Another thought occurred to him. “Have you developed a cure?”
Octavius would have insisted. Still, hope felt like a snowflake in his palm. It would melt and disappear forever.
“Yes.” She tilted her head. “Well, we believe so. It’s never been tested, but I’ll have it distributed immediately.”
“Good.” He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. “That’s good.”
If he was right. If Frances had not changed the poison’s contents. If the cure worked. If…
He was tired. He felt like a piece of wood whittled away to nothing. He had been carved inside and out, hollowed and thinned. The next cut would destroy him.
"I miss you."
Her gentle voice came from too close.
His eyes snapped open, and cold fear trickled down his spine. She was kneeling barely inches away beside him. The slightest motion, and he could touch her. He should scream, yell, shout – anything to call the guards' attention.
She should have left to see to the cure. She was supposed to be out of this room and safe. Scenarios ran through his head, of flipping her over the window’s edge, of wrapping his fingers around her neck and squeezing, twisting, snapping–
Her hand moved slowly. She was holding a comb. He closed his eyes again. He could pretend she wasn't close enough for him to touch, to hurt.
Her gentle brushing tingled his spine at first. Then he found himself relaxing. It was the most soothing feeling. Like she wasuntangling the knots beneath his skin despite barely touching him.
He groaned, “Anais.”
“Shh." She sighed. “You told me in the dungeons that you dreamt of killing me. Do you want to know what I dream of?”
Yes. Say anything you want. I need to hear your voice.
No. You shouldn’t be here.
He nodded.
“War, death, fire, screams, blood. And sometimes you. The first time they took you, I dreamt of waking with you beside me, and everything so perfect. When I actually woke, reality physically hurt. I hated it, all of it.”
“I dreamt of roses,” he whispered, suddenly remembering.
She set the brush down, stroked his hair with her claws. Her other hand fell to his shoulder.
He leaned into her without thought. “When my mind was… gone. I dreamt of blood and roses, I screamed and fought. I dreamt of an impenetrable stone cage, and I tried to get out every night. I could hear your voice sometimes, calling my name.”
Her hands slowly slid over his chest, leaning him against her. He brushed his fingers over her skin. Soft.
A wet droplet fell onto her arm. She inhaled sharply.
“I miss you.” Her voice was barely a whisper in his ear.
He touched her again, let his fingers rest just lightly on her skin. Basked in her warmth, her presence, her scent.
She didn't say anything more. She didn't move except that her breathing calmed.
This – being held so gently – he could handle. It felt good, actually. He hadn't realized how much he needed her touch.
His fingers slowly stroked her arm. "There will be nothing left of me if I hurt you again. Nothing to put back together. Anais…"
"You won't hurt me. I won't let you." Her arms tightened, her claws applying a hint of pressure.
“So youletme poison you? And a year from now, when you’ve relaxed your guard, you’ll let me slip a dagger into bed with you, and–”
