Page 43 of Storm Caller

“Excuse me,” someone says at the door. “Navy, Justin, your mother would like to see you.”

“Sure,” Navy says, sliding off the chair and walking over to me. She draws me into a hug. It catches me by surprise, but after a moment, I return it and give her a squeeze.

“We’ll see you later,” she says, and while I’m not so sure about that, I nod.

Once they’re gone, I’m left alone with a sleeping Rook. The general’s Circle Guards remain at each end of the hallway, and it’s clear I’m not going anywhere until it’s time to face her.

So I settle into the chair Navy just vacated, staring at Rook’s sleeping face.

They’ve cleaned up the blood, revealing a cut on his eyebrow and one on his lip. His breathing is steady, and I reach over, taking his hand and feeling for his pulse. I tuck back a lock of his hair, marveling at how beautiful he is. I vow that when he wakes up, I’ll give him the chance to explain. I owe us both that.

Slowly, I lean down and press my lips softly to his, wishing he were awake. Wishing he could tell me what might happen next.

He moans softly, and I run my fingers over the curve of his cheekbone and down the line of his jaw. He needs a shave, I think idly as the stubble pricks the tips of my fingers. But I also like him like this.

Then, with his hand clutched tightly in mine, I settle back to wait for whatever fate has in store for us next.

15

The hours pass as I wait beside Rook. Someone arrives with a tray of food, and I pick at it in silence as a prisoner in this strange place.

Eventually, Rook groans, and the medics enter, checking on him as his eyes flutter open. I stand in the corner with my hands clasped, trying not to get in the way.

His gaze finds me, and he smiles—it’s soft at the edges, a little woozy from the painkillers, but it’s his. I’m starting to wonder how I ever doubted him at all, but then I worry I’m just trying to convince myself of something I want to see.

When the medics are finished, they leave us again. No one offers an update on what’s happening beyond these walls, and part of me prefers to live with the bliss of ignorance a little longer.

“Hi,” I say to Rook, once again taking the seat I’ve been occupying for a while.

“You sat with me,” he says.

“Well, I didn’t really have a choice. We’re under guard.” I pause. “But I also wanted to make sure you’re okay.” I don’t add that I would have stayed with him anyway, but I think he senses what I can’t put into words.

“General Sol,” he says. “Why is she here? Do you know what’s happening?”

“Your parents are talking to her, I think. But I don’t know what’s taking so long. No one is telling us anything.”

Rook huffs and winces before he touches his forehead, where the medics have applied a square of gauze and some surgical tape. “Well, I’m glad you could witness my humiliation at least,” he says. “I knew my punishment would be bad.”

“Rook, your dad . . . The way he hit you . . .”

He snorts a laugh. “If you’re thinking he took it easy on me, don’t. There’s no preferential treatment because I’m his son.”

He must catch the look on my face because he hurries to continue. “Poet, it’s not like . . . Fuck, I’m so sorry. I should have told you what to expect. But it’s not like your dad, okay? I promise. I love my father. He’s the best man I know, but we grew up in a brutal world with hard rules, and he’s done everything he can to give us the tools to protect ourselves.”

“I was just worried about you,” I say, my voice smaller than I’d like.

“I know. I’m touched that you care, but I swear to you this is fine. This is normal in our world. I am a soldier first. His son second.”

“Okay,” I whisper. “It was just hard watching you bleed out like that.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, reaching for me with another pained wince. “Fuck.”

I slip my hand into his and stare at our entwined fingers.

“Since we have time, we need to talk,” I say, my left knee bouncing. I can’t hold this question in any longer.

Rook offers me a quizzical look.