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“And your sister?” she asked. A hollowness ached in her chest as her mind drifted to Dyota.
His left hand flexed. “Never found her.”
She wanted to reach out, but the gesture faltered. Her hand hovered halfway across the table, before she caught herself and drew it back to her lap.
“Have you kept looking?”
Lysander looked away. “The Order keeps me busy.”
She snapped inside, brushing her hand across the board, sending the white pieces tumbling.
“I’m done.” The words came out raw.
The clatter of the pieces filled the silence.
She gazed one last time at Lysander before storming to the bedroom and slamming the door. She couldn’t comprehend not looking. Couldn’t imagine stopping. She would bleed for Nellith. She’d burn the Republic to save Dyota.
Flat on the bed, she stared at the ceiling, at the thin silver rods of Lodamante running through the beams like veins.
It didn’t take long for Lysander to follow her into the bedroom. He closed the door behind him, and didn’t speak. He simply moved to the floor and sat with his back against it, legs drawn up loosely.
Idonea turned away. Her chest burned with a pressure she couldn’t name. The air between them thickened. Her breath sounded too loud.
At last, she gave in. The bed creaked beneath her as she climbed under the blanket. Lysander shifted once on the floor, adjusting his position.
She turned to lie on her side, eyes upon him. The chill of the room crept down the back of her neck, nudging her to tug the blanket higher. The motion pulled the collar of her shift aside.
His attention sharpened. “What are those stars?”
Her fingers stilled against the blanket. “What?”
“Along your collarbone,” he said. “I’ve seen them before. But I never asked.”
She closed her eyes. Of all the things he asked. Silence pressed in.
“What are they for?” he asked.
She rolled onto her back. “Jovana,” she said.
Idonea hated how even the whisper of her name brought the threatening sting of tears.
“She did them,” Idonea went on, voice steady only because she forced it to be. “So I wouldn’t forget her.”
His gaze didn’t leave the stars. “I imagine you don’t.”
“She wanted me to look up,” Idonea said. “And remember that some things don’t vanish.”
“What happened when she died?”
Her throat tightened. “I stopped letting anyone in.”
Neither of them moved.
“Thank you,” he said at last. “For trusting me with that.”
She turned her head, just enough to look at him. “Don’t mistake honesty for trust.”
A smile ghosted across his mouth. “Noted.”
