What a ridiculous thought. Why?
“Your curse,” she says. She points at the moon, and then me, as if I could have possibly missed it. “You can’t—”
Ah. “Go outside at night?”
She nods vigorously.
Has she ever seen one of my kind die from the curse? Does she not know I would have been a pile of ash at her feet before she was able to get a single word out?
No. She’s been locked away in that room. The only times she’s been to my lands with her device are the times she’s met me.
“That won’t be a problem,” I say simply, before turning around.
I feel her concern being smothered by a flare of annoyance and curiosity. “Evenyouare not powerful enough to escape the curses.”
I sigh. She’s stubborn, like me. She isn’t going to drop this, even though I wish she would. She clearly knows nothing about her heritage. About her father. I do not want to rub it in her face, I do not want to lie to her unless I have to, but this, I admit, deserves an explanation. “No. But someone else was, and they made me this.” I show her the charm beneath my shirt. A simple piece of metal tied to unbreakable string.
Her confusion only grows. I only grow more irritated. Why tell her anything at all? I don’t owe her anything. I don’t even need tospeakto her.
I know only one proven way to stop her questions, and it is to make her angry.
“While I am flattered by your concern for my well-being,” I say, in a tone I am sure she hates, “focus on finding the sword. Not me.”
That does it. She goes silent, and I feel her anger boiling around us.
Good. Better she be angry at me thanconcernedabout me. I almost laugh at the absurdity. Her having any care at all for her enemy.
Because no matter how many times I visit her at night, we are still enemies. She stabbed me in my chest. I deceived her into agreeing to a plan that will almost surely lead to her death.
A sliver of regret spikes through my stomach, and I close the bars around my emotions, smothering it.
I can’t use my power in case the sword is with the thieves, so I lead us toward a boat with paddles. She tries to grab one—becauseof course she does—and I snatch it out of her hand. She’ll only slow us down.
Around her, my body is a coil of tension. She unnerves me. If I can’t work it out in other ways, I will do it here, with these paddles, on the sea.
I begin paddling, focusing on the strain of my muscles instead of her, behind me. It almost works, until I can feel something from her that I would never expect out here in the middle of the ocean, in the dead of night.
Fear, maybe. Curiosity. Apprehension.
Not a wave of desire.
She’s watching me. I can almost feel her gaze like I can her emotions.
For the first time in my life, I am not content with my powers. Reading feelings isn’t enough. I wish I could read minds. I wish I could know exactly what is going on in her head. I wish I had the courage or the right to ask.
“It’s surprising,” she finally says, putting me out of my misery.
And that’s all.
Nothing else. I almost ignore her. I almost pretend I didn’t hear her. But curiosity wins, minutes later, when I finally bite out, “What, pray tell, is so surprising?”
“Your flair is portaling. You can go anywhere without lifting a finger. Yet ... you climb quickly. You can paddle well. You are ... muscled.”
I was right. Shewasstudying me.
Could she possibly find me as interesting as I find her?
Of course, I think. Of course she would notice the same thing I noticed about her. She has never relied on powers. Has she wanted them? Is she shocked to see that I have not relied solely on my abilities as well?
