even as Gib watched, Joel leaned closer to the boy and grinned. Gib’s skin crawled at the sight of Kirk’s blush. Were they—were they flirting? His hands clenched into fists at his side.
Gentle laughter drifted to where he stood. Joel was laughing with the Imperial now. Laughing! He hadn’t even spared a genuine smile for Gib, yet here he was, being open with this boy he barely knew.
The anger rushed upon him so fast Gib wasn’t sure where it even came from. It manifested out of nowhere and gripped his body with such precision that he was left teetering where he stood. Gib turned on one heel and fled. He couldn’t process all the feelings swirling in his head, and he sure as hell couldn’t face Joel or anyone else right now. Perhaps if he ran fast enough, he could escape the raw emotions attempting to latch onto his heart. He staggered up the grand staircase and through the door. No one seemed to notice his departure—least of all Joel, who was still entirely enamored by the Imperial boy.
Gib wandered without a destination through the corridors surrounding the ballroom. As he trudged forward, his mind went from a burning inferno of rage to a numb, desolate void. The farther he walked, the more overwhelmed he became by deep, incessant sorrow. The grief swelled in his chest, rising to his lungs, throat, and eyes, threateni
ng to spill over. When the stairwell leading to the gallery far above came into view, he could do nothing more than slump against the bottom rung and stare into the gloom.
Gib clutched his head with both hands, at a loss. He’d been only a dozen paces away from Joel. He could have shouted to him from across the floor. He almost could have reached out and touched him. He’d known what he wanted to say and had been prepared to fight for what he wanted—and then—
Joel looked so happy, smiling and laughing with the Imperial boy. He clearly doesn’t need me to rescue him. It was foolish to assume he ever did. He’s moving on without me, and I’m an idiot to keep holding onto the idea that we still have a future together. Gib’s eyes slammed shut as he tried to contain the tears brimming beneath his lids.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. Whether it was only a few seconds or an entire mark, he couldn’t know. Time seemed to have come to a grinding halt. All he knew was that he couldn’t return to the ballroom. He couldn’t face the sight of Joel laughing and enjoying himself with his new friend. Not when Gib himself felt so utterly hopeless.
“Gib?” a tentative voice called from beyond the stairwell.
Gib wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. “Who is it?” If he hadn’t been so caught up in his grief, he would have recognized the soft, lilting voice.
It was Zandi who stepped around the corner. Concern etched the young mage’s long face, contorting his features but unable to fully mask his beauty.
Gib cleared his throat and tried to blink away the tears before the other man could see them. “What are you doing here?”
Zandi looked over his shoulder briefly. “I was just sitting at the banquet table, bored out of my mind, and then I saw you leave rather hastily and wanted to make sure everything was all right.”
“You were in the ballroom? I didn’t see you. I didn’t even know you’d been invited to the wedding.”
A nervous chuckle escaped Zandi’s lips as he reached up to toy with a strand of his raven-colored hair. “Heidi and I shared two whole classes together in Academy. I guess that was enough to warrant an invitation to her wedding.”
Gib found himself smiling despite his lousy mood. “I think she invited people she’d never even met before.”
“Would you believe she even extended an invitation to Kezra?”
Gib winced. “Not the smartest idea, I’d reckon.”
Kezra, of course, hadn’t made an appearance—not that Gib could fault her for it. He was certain it would have been too painful to look upon Nawaz and know the young lord was no longer hers. Gib let out a shaky sigh. Is that how it would be for Joel and him, too? Would he be forced to watch Joel from afar and know there was no way to share in his joy or tears?
Zandi crept closer. “Do you mind if I join you? You look like you could use some company.”
“Do I?” Gib croaked, forcing a weak smile.
Zandi’s face pinched as he nodded and took a seat next to Gib. “Why are you out here alone? Did something happen? Did someone—upset you?”
Gib dared to meet the other man’s eyes. He could tell Zandi was searching for answers. Whether or not he suspected the truth, Gib didn’t know. He shifted his gaze downward, choosing to stare vacantly at his upturned palms sitting in his lap. Habit told him to dismiss the question, but he just couldn’t bring himself to be on the defensive. Not this time.
“Nothing’s gone the way I thought it would,” Gib blurted. He focused on his hands, studying each line and blemish, certain that if he stared long enough, he would be able to dedicate all of it to memory. “When Joel got back from the Northern Empire, I was stupid enough to believe we could just pick right up where we left off and everything would be fine. It was the dream of a fool.” He choked on a mirthless laugh. “I’m a fool.”
Beside him, Zandi tensed, and at first, Gib thought the mage wouldn’t reply at all. But after a bout of prolonged silence, soft words floated through the gloom. “You’re no fool. If Joel Adelwijn dismissed someone as loyal and caring as you, then it’s his loss. He’s the fool.”
Gib shook his head, still glaring at his own hands. He didn’t want this to happen. He didn’t want to feel such rash anger toward his former companion. Joel didn’t deserve it. He’d never been anything but supportive. Gib’s fingers began to tremble as he stared at them. “I don’t know what the future holds anymore. I used to have a path. But now—now I’m hopelessly lost. I’m just blundering around, waiting for someone to set me on course again.”
