To Bleed a Crystal Bloom by Sarah A. Parker

He’s gone by the time I wake, leaving no sign he was here aside from the hearty musk of his lingering scent infused with my pillow slip. Stuffing my nose in the silk, I draw a deep breath, filling my lungs and easing the painful eddy in my temples.

A memory of me tipping an empty bottle to my lips hits me like a plank, and a nervous flutter bursts in my belly ...

I’m all out of caspun.

Crap.

I’ve been dependent on the arcane bulb for so long. If I knew it was going to take forever to source more, perhaps I’d have plucked up the courage and come clean weeks ago. The repercussion of Rhordyn discovering I’ve been exceeding the recommended dose wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it’d be.

He was angry, yes ... but he still hugged me, then stayed until I fell asleep.

Closing my eyes, I remember his arm—big and strong like a shield. Remember the feel of his presence at my back, his weight dipping the mattress.

It was impossible not to roll into the small cleft between us. Bridge the space.

A shiver rakes through me.

I draw another calming breath, pulling my face from the pillow before I exhale, not wanting to muddy the slip with my own scent. Then frown when I realize it’s laundry day.

Tanith will be up in a couple of hours to strip my bed ...

She can’t have it.

Dragging the slip free, I bounce my gaze around the room, seeking the perfect hiding spot.

Easier said than done.

Tanith is thorough, never leaving a single dust particle unaccounted for, and I don’t doubt she’ll find this treasure no matter where I hide it. Except maybe one place ...

Rhordyn knows about my hidden compartment, but he’s the only one. And it’s not like he has any more reasons to dig around in there.

I peel the rug, shift the stone, stuff the compartment full of him, then slide the lid back into place. Something inside me calms to a light simmer, and I sigh, posture buckling.

After changing into my training gear, I run a brush through my calamity of hair and work it into a loose braid. Bag slung over my shoulder, I take on Stony Stem with delicate footfalls, trying to glide down each step so as to nurture my tender brain. By the time I step into the dining room, white dots are clouding my vision.

I’m half tempted to turn around and head straight back to bed.

“If you wanted to train, you’re two hours late,” is my morning welcome from a frosty Baze lounged in his regular spot, sipping from a steaming cup of tea.

“I slept in.”

He looks up from the scroll spread beside his breakfast plate, weighted by a glass of juice and a large black stone I’d love to paint. He draws another mouthful, eyes meeting me over the rim. “And you still look tired.”

“You’re the one who tipped him off, aren’t you? Told Rhordyn about the Exothryl?”

It’s the only plausible explanation. Last night aside, Rhordyn never sees me, especially not in the morning when I’m jacked. If we bump into each other in a hall, nine times out of ten the chance encounter swiftly dissolves.

A guilty glint sparkles in Baze’s eyes, that right dimple appearing. He sets his cup on the saucer with a delicate clink that belies who he is. How he looks.

There’s nothing delicate about Baze aside from the way he tapers down like a finely crafted wooden weapon. When used correctly, and in the right situation, he’s lethal.

“I take that as a yes. How’d you work it out?”

Baze shrugs, sets his elbows on the table, and fits his hands together. “How do you think, Orlaith?”

The question is crooned—bait for my fraying patience.

I massage my temples. “Can’t you just tell me?”

“No,” he says, motioning for me to sit. “Think I’ll keep that information to myself.” He takes a large bite of his apple and tosses me a wink that plucks at my nerves.

In other words, if I somehow manage to gather all thirty-four ingredients required to make more Exothryl ... he’ll know.

I plod to my seat and ease into it, looking through the open doors to the window-lined hallway. There’s no morning sun spilling through—nothing to fill the murky innards of Castle Noir with light.

Days like this generally start me off on the wrong foot, so the fact that I even made it to the breakfast hall despite my delicate condition should absolutely be noted on my effort chart.

