Page 126 of The Alchemists

Asher crept back behind the door.

Hawthorn’s eyes gleamed. “I knew it.”

Seb froze.

“I knew you couldn’t possibly be debasing the Allsaires name. We hear things, you know. Helena fretted herself near to death—she’s hoping you and our dear Violet will come together eventually—but I told her that you, Sebastian Allsaires, you of all Magicians, the best of your generation, couldn’t possibly have gone so wrong.”

Seb blinked at the mention of Violet, trying to picture her anywhere but at the stables, talking about anything other than horses. He traced his thumb around the thin lip of the cut-crystal rocks glass over and over, the sharp pressure grounding him.

His voice was frigid; he couldn’t help it. The rage seethed, ice-cold in his veins.

“That would be a shock, wouldn’t it?”

Bellarius laughed.

Seb drained his Scotch, checked his watch, and stood. “Best get back to the charade, then. Wouldn’t want to arouse suspicions.”

Hawthorn clapped him on the back, accompanying him to the door, passing within inches of Asher, whose barely-there face was unreadable.

“Of course not.”

Seb rubbed his fingers together, sensing wetness. Glancing down, he saw blood sliding between his fingers, dripping a trail across Hawthorn Bellarius’s carpet.

LILY

“Do you mind if we stop by the Alumnae House? I want to check on Adriana.”

Lily glanced at Seb, his profile lit a blinking, sulfurous orange by passing streetlights. Neither of them had spoken on the drive home. Lily ached to ask him what the hell he’d been doing with her grandfather. He looked wrung out and exhausted, his skin sheeted over with sweat, and he smelled of petrichor. His jaw had locked and stayed that way.

“That’s fine,” Lily said to the passenger window.

She sank back into wondering. Wondering about the Mérida twins—their sudden appearance and closeness with Seb—about her grandparents, about whether or not the Tribunal would come bursting through her front door at three a.m. to drag her out of bed for using illegal magic. The gala had devolved quickly after Adriana’s reaction. Once she’d been stabilized, she and Rafael, along with the small handful of Vadoria attendees, had left, shepherded out by their coach.

Seb pulled his car into the drive of the Alumnae House, a 1900s Tudor mansion that now served as a guesthouse for Windermere visitors. For the tournament, the Alumnae House—being the closest and best accommodations to campus—was reserved for the twenty top-seeded traveling competitors and their chaperones.

Lily had never been inside, but Seb, based on the greeting he received from the concierge, was familiar. She trailed after him as he beelined for the small pub, where he clapped a terrifically tanned young man, who’d clearly come from the gala, on the shoulder while he leaned over and ordered.

“Do you want anything?” Seb said, turning with his bourbon, surprising her slightly that he remembered she was there.

Her shoulders twitched in response. He ordered her a hot toddy and kept talking to the man at the bar. This was Seb in his element, known by all, knowing all. There was no room for her in the equation. This is who he is, Lily reminded herself. You are the anomaly. This was how things would be when she was gone. For all his protestations, all it took was one good distraction, and Lily became ancillary. She was temporary.

“Here you go.” Seb handed over her drink in a steam-opaqued glass mug, and Lily took a hesitant sip.

Lemony and sharp, with sweetness at the back. It burned a little going down but settled warmly in her stomach; exactly what she hadn’t known she wanted. The fact that Seb had known added to her discontent and low-simmering anger.

“Catch you later, Sullivan.”

He put his hand between Lily’s wool-clad shoulders and steered her out of the pub.

“Good of you to introduce me,” she murmured acidly once they were alone in an upper hallway.

Seb looked at her, taken aback, the hurt already blooming in his hazel eyes. “Sullivan?” He frowned at her in confusion. “Sullivan is a fucking bigot and every other word out of his mouth is an atrocity. I thought I’d spare you.” She watched the hurt turn to something stonier in response to her own face. “But if you want to end your night with sexual harassment, be my guest. It would be my honor to introduce you.”

“I…no.” She was properly shamed.

“Lily, come on. What’s wrong?” He reached for her free hand.

She scoffed. “What’s wrong? What isn’t wrong?”