“Ogling my body, Hearteater?” I say, almost desperate to taste her flash of embarrassment.
I do, and it pleases me in a strange way. It’s like I can feel her blush, her skin burning, beneath my lips. I have the strange, disgusting urge to turn around and run my mouth across her heated skin.
I remain very still.
“Only in your dreams,” she bites out.
All of them, I think.You’re in all of them.
Instead, I say, “Is there a question?”
“Yes. It’s been hundreds of years since war. You can portal anywhere with half a thought. Why keep up with your ... fitness regimens? Why ... when you have so much ability?”
I tell her the truth. Something she must know. Something I want her to understand, for she is not powerless. I don’t know the extent of that power, but I know it is hidden, just waiting to surface.
“I have never relied solely on my powers. A person’s mettle is determined by who they are beneath them.”
I turn to look at her. I need her to hear me. “And only a fool waits to prepare for a war until one is declared.”
She’s silent after that, and I am both grateful and disappointed.
When we wash ashore, I turn to her.
There’s something in her eyes. Something in her feelings. She’s not as afraid as she should be. She’s a relatively inexperienced ruler, walking into a den of the most dangerous thieves on Nightshade. She should beterrified. Does she think I will protect her?
“I won’t save you,” I tell her. “If it’s you or the sword, it will not be a difficult decision. I will find a way to get it without you.”
I mean it.
Ineedto mean it.
“I am aware,” she tells me through her teeth.
“Good.”
I find myself hoping it won’t come to that, knowing that it will.
I lied.
I hear a smashing of glass, andgods help me, even though I told her I wouldn’t save her, I portal downstairs in an instant, only to find her standing outside, covered in ash.
Pride fills me. Killing a Nightshade by smashing through a window is ingenious.
Then, she folds over and retches.
I sigh.
We’re not done. More blood is spilled. And, at the end of it, when everyone is dead, she does not celebrate.
No. She’scrying. The man she killed—and the one I killed after—was filth, the worst of men who sell much more than rare objects, yet he has made hercry. I feel those tears like blades cutting down my insides. All of her feelings are like weapons. They pierce far deeper than anyone else’s have. They dig into my skin, just like the punishments I used to be given. It is, I think, another form of torture.
Because ... because Icare. I care that she’s crying, even though that man doesn’t deserve her tears.
I portal her back to her room.Of course I’ll stay, I think. I’ll wait until those tears are gone. How long does it usually take? Last time, she fell asleep. That was the only thing that got them to stop.
Her eyes are closed. If I wiped the tears away, would they stop completely? Would she produce more?
My hand reaches out, and I stop myself.
