The Defiant (The Valiant #2)(56)

Aeddan turned a flat stare on her—which she returned in kind—but that was the extent of his response, for which I was thankful. I’d resigned myself to the fact that he seemed determined to make himself “useful” on our quest and there was nothing that would dissuade him, short of one of us throwing him overboard. Maybe Elka had the right idea with her suggested wager. My dream of Aeddan’s duplicity, of him trying to convince Cai to lie . . . to make me leave . . . swam up from the depths of my mind, writhing like a sea serpent, and made me wonder, again, just exactly what Aeddan’s motives were. And whether or not I really could trust him.

Or Cai . . .

No. Aeddan was the only one I questioned. Even as I owed him my escape from Tartarus. I bit my tongue, frowning, and went to check my gear.

At Quint’s direction, Charon’s men anchored the galley in a northern curve of the bay and launched the ship’s single skiff over the side to ferry me and Cai and the others to shore. The little craft could only hold two at a time plus a rower, so it would take a while, and I was a seething ball of impatience. So much so, in fact, that my nerves must have frayed to the breaking point without my really realizing it. Because it was only moments after the skiff turned around and headed back out to where the ship was anchored, leaving me and Cai alone, when I turned to him.

“I . . .” My mind told me to stop. To let it go.

“Fallon?” he said. “What is it?”

“Did you . . . speak to Aeddan last night? On the ship while everyone else was asleep?”

I half expected him to laugh or deny it. Why would he speak to Aeddan? But he did neither, and the memory of the conversation clouded his clear hazel gaze. I closed my eyes as I felt my heart sink. It hadn’t been a dream. Not at least that part of it. And now there were only two possibilities. Two answers to fill in the terrible, silent space of Cai’s answer.

“It’s not what you think,” he said.

I shook my head and turned away.

“Fallon—”

“No.” I spun back around, anger burning in my cheeks. “Cai. I heard.”

“You heard what?”

“I heard what you said—or what you didn’t say!”

He gaped at me in confusion. “What—”

“You hesitated. When Aeddan told you to lie to me—to tell me that you didn’t love me—so that I’d leave. You didn’t tell him no.”

“That hesitation you heard,” Cai said sharply, “was me trying to figure out how best to explain the kind of girl you are to your tribesman without punching him in the face first. Fallon . . . if all you heard was that hesitation, then you didn’t hear the most important part.”

“And that was?”

“The part where I told Aeddan that he could go straight to a hell of his own choosing before I would agree to such a thing. Understand something, Fallon . . .” His expression was hurt. And more than hurt. Angry. “Something vital. I would sacrifice any chance I ever had at happiness with you if I thought that, in doing so, I would be making your life better or happier. And I’d do it with a smile on my face and a song in my breaking heart. But I will not lie to you. Ever. And telling you I don’t love you is the most flagrant lie that could ever pass my lips.”

I watched helplessly as the hurt in his gaze turned to disappointment. He shook his head sadly, and I was beginning to think I’d made a terrible mistake.

“I thought we had agreed to treat each other as equals,” Cai said quietly.

“Cai—”

“You really don’t trust me, do you, Fallon? When are you going to believe in me enough to accept the fact that I believe in you?”

“I do—”

“Back at the ludus you didn’t even tell me you were hurt.”

“What—” I sputtered. “I didn’t tell anyone!”

“You didn’t tell me.” There was a long pause. “Did you tell Aeddan?”

I couldn’t bring myself to answer him. Was he right? Did I actually trust Aeddan more than I trusted Cai? And what in all the worlds did that say about me? That I could confide weakness to the man who’d murdered my first love, but not the man I loved now? Was I that afraid of what Cai would do to my heart if I ever gave it to him fully? My silence spoke volumes, apparently.

“Right,” he said. There was a weary resignation in his voice. A dull, bruised ache.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle myself,” I said. “I just didn’t want you to lose trust in me. To think I wouldn’t be able to get us out of there—”

“But I do trust you. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Until I believe it myself.”

He laughed, a mirthless weary sound. “I don’t know that I have that much breath in my body, Fallon.”

“Trust goes both ways, Cai.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Kass, I wanted to say.

But the skiff had returned. And there was no more time for us to argue.

“This isn’t over,” Cai said before Antonia and Neferet stepped ashore.

I nodded and turned to the water, watching as the two of them waded through the knee-deep froth, holding each other’s hands for support. Over the next hour or so, the beach began to slowly fill up with gladiatrices, and there was no chance for us to finish our argument. In truth, I wished it had never started. The uneasy feeling that I was profoundly on the wrong side of it was like a thorn against my skin, and every time I looked over at Cai, I wanted to take his hands in mine and kiss away the angry words I’d flung at him.