It was a moment of selfishness. If I had killed Grim ... it would plunge us back into war. It would mean all the death we suffered would have been for nothing.
How could I have gotten so close to ruining this peace? My brother would have suffered for it. My friends. Theentire island.
I knew all that, and still, I lost control. It was like my powers gave into my fury. Into emotion. I can’t trust myself not to make it happen again.
Enya’s brow is folded in thought. She paces my room. Finally, she looks up at me and says, “You need to go back.”
I’m pouring myself some of the tea they were enjoying while they waited for me to return, when I pause. Slowly, I look up at her. “What?”
Zed’s lips are pursed as he nods. “I agree. This is even more concerning than if he had lied.”
Unease starts to stir in my chest. If only they knew what had almost happened. If only I could move past the shame and tell them.
But I can’t. They’re already going through enough. I don’t want to give them yet another thing to worry about. I don’t want to be a burden.
I look over at Calder. He’s always the mediator in these situations. He’s avoiding looking at me.
“You too?” I demand.
His look is apologetic.
I growl as I sit back in my chair, tea forgotten. “I don’t want to spend another second in that monster’s presence.”
Calder lifts a shoulder. “But if they’re planning something ... we need to find out. We need to stop it.”
He’s right.
I’ve always thought of my flair as its own sort of curse.
Now, more than ever.
“He isn’t eating,” the guard tells me, as I walk into the prisons. “The prisoner. He’s refusing food.”
Like I give a shit, I think, then remember what the Nightshade’s death would mean.
“I was going to tell the king—”
My brother has more pressing matters to attend to than some Nightshade brat. “I’ll handle it,” I say.
My way ofhandling itis hurling the tray of food at him through the door I open then promptly lock, and saying, “Eat.”
I expect the Nightshade to growl, or threaten me, or ignore me. Instead, he lifts his head. Porridge coats his hair.
His voice is mocking. “Back so soon?”
My hands make fists as I fight the urge to set him aflame. “Unfortunately,” I say through my teeth.
He just stares at me, as if he’s trying to figure out why I’m here.
“Why haven’t you been eating?” I demand. Only then do I realize he can’t. Not by himself, anyway, what with the chains. Are the guards trying to spoon feed him? Of course he’s not eating.
He shrugs a shoulder. His voice remains derisive. “Not hungry.”
Lie. The first lie he’s told me. And it’s not even significant.
I glare at him. “I’ve been in these prisons. I know how hungry you are.”
This seems to interest him. He lifts his head higher, his hair falling back. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about the lumpy, gray gruel clinging to it. “The king’s son? Imprisoned? Do explain.”