“How are you coping?” Baze asks, staring at the morning report while stirring a sugar cube into his tea. Pretending the question is casual when we both know it’s not.

I shrug, scanning the spread of food, stomach twisting. My gaze snags on Rhordyn’s spare place setting and my chest tightens.

Part of me hoped he’d be sitting here after what we shared last night. Foolish, now that I think about it.

But he hasn’t had my blood in a while ...

I know he said he doesn’t need me, but after falling asleep in his arms last night, there’s a hopeful spark in my chest. A warmth I want to nourish.

Oil for those precious cogs that keep me spinning.

A servant fills my glass with some zesty juice the color of sunshine. I wait until she’s returned to her spot at the wall before my attention drifts to my empty plate. “I’m out of caspun.”

Baze’s cup clatters to the saucer. “You’re fucking with me.”

I catch his wide-eyed stare, saying nothing.

There’s nothing more to say.

His mouth works like a fish out of water before he finally finds his words. “How the hell did you go through three years’ worth of caspun in three months?”

I continue to stare, waiting ...

He throws his head back and looks to the roof, hands threading behind his head. “You’ve been using it as a preventative, then relying on exo every morning to counteract the comedown.”

“I’ve been ensuring I get a good night’s rest,” I say, gripping my glass of juice—the only thing on this table I can think about consuming without wanting to dry heave.

“Does Rhordyn know? That you’ve been using it as a preventative?” I can feel his glare burning the side of my face as I take small, tentative sips from my glass.

“If he didn’t work it out last night, I suspect he’s about to find out.”

“Well, you’ve got that right.” He lifts his own glass of juice, pretending to clink with me.

No point being bitter about it.

“So ...” I jerk my thumb at the empty seat on my right, “is he gone again?”

Baze takes a bite of his apple, watching me with a shrewd gaze as he slowly chews, then swallows. “He’s around. Now, since you’re dressed for the occasion, we can spend a few hours training on The Plank. Unless you have some rocks to paint?”

The bottom of my glass practically assaults the table, making me wince from the bite of sound. “Really, Baze? You think I look capable of walking The Plank right now?”

“No,” he shrugs, “you look like death. But perhaps a swim with the selkies will do you the world of good?”

Yeah, like losing a toe ever benefits anyone.

I pluck a grape from a pile and toss it at his face, but he snatches it out of the air with his teeth.

Rolling my eyes, I shift in my seat, not entirely sure the juice was a good idea after all. The few sips I took are sitting like spikes in my belly.

“You should eat before everything gets cold.”

“I’m not hungry. And your collar has rouge on it,” I say, spotting the smear of red matching the blush of the blonde, busty servant standing at the wall behind Baze, her gaze cast on the floor.

He pulls on his collar, inspecting the stain. “Well, I do love a good souvenir.” Throwing me a wink, he buffs his jewel-encrusted ring. “And look at you, artfully diverting the conversation.”

“Who gave you that?” I ask, admiring the way light refracts off the polished faces of all those tiny, ebony gems. “I’ve always wondered.”

He watches me from beneath raised brows. “Who do you think?”

He really needs to lower his expectations of me for a while.

“Just ... give me multiple choice answers so I don’t feel inclined to toss a melon at your head.”

“Well,” he drones, tone mocking, “let me give your sludgy, hungover brain a hint.”

I’m going to murder him.

“The same person who puts those clothes on your back and pays Cook to keep you brimming with honey buns. Speaking of which, want one?” He gestures to the pile stacked in front of me.

My stomach knots.

“Not unless you want me to vomit all over you. And how long ago was that?” I ask, massaging my temples again, trying to ignore the dull throb.

The corner of Baze’s lips sweep into a hook. “You know what, the years kind of ... blurtogether under his management. Now,” he slams his hand on the table—the sound a blade through my skull, “let’s get moving. If we’re lucky, we might catch a few rogue rays of sunshine before the rain hits.”

And if he’s lucky, he might survive the day.