Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords #3)(38)

“I don’t know,” I reply in a hollow tone. His fingers rest beside mine, just touching the side of my hand. I hope Arla sees it.

“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. This is on your mother’s shoulders,” he continues.

He’s right. A part of me knows what he says is true. Even if I’d known what she was doing, any attempt to stop her would have resulted in my execution.

“And this Aunty Jain of yours had information on your father?” he asks.

“Not much,” I admit. “Only that he was a good singer. Landon said she often lost track of her thoughts. He thought she might have been badly tortured. Said there were scars on her hands.”

He inspects the hilt of his sword with disinterest. “Since you returned, I’ve been expecting you to check my archives daily.”

I laugh shortly. “With all that spare time?”

He concedes this with a chuckle, pushing off the wall.

I double-check to make sure the area is clear. The assembly always gives the king a wide berth, perhaps a remnant of his lengthy self-imposed isolation. “Jovan … I know you have trouble with my brother. But could he search the archives in my stead?” I ask. “He’ll have strict instructions.”

“It’s not that I dislike him, Olina. It’s that he glares at me every time I look at you,” he says. “Which is very often.” His tone is irritated amusement. A reluctant smile spreads across my face. Maybe it’s because he pointed it out before, but suddenly the sound of my name on his lips makes my stomach clench.

“You’re right.”

“Of course.” He says. “What about?”

“What?” I ask.

He gives me an odd look. “You said, ‘you’re right.’ I asked what about?”

I freeze. Veni, I said that aloud? I open my mouth to lie, but a grating giggle from Arla stops me. My mouth snaps shut. I know it’s petty. It should be beneath me. But I can’t see Jovan with her. Maybe not anyone. Not until I’m away from Glacium and not destined to return. He deserves a happy life, but I can’t bear to see it.

I take a deep breath, knowing I’m a horrible person for encouraging this.

“I like hearing you say my name too,” I say.

I nearly run to my seat at the throne table, placing both hands on my cheeks to cool them. What was I thinking? And more importantly, what was he thinking now? I hadn’t waited around to assess his reaction, or hear his reply. Why did I do that?

Olandon’s comments last night should have sharpened my resolve against Jovan. In effect, the opposite was true. All day, a part of me yearned for him. To lean on him for a while and share my troubles. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as guilt floods through me. No one told me these feelings would be so unshakeable and so permanent. No mother, or aunty, or friend, had ever shown me the force of such caring.

I don’t want what I feel for Jovan to stop. And I should.

*

I roll onto my other side again, then onto my back. This is ridiculous. Well, maybe not. I suppose a sleepless night is warranted considering I’ll be forever changing the course of my life tomorrow.

A knock sounds at my door. I reach for the veil, sitting up in bed as the door creaks open. Thugs don’t knock. Is it one of the guards?

“You awake?” Jovan asks, closing the door behind him.

“You knocked,” I gasp. “I knew you could knock!” Silence is my only answer. Why do I get the feeling he’s holding back his laughter?

“I thought you might still be up,” he says, sitting on the edge of my bed.

“What do the guards think when you come up here?” I ask. I shove the veil back under my pillow.

His huge shoulders shrug. “I get my watch to go down and give them orders to move.”

I shift back and lean against the plush, warm pillows. “You don’t worry they’ll talk?”

He doesn’t dignify me with an answer. I narrow my eyes as another thought occurs to me.

“You’re not here to check if I’ve run away, are you?”

He kicks off his boots and moves next to me, sitting in the same position against the wall. I hold my breath, heart accelerating at his closeness. I welcome the feeling of yearning rising inside of me.

“Would you believe me if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind?” He turns toward me in the darkness.

“No.”

He laughs. “One of the best qualities you possess is a desire to be your strongest self.”

It makes me traitorously happy to hear his words.

He bends one knee, resting one massive hand over the top. “When you came to realize running away was a potential weakness, you eliminated it. It was quite impressive to see. I wish my advisors could do it.”

We fall into a silence as I turn his comments over in my mind. Well, half of my mind does. The other half watches his hand lying palm up between us. Does he want me to hold it? What if he doesn’t and I put my hand there, and then he feels like he has to hold it?

“Is it gone then? My weakness?” I ask, frowning.

“Can the scars of your childhood ever truly be gone?” He clears his throat. “I know mine aren’t. Have you eliminated the running away, only to develop another way of coping? Or worse still, will you keep it inside until it changes you?” He swallows, and I barely breathe. Something inside me breaks. Not because he’s outlining my future. I know I’ll never be my mother. It breaks because he’s talking about himself.