Siege of Shadows (Effigies #2)(74)

“Maia,” he started, his voice strained as if the pressure of his words would break him, “about what Vasily said—”

“Before you say anything,” I said quickly, “listen to me first.”

The room was quiet. I let that moment of silence pass between us because I needed the time to steel my nerves, to decide whether or not I was going to ask the question that had been burning me from the inside since that night in France. “I don’t know how I feel about you,” I said instead. And it was true.

“Do you hate me?”

When Rhys suddenly asked, I looked up at him, shocked. “What?”

“I’m sure you’ve figured out that I’m not as . . . as entirely normal as I may have made myself seem when I met you.”

“I never thought you were normal.” When I noticed my lips had twisted into a wry grin, I hid it away guiltily. “And I . . . kind of like that. Not like I’m normal either.”

Rhys’s flicker of a sad grin told me he understood. “I’ve had a . . . weird life. Like you. It’s like I told you that night on the train: Sometimes the Sect can feel like this unstoppable force. Once you’re with them. All you have . . . all you are is because of them. Even when you’re desperate to be more.”

Desperate. I’d felt Natalya’s agony as she scratched at the barriers of my mind, trying fiercely to climb back inside my body. The agents and the Effigies alike: We were all chained to the same wall.

“I understand,” I offered, and that alone brought a tinge of wetness to his eyes. Someone understood him, even with the secrets he’d locked up inside himself so he could show the world his other face. Someone was willing to understand. I didn’t think two words could mean so much to him, but it wasn’t difficult to see why they did. We were both just kids, after all—kids struggling under the weight of impossible legacies.

“But you’re innocent. Maybe that’s why I . . .” He swallowed, lowering his eyes. “So if you don’t know how to feel about me, I’d never blame you for that. But please don’t hate me.” He’d kept his voice as calm as he could, but he couldn’t hide the anguish of his plea. “That’s all I ask. You don’t have to like me. You never have to fall for me either.”

There was a strange twinge in his voice as he whispered it. I could see his eyes reddening, his lips curling into each other, trying to hold in whatever emotions threatened to spill out. I fidgeted. Rhys’s grip held me in place, but I didn’t try that hard to pull it away in the first place. Maybe I liked his touch a little too much.

“No matter what happens . . . please never hate me. Promise me you’ll never hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I whispered, and, pulling my wrist out of his grip, I pushed him gently against Blackwell’s desk, cupped his face, and kissed him.

I hadn’t actually kissed anyone before. Even before my family died and left me an orphan, I was a shut-in, preferring the sanctity of my laptop over other people. It scared me to feel his arms rough around my waist, but this kiss had been boiling up inside me for too long. Natalya could watch and seethe for all I cared as Rhys deepened the kiss. I needed to make things clear in my own mind.

It didn’t.

I mean, it was wonderful. The warmth of his lips spread down the length of me from the inside, quickening my pulse, tightening my whole body, but it didn’t give me clarity. It only made it that much harder to get. I pulled away from him, turning away quickly while I tried to calm the rise and fall of my chest.

“Maia . . . ,” he whispered.

I had to be honest. I had to confront him. . . .

But I couldn’t.

“I’m a coward,” I said. To him. To myself. Or maybe to Natalya. “I’m seriously messed up. I really am.” If it weren’t for the neck-band, I was sure I’d be able to hear her yelling at me, furious. Or laughing. “I keep saying I want to know, but the truth is . . .”

The truth was I didn’t. I didn’t want to know. Because I liked him. I hated myself for it. I angled my body away from Rhys, my hand finding the table.

“I don’t like how I feel around you.” Shame crawled up my bones as I thought of Belle night after night on the terrace of our dorm, staring at her blank canvas with lost eyes. The first time I ever saw her there, she’d told me that none of us were heroes. Wouldn’t she have thought differently if Natalya were still alive? It was Natalya’s death that had broken her. “I don’t understand what this is,” I said. “I don’t like that it’s happening. I’m not here and I’m not there. I feel like I’m everywhere at once. You’re wrong: I’m not innocent, Rhys. I’m totally messed up.”

I looked at his large hand trembling at his side and thought back to all those painful days I spent buckling under the weight of a destiny I never asked for. Thrown into the chaos of a battle I didn’t know how to fight. No uncle, no home.

“But you were always there.” I gazed up at him. “Even when you didn’t have to be. You were there for me.”

And if I knew the truth, and it was what I feared, then he wouldn’t be anymore.

“Maia . . .”

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted with a helpless shrug. “I’m scared to do anything. I’m scared of what could happen. What . . . what should I do, Rhys?”