Before She Ignites (Fallen Isles Trilogy #1)(73)

Ahead, Crystal had just caught a rabbit, and Ilina was rewarding her with a treat—in trade for the dragon giving up the rabbit. Sometimes this worked. Other times, they realized this wasn’t a fair trade and set their kills on fire instead.

“It makes sense, right?” I kept my smile bright, even as the number of my steps ticked away in the back of my head.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” His lowered his voice. “Why would we get married?”

“When we’re older,” I clarified.

“But why?”

I couldn’t believe I had to explain this. “I have two best friends. You and Ilina. When it comes to potential marriage partners, I’m reasonably certain I like boys, and you’re my favorite boy.” Plus, he’d saved my life when I was seven, and he always carried LaLa’s kills for me. If that didn’t qualify him to be a great husband, I couldn’t imagine what would. (At twelve, I hadn’t considered that being in love with someone might also factor into my decision.)

He scanned the ruins for danger that was never there. “Why are you thinking about this now?”

“Mother received five inquiries regarding my matrimonial future.” Just thinking about it made my chest tight with worry.

“Any she’s taking seriously?”

“I don’t want to risk finding out.”

Hristo scratched his chin. “Why do you think she’ll marry you off if you don’t get there first? Everyone on Damina gets to choose. This isn’t Idris.”

Because I never chose anything. Not my clothes, my hair, my food. Nothing small. Nothing big. Nothing important. Everyone on Damina got to choose—except for me.

“Besides,” Hristo went on, “I’m a servant. What would the Luminary Council say if you married a Hartan boy?”

“We’re past that now. The Mira Treaty—”

“Harta may be independent. The treaty might say we’re equal. But that doesn’t make it true.” He stopped walking and gazed down at me, almost sadly. “You’re better than me. Your mother says so all the time.”

“She says I’m better than everyone, but she can’t mean it. I’m not smart. I don’t rescue people. I don’t do anything but dress up and stand where she tells me. That doesn’t make me better.”

“Your status makes you better.” His jaw clenched. “Your upbringing. Your ancestors. The place where you were born. Your parents. The treaty named after you. The title of Hopebearer. All of that makes you better.”

But none of it was anything I’d done. I didn’t understand. Which just made me feel more stupid and unworthy.

“I’ll protect you,” he said. “I’ll be your friend. But I won’t marry you. Ever.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE




HRISTO WAS HERE IN BOPHA.

My heart swelled as I recalled the way he’d glanced at me, like warning, like assurance, like—

Like my protector was finally here, and everything was going to be all right. Oh, Damina, I couldn’t wait to see him again. Even the smallest glimpse would be enough to sustain me for a month.

I leaned against the door, basking in the knowledge that Hristo had been right here. And deeper in the room—likely checking under the tall bed, inside the mahogany wardrobe, behind the floor-length curtains made of brocade silk. The room was the colors of the moons, white with gold highlights, and definitely expensive.

Twelve noorestones stood in gilt sconces on the walls (three on each wall), all with black velvet covers draped along the backs.

So this would not be like the Pit, where noorestones were silenced by some mysterious Idrisi. Here, I was the master of light. I could cover the stones or not. I could cover all but one.

The relief drained out of me when I saw the sheet of paper resting on one of the embroidered pillows.

The speech.

The opportunity to leave the Pit forever, abandoning Aaru, Gerel, Chenda, Tirta, and the rest of them.

The way people had named me Dragonhearted for my betrayal of Lex.

Curiosity drew my eyes toward the page again, but I couldn’t go to it yet. I needed to steady my thoughts.

A lidded tray sat on a three-legged table made of carved mahogany wood. I pushed myself off the door and took five paces toward it. Under the silver dome, I found a huge, hot meal. Slices of roast boar, with onions and garlic and honey tucked over and around them. Steamed carrots. Tiny potatoes. Set away from the hot food, there was a small bowl of chocolate-dipped strawberries, a pitcher of chilled water, and a glass of red wine.

I hadn’t seen so much food since I was arrested. This would be a feast for the first level. Aaru would—

My chest tightened and I started to count the noorestones again, but shifted to the wooden panels on the wall instead; for all the light they gave, there was a dark side to noorestones that I could never forget.

Numb, I sat at the table and ate. I forced myself to chew slowly, twenty times for every mouthful.

Only when I finished eating did I take the sheet of paper from my pillow.

This part used to be so comforting. It had always seemed that my speechwriter—a brilliant woman named Kahina—never struggled to find the right words. She’d kept me from vomiting whatever inane thought passed through my head. She’d saved me from humiliating social gaffes.