“Are you possessed? Or is this another one of your games?” When my mouth parts, his grip tightens. “It is, isn’t it? This is one of your games,Lyra. Well, I’m not amused.”
As quickly as he grabbed me, he lets go. I straighten and rub my arm as he reaches for his knife and a new stick and resumes whittling.
“It is your turn now. Ask me a question,” he says.
I swallow and glance down at the ground.
“Askme a question,” he insists, his words fringed with frustration.
“I want to go back to my book.”
“AndIwant you to stay here.”
Anger grips my chest as I shift away from him, fold my arms across my body, and stare at the torches shimmering across the courtyard.
“Ask me a question, Lyra.”
“Why should I?”
He looks up, his eyes locking on mine again, his anger burning like a flame between us. A flame I’m sure he’d like to ignite. A flame I’m sure he can ignite.
Why didn’t I think about that before?
He probably has powerful fire magic, and he could burn down this entire courtyard if he wanted to. No, he could probably burn down this entire city.
I have heard about his family—how some of them have powerful crimson magic.
Does he?
I saw the flame on his chest when he removed his surcoat the other night, but it doesn’t tell me how strong his magic is.
It could be as simple as being able to use a rune with fire, or it could be strong enough to conjure a flame from nothing.
He stands, and I scramble to my feet next to him. The torches skim his taut features as he stares down at me for several breaths before turning heel and walking away. I follow him, trailing behind him as he stalks through the courtyard and into the palace.
Our footsteps echo across the marble as he leads me into his bedchamber. I hurry to the sofa and sit as he stands in the center of the room, his gaze caught on me.
“What are you keeping from me?” he asks, his tone surprisingly gentle.
Nerves tighten in my chest as I fiddle with a loose thread on my sleeve.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
He’s wrong. So very wrong.
“No, I can’t.”
“So, there is something going on.” He steps closer to me and sits next to me on the sofa. “Tell me.”
“I hit my head.” The lie sticks to the top of my mouth.
His brow lifts.
“Hard,” I add.
Torchlight glints in his eyes as he studies me for so long, I think of confessing everything. Maybe if I did, he’d stop looking at me so intensely.
“I know you’re lying, and I’m both angry and intrigued.”
