Such an innocent. “Families do such things to each other.”
She stilled. “Your family?”
His stomach turned uneasily. “The winters are long at House El-Adrel,” he answered grimly, regretting the words the moment he spoke them. “But we’re not discussing me. Who—”
“Jadren,” she interrupted, “what happened to you?”
“More than your pretty head can tolerate,” he snapped. “And we. Are. Not. Discussing. Me.” He punctuated each word with ferocious certainty. “Are we clear?”
She nodded mutely, eyes wide.
“Better. Now tell me who defiled you so we can get back to work making a shelter before dawn makes it a moot point.”
The stubbornness in the set of her jaw and the flash of her eyes gave him her answer before she opened her mouth. “I’ll tell you mine when you tell me yours.”
Infuriating minx. “You can’t do anything about mine, little familiar,” he replied with silky menace, “whereas I will punish whoever did that to you.”
“What business is it of yours?” she retorted fiercely. “I never asked you to be my champion and I don’t need it.”
“You don’t know what you need,” he snapped back.
“Why?” she sneered. “Because I’m a familiar? A crazy girl? A half-feral swamp creature from a backwater house with no Convocation education?”
“Exactly.” He congratulated himself for flummoxing her with his calm retort. “At least you’re learning.”
“I hate you,” she muttered.
“As well you should, as I believe I explained earlier today. Look how much you’re learning! Now go play with your fire while I make our shelter.”
She gave him a long, disbelieving look. “I thought you needed my magic.”
“Believe me, I have more than enough of that at the moment. All I require of you is silence. A tall order, I know, but I have faith you’ll eventually learn to keep your mouth shut.”
She gaped at him a moment longer, her lip curled in disgust. Then she stalked back to her fire, pointedly without saying a word, her tiny bottom twitching eloquently. With that too-penetrating gaze no longer on him, Jadren allowed himself to feel a short moment of relief and longing. He couldn’t mire Seliah in his shitty life. And he was absolutely never speaking to her—or anyone, ever—about what had made him the half-man he was today. He’d just have to make sure she continued to loathe him. That way she’d forget her questions, or that she’d even cared to ask them.
It was better for both of them that way.
“I’m not getting in that coffin.” Seliah said, not for the first time, and Jadren chewed his lips with frustration.
“It’s not a coffin,” he repeated.
“It looks like a coffin,” she countered, “and I’m not getting in it.”
She would if he knocked her over the head and dragged her inside. Seliah glared at him as if he’d said the thought aloud. To think he’d been proud of himself, making a decently comfortable, wardable shelter, out of wire and a few twigs. “You don’t need to be able to stand up inside of it,” he wheedled. “It’s just so we can sleep safely.”
“You sleep in it. I’ll sleep outside.”
“I can’t ward you outside,” he ground out. What sins had he committed that he was trapped in this eternal circle of argument with this creature? Oh, right: plenty.
“What is with your pathological need to protect me?” she demanded.
“My pathological need to keep my head attached to my neck,” he fired back. “I’m not taking the risk that I’ll be facing a hale and hearty Gabriel Phel and having to explain I let his baby sister die or get dragged off by hunters. I don’t care if you’re miserable or if you hate me, as long as you’re alive and intact, I’m happy as a lark.”
She snorted. “The image of you actually happy is the most impossible thing imaginable.”
Fair. “Watch my face when I hand you over to your brother and walk away and you won’t have to strain your imagination. Now get in the box.”
“See? Even you call it a box.”
