Dragonbound(48)

His mouth turns down a little, hurt by that. “I’m sorry.”
“For not going away?”
“For what I said to you, the last time we . . .” He swallows. “I just can’t believe you’re back. I thought I was never going to see you again.”
“And?”
“And I . . . Is that chocolate on your mouth?”
“I stopped at the bakery on our way through town. I got those scones I like.” The ones he usually gets me for my birthday. I wipe the chocolate off with the back of my hand. “They were hot and buttery, and the chocolate was all melted. I hadn’t had them like that in years.”
He looks like I just kicked him. “I tried, Vee. You know I did.”
“Was there something you wanted? Besides gawking at the fact that I’m still alive?”
“That’s not fair. The last time I saw you, you were with a dragon. It just . . .”“Wasn’t like me?”
“I didn’t think you were coming back. You said you were going to rescue Celeste, but I thought maybe it was something else. That you and him . . .” He clears his throat. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re back, and I heard you cast the binding spell. That’s amazing.”
“Yeah, sure.” It is—I know it is—even if it doesn’t feel like the victory I thought it would be. “I mean, thanks.”
“I really am sorry. About all those things I said.”
I study his face, not sure if he means it. Or at least not sure if he means it enough.
“I know I was a jerk,” he says, “but I’m really glad you’re back. And if you need any help murdering that wedding dress . . .”
I almost smile at that, but I don’t want him to think I’m forgiving him, because I’m not. “I don’t need any help. I just want to be alone.”
“Oh. Right. Okay.” He hesitates, then starts to leave.
And I don’t know why, but the words just spill out of me. “Torrin, wait. It was like that. Between me and him.” I clench my fists, fighting back the bitter taste that’s filling my mouth, but it’s a losing battle. And as much as I don’t want him to see me cry right now, I also have to say this. “I love him. He’s a dragon, and I’m a St. George, and I know how wrong that sounds to you, but it doesn’t change anything, because I love him, more than anything, and I’m . . .” A sob interrupts me, choking off the words, and when I do manage to speak, my voice is high and squeaky. “I’m never going to see him again.”
Torrin takes a step toward me. He reaches out a hand, pausing before putting it on my shoulder, like he’s afraid to touch me. But when I don’t bite his head off for it and just cry harder, he puts his other arm around me, too, and says, “It’s okay, Vee.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“All right, no, it isn’t. But it’s going to be. Maybe not anytime soon, but someday. And I meant what I said. About being sorry. I really, really am.”
Celeste beams at me when I meet up with her and Father in his office. We’ve only been home for a couple of days, but they’re both “eager to talk to me about my future,” or at least that’s how Celeste put it when she told me about it.
Father actually gets up from behind his desk when I walk in, which is a first. He comes over to me, not quite looking as excited as Celeste, but still proud, I guess. It’s been so long since he looked at me with anything other than shame and disappointment that I’m not sure how to take it. This is what I’ve been waiting for, ever since Mother’s death, but it feels hollow and superficial. He knows I somehow infiltrated Elder clan and rescued Celeste after everyone else had given her up for dead, and that I cast the binding spell, but he doesn’t really know me. And I really doubt he’d be looking at me like that if he knew I’d shared Amelrik’s bed for weeks—even if we only actually slept together that last night—or that I was in love with him. 
“Great timing,” Celeste says. “I was just telling Father that we should start your paladin training right away.”
“We?”
Father smiles at me. It’s not exactly a warm smile—not like the kind he’d give Celeste—but it’s an improvement. “Celeste’s offered to train you herself.”
“You’re way behind everyone else your age, but with one-on-one lessons, I think you can catch up.”
“Thanks, but I don’t want to be a paladin.”
Celeste’s smile falters. “What? Of course you do.”
“I thought I did, but it turns out I don’t.”
Father scowls at me. That didn’t take long. “Your sister’s offering to take time out from her important work to teach you herself. You should treat that like the honor it is.”
“And by ‘important work,’ you mean hunting dragons?”
“Vee,” Celeste warns, shaking her head.
“I don’t want to do that, so I don’t see the point in training to be a paladin.”
They exchange a concerned look, one that tells me Celeste’s already told him about me “thinking” I’m in love with a dragon.
Father sighs and rubs his temples. “I was looking forward to having two paladin daughters, but there’s no shame in going straight to preserving the bloodline.”
Celeste still looks disappointed that she won’t be training me in all things paladin. “You’re sure about this, Vee? It won’t be like last time,” she adds, giving Father a scolding look—way too little, way too late, if you ask me. “We’ll find someone more suited to you this time. Right?”
Father nods, though he seems reluctant about it. “After all the trouble you caused, I can’t believe we’re back to this. But after everything you’ve been through, I can see why a quiet life might be more appealing, and . . .” He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for this. “Maybe I was too harsh with you before. You deserve some choice in the matter.”
“Wrong.” I glare at him. “I deserve all the choice in the matter. And just because I don’t want to use my magic to help you murder dragons doesn’t mean I’ll get married, either.”
Father throws his hands up and lets them fall to his sides. “Those are your options, Virginia. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“She doesn’t have to decide right now,” Celeste says. “You can think about it, Vee.”
But I shake my head. “I don’t need to think about it. I’m not getting married, and I’m not becoming a paladin.”
She gives me a worried look. “Then what are you going to do?”
I shrug. “I have no idea. But whatever it is, it’ll be my choice. And if you guys don’t like it, that’s just too bad.”
40
A PRETTY GOOD START
It takes a week for Father to plan our welcome-home celebration. I think by “our” he really means “Celeste’s,” but the refreshments table has both of our favorite foods, the banner stretched across the courtyard entrance has both our names, and, despite what I said about not getting married, there’s a noticeable number of eligible bachelors at this party, all of them around my age.I don’t know if inviting them was a hopeful gesture or a pushy one, but at least this time he didn’t tell me what to wear, and it’s not a silent auction for some cheap St. George stock. It’s not an auction at all.
But even if my father’s not trying to marry me off, and even though several guys here have actually tried to strike up a conversation with me, seemingly genuinely interested, it feels so much like the last party that I can’t help scanning the crowd, half expecting I’ll spot Amelrik.
“You shouldn’t be dancing with me,” Torrin whispers.
We’re dancing together because Celeste said I couldn’t just stand by the buffet all night, ignoring our guests. And Torrin’s technically one of our guests, even if he lives here at the barracks, so I think dancing with him counts, even if I know that’s not what Celeste was getting at.
I roll my eyes at him. “Not you, too. You should consider yourself lucky to get to dance with me.”
“There are a lot of other guys here.”
“That’s exactly my point.”
“I just mean—”
“I know what you mean,” I snap. “You think if I give someone here a chance that I’ll just forget about Amelrik.” It’s what Celeste and my father are hoping for.
“Not forget, just move on. I’m not saying you’re going to fall in love with anyone tonight, but you could at least try talking to some of them.”
“It’s only been a week.”
Torrin frowns and looks like he’s going to argue about that, even though it’s true, when some guy comes up to us and says, “Excuse me? You’re Virginia, right?”
He’s one of the guys my father invited, and if I’m being honest, he’s not exactly hard to look at, and he has a bright, slightly crooked smile.
“Can I have the next dance?”
Where was he two months ago? “I’m sorry,” I tell him, “but—”
“She’d love to,” Torrin says. “We’re just friends. No need to wait for the next dance—you can cut in.” He practically shoves me at this guy.