A gentle wind tugs at the hem of my surcoat as I follow Hector into the same tent that has been my prison for the last three nights. The one with the lumpy mattress and the pole staked into the ground.
My fingers curl and unfurl in a mad frenzy. “Curse the gods for aiding the Bloodstone. May they suffer for eternity!”
The ground trembles beneath me, and the torch flickers and dampens.
Hector whips around to face me as I keep mumbling those curses. “Stop it.”
I keep tightening and tightening my fist.
“Sol.” He grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “Stop.”
“No,” I cry out.
A crack of thunder booms, and a torrential rain pounds against our tent like furious waves on a ship’s prow.
Hector pulls me against him and speaks in a firm voice. “Stop, Sol. You are angering the gods. You cannot curse them.”
“No, curse you!” I push against the wall of his chest. “Curse you for doing this to me.”
He brings me even tighter until the heat of his body burns into me. “You cannot curse me.”
I shove him harder. He remains solid, unshakable.
Gently, he sinks his fingers into my hair, holding me, cradling me, calming the raging storm inside me. I gulp in a quick breath as the darkness recedes.
He guides me to the mattress and sits next to me until my breathing evens.
“Why can’t I curse you?” I ask when I can think clearly again.
“Because of our bond. You cannot use magic to harm me.”
The reality strikes at my chest, the truth behind his words.
So, that damn tattoo works.
“Can I hurt you?” Before he replies, I kick his left leg—not hard—just enough to get his attention.
A frown pulls at the edges of his mouth as he scoots a few inches away from me. “Why did you do that?”
“I wanted to make sure I can still hurt you, if necessary.”
His frown deepens as he folds his arms. “Are you prepared to hurt yourself?”
Frustration gnaws through me as I run my bound hands against my aching forehead. “What do you mean?”
“We sense when each other is in pain,” he says, his words full of a sincerity I want to crush.
“No.” Loose strands of hair whip into my face as I shake my head.
“Have you had trouble sleeping lately?”
Instead of answering him, I pin my eyes beyond his shoulders.
“I know you have because it’s affectingmyability to sleep.”
“Make it go away,” I say, my words low. “Please.”
If it all went away, then maybe I could think clearly again. I could plan my escape.
