A Vow So Bold and Deadly (Cursebreakers, #3)(35)

“Nolla Verin said there are rumors of weapons that could be used against a magesmith.” I look up and find his eyes. “Against you.”

“She told me the same.” He gives me a level gaze. “If someone bears such a weapon, they are welcome to try.”

I shiver. Maybe that’s why I’m the target. I know how to defend myself—but not like Grey does. Not even like my sister does.

Now that he’s standing close, I sense a flicker of fatigue in his frame. I hadn’t noticed. I should have.

“You deserve to rest,” I say.

“So do you.” He sighs. “Fate always seems to conspire against us both.”

“Fate.” He believes in it, but I don’t. I reach out and catch his hand, winding our fingers together, tracing my thumb along the edge of his bracer where it sits against his wrist. “I don’t like the idea that these attacks might be predestined. That our entire attack on Emberfall might be predestined.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I often find comfort in the thought that fate has already drawn a path beyond what seems impossible.”

“This war seems impossible?” I don’t find that thought reassuring at all.

“Yes.” He pauses. “But so did the curse. Our journey here to Syhl Shallow. My escape from Ironrose.” Another pause. “My childhood.” He glances at me. “Your mother.”

I cling to his hand and look out the window again. He’s so warm beside me, and I’m suddenly very aware of his presence. I don’t think we’ve been alone in my chambers with the door closed since the night he crept past the guards to sneak in. Then as now, he was such a gentleman, bound by duty and honor. We shared sugared plums beneath the window, trading secrets and stealing kisses until my mother came bursting through the door.

The instant I think of kissing him, my cheeks burn, and I have to keep my gaze fixed on the window. His palm against mine feels too warm now, too intimate, but it would be more awkward to let go. He’s here to keep me safe, that’s all. I’m glad he’s trussed up in buckled leather while I’m draped in yards of belted fabric. Allies first. Anything more is a mere hope that we have to deny until we achieve peace.

But as I listen to the softness of his breathing beside me, the last thing I’m thinking about is peace, or war, or even the threats against my life. I cast my glance slightly sideways, until I catch a glimpse of his profile in the shadows, the curve of his lip, the angle of his jaw, the bare start of a beard that always seems to rob him of a bit of his severity.

Without warning, he turns to look at me, and my breath catches. I’m trapped in his gaze.

A knock sounds at the door, and I jump a mile.

“Be at ease.” Grey lifts my hand to kiss my fingertips, and sparks light all the way up my arm—but then he lets go. “This will be our dinner.”

He heads for the door, leaving me to melt into a puddle by the window.

Did fate have to send dinner right this moment? I want to ask.

But I don’t. I straighten my robes, steel my spine against the new burst of anxiety about servants entering my quarters, and remind myself of how to be a queen.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LIA MARA

I don’t expect to have an appetite, but once the platters are uncovered, I find that I’m ravenous. I was tense and fidgety at the thought of another servant entering my room, but Grey didn’t allow the young man to even cross the threshold. Instead, he ordered a guard to bring the tray in, and he stood between me and the guard while the food was placed on a side table.

Now we’re alone again, and the food is steaming between us. I’m afraid to touch anything.

Grey is studying me, and he says, “I can have a guard taste it.”

I’m being ridiculous. I have tasters in the kitchens, anyway.

But still.

“No, no,” I say after a moment. But I don’t touch the food.

Grey gives me an ironic glance, then swiftly slices a small piece of everything on his plate and tries it all.

I stare at him with wide eyes. He has magic that would keep him safe, surely, but—

“It’s fine.” He lifts his plate and gestures for us to switch. “Take mine.”

I feel sheepish, but I swap with him anyway. I imagine sitting here alone, staring at a platter, watching it get cold while I deliberate over whether someone would poison me. I’m so relieved that he stayed, that he’s here, that I nearly burst into tears over my food. I have to swipe dampness away from my eyes.

“Indeed,” says Grey. “Your chef’s roasted chicken often brings me to tears, too.”

His voice is so dry that it makes me giggle through my tears. “In a good way?”

He grimaces. “No. She may as well light it on fire.”

I laugh outright. “It’s far better than all that shellfish in Emberfall.” I make a face.

“Blasphemy.” He isn’t smiling, but his eyes are dancing, so I know he’s teasing. “Tycho and I used to race each other across Rillisk for the best steamed crabs in the city.”

“I wasn’t sure there was anything worse than shellfish until you mentioned running to get it.”

That startles a laugh out of him, and the sound lodges itself in my heart. He’s so reserved that smiles are earned, and true laughter is hard won. Every time it happens, I feel like I need to lock the sound away in a box to treasure for later.