He gasped when Zandi reached out and took hold of his hands. The mage’s touch was warm and his melodic voice drifted through the shadows, soothing Gib’s broken soul. “No one can choose a path for you, Gib. That decision is yours alone to make.” Gib could feel Zandi’s heavy gaze but didn’t dare look up. “It’s up to you to decide what you want.”
Gib blinked. What I want—what do I want? His mind was so muddled by a million different feelings he didn’t even know anymore. All he knew was he was tired—tired of fighting for nothing, tired of hoping in vain, and tired of running from every potential chance at finding happiness again.
He let out a shuddering sigh when Zandi squeezed his hands. He could feel the other man’s hot, jagged breaths on the side of his face and noticed belatedly that Zandi had scooted closer. Still, Gib couldn’t raise his eyes to meet those of the mage.
“You have to choose your path, but that doesn’t mean you have to walk it alone.” Zandi’s voice was like a wisp of air rustling through newly blossomed leaves. “You have so many people who care about you, who would risk life and limb if it meant seeing you happy again. Seneschal Koal, Dean Marc, Prince Didier, Tarquin, Nage, Kezra, me—” Gib did glance up then, and it was Zandi who lowered his face in an attempt to hide his painted cheeks.
“You—care that much about me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Zandi’s thick lashes fluttered as he raised his head to make slow, deliberate eye contact with Gib. “I never wanted to come between you and Joel. But I’ve always admired you, Gib. And when Joel left, I thought maybe—maybe there was a small chance for me. Talk about being a fool.”
Gib’s head spun. He didn’t know what to say or do. Never in his life had he been so conflicted. “I—” He took a deep breath and tried again. “I don’t dislike you, Zandi. The opposite might even be true. It’s just—what Joel and I had—it’s going to take me time to move on. It’s still an open wound. I don’t want to lead you on with false hope. You deserve better than a companion still grieving his last love.”
“I understand. Some wounds may never truly heal. We just have to—try to forget.”
Even in the dim light of the corridor, Gib could see the mage’s terrible, broken smile, and for the first time, Gib found himself wondering what kind of pain Zandi had suffered for him to be so understanding in this moment. Had he experienced the same, gut-wrenching heartbreak Gib now faced? Were they more alike than Gib realized?
Joel is happy with his new life. I deserve to be happy, too. Zandi has been nothing but supportive through this entire ordeal with the Northern Empire. He’s been there for me, even when I was miserable to him in return. He clearly cares about me. Is it so wrong of me to care for him in return?
Zandi began to pull his hand away, but Gib found himself latching onto it as though it was his last lifeline. “Wait,” he said through trembling lips. “Perhaps—perhaps if we take things slow—” He fumbled over his own disordered words, and Zandi’s imploring gaze was doing no favors. “I can’t promise anything. I’m just me—Gibben Nemesio, a humble understudy—but if you can overlook my many faults, if you’ll have me—”
“Of course I will have you.” Zandi’s eyes went wide, as if the mere suggestion was unspeakable. “However much time you need, you’ll have it. We can take things as slow as you want, Gib. I just—I just want you in my life.”
Gib opened his mouth, trying to respond, but the cocktail of emotions rolling in his stomach was too much. He couldn’t s
peak.
Zandi reached up with one hand, his smile impossibly beautiful, and stroked Gib’s cheek like it was the most precious thing in the two worlds. “Hey,” Zandi whispered. “Everything’s going to be okay. I know it is.”
He leaned closer yet and instead of running again, Gib turned and met Zandi’s piercing, emerald eyes head on.
Gib smiled, still sad, but determined to push past it. “I know it will be.” Gib set all the hurt free as he pressed his mouth to Zandi’s, losing himself in a gentle kiss. It was time to move on. It was time to heal.
A tear slipped down Joel’s cheek as he backed away before the two young men in the hall could see him. The hope he’d been foolish enough to believe in deflated in a single breath, crumbling like the stones of the archway. All that remained in its wake was pain—horrible, aching pain.
He’d followed Zandi after noticing the young man leaving the ballroom, and when Gib and Zandi began to speak, Joel had lingered in the shadows. He had seen the way they looked at each other and the way Gib’s eyes lit up when Zandi sat down. Joel had seen the kiss—
He clutched his chest, unbearable agony seizing his heart. The truth was a burning pyre under his flesh, slowly boiling him from the inside out and leaving his soul a shriveled, blackened husk. He gasped on a strangled whimper and staggered back toward the ballroom. Stop crying. You did this. You went to the Northern Empire and left him here alone. You pushed him away. You even told him to move on with his life—and now he has.
Joel could barely see through the tears clouding his vision. He was too late. Gib’s heart already belonged to another.
Chapter Thirteen
Joel set a hand against his mouth and yawned loudly. His eyes kept fluttering shut no matter how hard he focused his attention on the oak door in front of him. Bright, morning sunlight flooded the corridor, streaming trails of gold through the large bay windows of the academy. Holding back another yawn, Joel blinked several times in rapid succession, hoping the exercise would help rouse his drowsy mind.
Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden Page 40