I shake my head and turn away, facing the window.
As I gaze outside, my mind wanders from my worries to the beauty of nature. Mother taught me that. To enjoy what is around me, to appreciate the sun.
Today, it paints the sky a vibrant orange and pink. I smile as I think of how ardently Asha strived to sketch a sunrise that speaks without any words. That sings without any music. That flies without any wings.
Grandfather and Jerrod want to take that beauty away, to carve it with steel and arrows.
I take a deep breath and turn back to Jasce, who still stands there, watching me. “When does it end?” I ask, longing to know what he thinks about the tension between our houses.
“It ends when people like Hakan stop trying to take what doesn’t belong to them,” Jasce says plainly.
“But the chieftainship belongs to House of Silver.”
Anger sparks in Jasce’s eyes. “It hasn’t belonged to House of Silver for a century.”
“Is that your stance?” I ask, my heart cold, frozen at the bitterness behind his words.
“You cannot change what is already written in the sands. House of Crimson will continue to rule.” His words are so final, so typical of people from House of Crimson.
“And you’ll be chieftain one day,” I say, doubting Grandfather will ever win against House of Crimson. They’re too strong, their armies too large. “Will you be fair?”
Jasce doesn’t answer.
“Do you agree with your father’s decision to attack villages and kill everyone? Even the women and children?” My heart longs to truly understand Jasce, to see his truths as vividly as a vibrant sunrise.
But he gives me nothing. No hints. No secrets. No mantel to hang my hopes on.
I shake my head. “I should have known.”
“Known what?”
“That you are merely an extension of him.” Maybe if I goad him, he will argue and tell me I’m wrong.
“You didn’t seem to have an aversion to Jerrod when you talked to him on our wedding day.” Jasce runs his hand against his jaw. “You talked to him more than you spoke to me that night.”
An icy shiver slips down the length of my back as I think about being close enough to speak to Jerrod.
Determined to try again to reach Jace, to believe he can be different than his father and my grandfather, I step closer and touch his arm—strangely needing the connection. “Don’t go. Don’t fight Hakan. Find a way to make peace,” I say, even while knowing that he must go and protect his people against an attack and that Hakan is no more likely to work toward peace than Jerrod would be.
Jasce shifts enough to meet my eyes, but he doesn’t pull away from me. “Hakan will never make peace.”
“But wouldyou?”
His arm flexes beneath my hand. “Stay here until the battle starts. Once it does, I want you to go with the rest of the women to the lower parts of the palace. You’ll be safe there.”
I don’t want to part, being at odds with him, but I am at a loss for what to say to a man before he goes to war, so I simply offer an observation. “I feel the tension inside you, the tightness, the string ready to break.”
“If I’m ready to break, it’s because you keep pushing me away.” He steps closer to me, brushing his body against my smaller frame. “I need to fuck you.”
My conversation with Zerah echoes in my ears. Everything she said. Especially what she said about Jasce liking me more, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m only a shadow of my real self.
“I’m not what you want,” I choke out.
He brings me against the wall until the cold stone bites into my back. “How do you know you’re not what I want?”
“I…”
He runs his knuckles down my neck, stroking my skin, inflaming the ember burning in my chest. “Do you want to know why I know we’ll win this battle against Hakan?”
