Followed by Fros(43)

He hit me.

I fell backwards, banging my head on the end of the red chair. The room swirled. My cheek stung; my blood pulsed through the bone. I touched it and stared at where Sadriel had been, now just empty space. No one had ever struck me before. Not my father, not my teachers. Not even Mordan.

Sitting upright, I spied Death’s boots on my other side, near my bed.

“You are a senseless woman,” he growled.

Standing, I pulled my hand from my cheek and said, “Get out.”

He laughed.

I pointed to the door, though he hardly needed to use it. “Get out!” I shouted, my voice echoing between walls. “What do you want with me, Sadriel? Amusement? Sex? Not love, never love. You are Death; you don’t have a heart! But I do!” I pounded my uninjured fist into my chest, tears welling in the corners of my eyes. “It’s cold and cursed, but I still have a heart! How many times must I say it before you hear me? I. Will. Never. Go. With. You!”

It happened so quickly. One moment I was screaming at him and the next my back crashed against the cavern wall beside my bookshelf. Sadriel’s pale hand wrapped around my throat, just as Mordan’s had that day in the willow-wacks. Books tumbled to the floor at my feet.

The brim of his hat brushed my forehead.

The front door burst open, snapping its lock.

“Smeesa?”

Sadriel vanished.

I stood there, back against the wall, my chest heaving with every quickened breath. Blue dawn light flooded the cavern, along with icy winds and light flurries of snow.

I touched my neck. Heavy gooseflesh covered my skin.

The sound of footsteps drew my attention back to the present. Lo hurried to me, his eyes searching every shadow in the cavern.

I swallowed and blurted out the first coherent thought that came to mind. “What are you doing here?”

I asked in Northlander, and he replied the same, though not to answer my question. “I heard shouting. Who was here?”

His hand clutched the hilt of a dagger still sheathed on his belt, a knife long enough to pass clean through a man. He passed me and examined every cranny and corner where a person could possibly hide. The cavern had only one entrance, so his confusion was palpable when he found nothing. My mind scrambled to recall what language I had used with Sadriel. Angrean or Northlander? What had Lo heard, and what had he understood?

“Who?” he asked, brows knitted tightly together.

I swallowed ice down my throat and shook my head. “No one.” A deep breath. “No one.”

He glanced at me, his eyes falling to my cheek. “No one did that?” he asked almost darkly, gesturing with his chin.

“I tripped over the carpet and fell,” I said. “Onto the red chair.”

“Smeesa—”

“Please, don’t . . . ,” I started, trying to regain my wits, pulling my hair forward to mask any marks that might appear on my neck. “I can’t explain. Please, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

I wanted to run to him, to cry, to thank him and God in heaven that he had come when he did, for the thought of what Sadriel might have done scared—no, terrified—me. I had known Sadriel for years, but there was no understanding him. He was an ever-changing being, unpredictable. I had always been wary of him, but I hadn’t feared him since our first meeting. I couldn’t bear to think of him, not then. Oh, what a beautiful sight Lo was to me at that moment.

He stared at me, suspicion dripping from him. I started to repeat myself, but he shook his head and returned to the door. I thought he would leave, but he only shut it and fiddled with the lock until he had it working again. He did not apologize—not for breaking the lock, the dent in the door’s wood, or for barging in at the earliest hours of morning. He merely walked to the table and pulled a bag off his belt. Though it resembled a coin pouch, the sound it made when it hit the stone tabletop was more like the rattling of dried beans.

The tension in the air made it hard to breathe.

“What is that?” I asked, trying as hard as I could to relax, to sound casual.

Lo’s eyes surveyed the room once more before he said, “Coffee. It is meant to be brewed hot—perhaps it will be more comfortable to drink.”

How I wanted to cry.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He nodded to me—mashadah still wrapped around his head—and headed for the door.

“Wait!” I called, sure I flushed somewhere beneath the layers of cold that embraced me.

He paused.

“Could you . . . stay, for a while?” I asked, embarrassment dripping down my spine like ice water. My heart still pounded from my encounter with Sadriel, and I didn’t want to be left alone, so soon. “A-Aamina will be here, today, but . . . I know you’re busy . . . and thank you, for the coffee—”

“Who was here?” he asked.

Words jumbled in my throat. “You wouldn’t . . . believe me, if I told you.”

“Try.”

But I just shook my head and looked at the floor.

I felt the intensity of his gaze on me, then heard him sigh, a long escape of breath. When I finally glanced up to look at him, he seemed to be deep in thought. He rubbed his chin—he had begun growing in his half beard again, I noticed. I shivered.

He walked toward me until we stood no more than a pace apart. “You are sure you’re all right?” he asked, stooping to see my face better. He focused on my bruise.