Quill of Thieves

Chapter 39

Well, at least she wouldn't kill him.

"Thank you so very much for your understanding," Abel quipped to Melvin, who had been stationed at the flap. Before Melvin could react, she swished the flap back into place, securing it with a rope, and then rounded on Sebastian.

"You look terrible."

Sebastian straightened under her scrutiny and placed the mortar onto the Monverta he had taken from the dragon's nest of flames. It sat innocently beside him on the cold ground. When he appraised Abel again, her hands were on her hips, mouth pursed as if she had tasted him and he had turned out to be particularly sour. He glanced at her balled up fists.

Perhaps he had spoken too soon. "You're angry with me," he ventured.

"Oh, so you do understand feelings," she snapped. "Hardly surprising, considering you're so gods-damned knowledgeable about everything else. I suppose you even knew those blasted books weren't real, too. It was all a farce!"

He had known that, actually. Or, he had, at least, come to figure it out; that the Monverta he had saved wasn't actually the same one that had unlocked Rainier's memories, but Sebastian wasn't about to tell her that. Not when he could see the frustrated flush coloring her cheeks. He wasn't quite sure what he had done to deserve this reaction from Abel. Her anger was palpable enough that Sebastian swallowed thickly before guessing.

"You're mad I wanted to take the book."

She scowled at him, slender jaw ticking. "I don't know."

"But you told me I should."

Abel ran a hand over her face. "I know!"

"Then, I don't understand. What's the problem?"

She screwed her eyes shut, lips tight and thin as she sucked down a fortifying breath like a guard gearing up to throw a punch. "Sometimes, I just wish—" When her eyes reopened, the amber color of them had hardened, flinty. "Damn it, Bash! I wish I was your first option! Not even your only option. Just your first!"

He stared at her. "But...you are."

"No, I'm not. Not anymore, and I thought I was okay with that." She stepped closer to him, her eyebrows pinched. "By the Scribes, Bash, even Astrid went to Matthias first. Everyone's talking about it. The daring princess who sacrificed herself for love. She saved him before she even tried to save herself—"

Love. Did Astrid love Matthias in that way? "Yes," Sebastian agreed, "and she almost died because of it. It was hardly well thought-out."

He knew immediately it had been the absolute wrong thing to say. Idiot.

Abel recoiled, uttering a self-deprecating laugh. "Of course that's what you'd be most concerned about."

"Right now I'm concerned about you."

But Abel shook her head. Her frustration sizzled into regret as she scanned him from his messy, windswept hair to his scratched, bare feet. She sighed, haughty shoulders slumped. "I'm not sure who's been more delusional with their feelings: you or myself."

Sebastian watched her take a step nearer until she was standing in front of him. Their knees touched, and Abel let loose a shaky breath. It flitted across his cheeks. She smelled like home. Sebastian's chest twisted.

"I don't understand—?"

Her fingers brushed the hair that hung over his forehead. "Just shut up, Bash, for once in your life."

He'd only just shut his mouth when she pressed closer and kissed him.

Years of memories shared between them reshaped in the slim space between them into an arrowhead that saw him as its target. Sebastian was unsure how to deflect it. He didn't know what to do with his hands, so he sat on them. He wasn't sure what to do with his thoughts, so he swallowed them. They stuck painfully in his throat when Abel pulled back, her fingers against his jaw.

A thin smile flickered across her mouth. "I was wrong."

Her breathy words slapped Sebastian. He blinked at her. "About what?"

Abel dropped her hand away from him and clasped them both behind her back. "I've been the delusional one."

It was odd to him that her face, which was so familiar to him—from the dotted constellations of freckles across her nose to the slim, silvery scar above her left eyebrow—could hold an expression so foreign that it sent his stomach into a free-fall.

He didn't know what to say to this Abel.

Abel took a step back into the damaging silence. "You probably won, you know." Her hand reached blindly for the rope of the flap. She fumbled with it in a clumsy motion that Sebastian never associated with her. He frowned, and she flushed warmly.

"Forget it. Please."

She looked away from him, her eyes finding the mortar of green paste as her hand slipped on the material of the tent. "And use the damned medication, Bash. You still look gods-awful."

Sebastian opened his mouth to call her back, but she'd already slipped through the flap like a raindrop through a crack. He felt the chasm widen between them as he stared at the space where she had stood. His fingers drifted to his lips. They felt the same somehow even when everything else felt different.

He had never kissed anyone before.

Serah appeared beside him, the mortar and pestle back in her grip. She shoved it into his chest. Her expression was grave as she scooped some of it out and spread it across his knuckles. The motion was not as gentle as it had been before.

"I think I messed up."

Serah didn't respond, of course, but she soothed the mixture into his burning skin, though he wasn't sure what she could do about the flaming flush erupting across his face. He sat still for Serah's sake even as his legs bounced.

Abel had always been the one to reassure him of his intelligence, but he realized it would never be enough to help him understand what had just happened between them.

_ _ _

A much shorter chapter for y'all! Enjoy this nice little break and a very clueless Bash. 

Please leave a comment and a vote! This chapter's random question: When was your first kiss?