Look at Me

Chapter Fourteen: To Go Back | Part 3

Thirtyx chanced a glance at Seerla from the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure what startled him more—the impressive lore underlying his name or the passion with which she relayed the information. Still bedraggled and on autopilot, he deflected out of habit. “I didn’t know you knew so much about ancient draconic culture.”

She ignored the redirection with expert precision. “Look, I’m not the one who almost died, so I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through. But if surviving a full-fledged mob attack isn’t two hells of a power move, I don’t know what is. You should feel invincible, not defeated.”

“But I’m not invincible.” He stared at the torn knee of his pants, darkened with blood that was still spreading. “What if me going back is a challenge, and they just try harder next time? Plan better? Get faculty involved? If I drop out, I’ll have to lie low and live on the brink of starvation, but that’s a life I’m used to. And it’s not one I can live at Wydewood anymore.”

“But lying low isn’t who you are!”

Thirtyx pinched the bridge of his nose. “What are you talking about? It’s who I’ve always been.”

“It’s who you’ve had to be, not who you want to be.”

“Seerla, I—”

“Twice-damn it, Thirtyx, will you look at me?”

One couldn’t simply hear such a passionate command and ignore it. For a second, he completely forgot what they were arguing about—that they’d been arguing at all. All that existed was the fire in Seerla’s eyes and a wild, untamed energy that very nearly satisfied his strange hunger.

Seerla turned away with an uncharacteristic swiftness, and the moment was gone.

While Thirtyx’s brain fought to recenter, Seerla whipped off her outer jacket—his jacket—and settled it over his shoulders. Funny how her presence had made him forget he was freezing. His knotted muscles relaxed as her lingering warmth worked its way through his clothes.

It was almost torture to reciprocate her statement from earlier. “Now you’ll be cold.”

“You’re sopping wet, you idiot. Bet your blood isn’t ‘plenty toasty’ anymore. Besides, I have an idea.”

She cupped her hands in front of her face and, for the second time that evening, blew a tiny ball of fire into her palms. Thirtyx inhaled to protest, but he was stunned silent as Seerla maneuvered the flame into a single hand, leaving her other hand free to stifle her cough. In spite of her choking, she managed to lower the fire to a nearly dry patch of leaves.

Thirtyx was convinced the leaves chose to catch under the weight of her withering glare.

Seerla stepped back toward Thirtyx, and the flame trailed behind her like an obedient puppy. “Wherever you’re going next, you should thaw out before you start walking. And I should warm up my stupid blood lest I freeze without your jacket.”

Thirtyx couldn’t deny that the warmth was improving his mood. He tried for a hollow smile. “If I’m not allowed to say my name is stupid, you’re not allowed to say your blood is stupid.”

“Even half drowned, you have better rhetoric skills than me. And to think you’re considering blowing off the Law Comp to… what, be a circus performer?”

“Palace caterer,” Thirtyx said defensively. “I have some contacts there, you know.”

Seerla snorted so hard her dragonfire cough returned. “Yeah, sure,” she rasped. “You’re getting bullied for hanging around the prince and princess, but you totally won’t get bullied for hanging around the king. At least here, your friends can keep an eye on you.”

“They shouldn’t have to keep an eye on me! If you hadn’t, you’d be having the time of your life with Nephrie right now instead of being covered in mud on a riverbank wanting to throttle her.”

Seerla folded her arms. The small campfire flared with indignation. “Then I’d have no idea what monstrous things she was capable of. You think I’d be better off not knowing my roommate wanted to murder you?”

“If I leave Wydewood, it won’t matter if she wants to murder me.”