Reign of Shadows (Reign of Shadows, #1)(16)

“But not you. You left,” I said.

“It’s enough for most,” he repeated.

Silence stretched and I wondered at his words and what was enough for him. Allu?

Perla rose and dished up more soup. “I’ll bring a bowl for the girl and check on the boy.” She hesitated before moving off. I knew she wondered at the wisdom of leaving us alone together. She didn’t want me to grow attached to him. It was probably the memory of me holding that knife to his throat that satisfied her.

I listened to Perla’s departing tread before shaking my head and returning to the task of cleaning up the dishes, trying my best to ignore him.

“Afraid to be left alone with me? I have my clothes on this time.”

“Should your naked form frighten me? I can’t see you, remember? So I needn’t be repulsed.”

He laughed at that, and I stopped, quite undone by the low, smoky sound. It rippled over my skin like the stroke of fine ribbon. His laughter stopped abruptly, almost as though it startled him as much as me. When he spoke again, his voice held no hint of that laughter. “Rest easy, I’ve not sent many females running away screaming before.”

From what I’d felt of him, he was well formed, but I couldn’t resist needling him. He was too confident and I wanted nothing more than to knock him from his perch.

“Oh. You’re in the frequent habit of prancing about naked, are you?”

“Not frequent, no.”

But I wasn’t the first. I waited to see if he would elaborate on that, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear with suddenly fidgety hands. I wanted to hear more about him. I wanted him to talk about his life. I wanted to know about where he came from, what he’d seen, the people, including the girls who had or had not seen him naked.

I gulped a breath, pressing the back of one hand to my flushed cheek.

I wanted more of the strange flutterings inside me when his deep voice addressed me as though we weren’t strangers. I liked that familiarity. I wanted more of it. I shook my head, harder this time. I needed to remember he would be leaving tomorrow, and I did not intend to be left reeling in the sudden quiet of his absence.

His voice broke through the unquiet of my mind. “Why are you so angry?”

“I’m not.”

“You are. Is it because I figured out you’re blind?”

If it were only that. I hefted the tub of dirty water.

He rose, his chair scraping back on the stone. The air stirred as he stretched a hand toward me. “Let me help—”

I stepped back quickly. “I can do this. I’ve been doing it for years.” And I’d be doing it after he left.

Turning, I walked across the room, presenting him with my back, unwilling to reveal to him the confusing tumult of emotions twisting inside me.

Fear. Want. An ache for something more that went bone deep. I wanted. I needed. I had felt a fraction of this yearning when I sat beside my window, hugging my knees to my chest as I breathed in the outside world, thinking that maybe someday I would find a life beyond the tower. Only a fraction though. Because before him my need was amorphous. It had no distraction. No face. Unlike now. With a grunt, I hauled the wooden bucket up to the stone edge of the window. These feelings had become more intense, more pressing since he arrived here, and when he left, he would not be taking them with him. The feelings would stay long after he departed. They would be with me always.





EIGHT


Fowler


I PUSHED THROUGH the other prisoners to stare out between the bars, gripping the cold steel until my knuckles went white. None dared stop me. Perhaps they read something of the desperation in my face—or they were too weak, too broken from years of imprisonment to care.

The outer gate closed shut with a vibrating clang, and I spotted her in the fading purple of night. She passed over the drawbridge for the first time in her life. A deep throb pumped through my chest as I realized it would be the last time.

I had envisioned her crossing it with me. That had been the plan. Eventually. We’d talked of it countless times. But now it was too late.

Today she would die.

Sitting in the back of the rattling cart, her knees tucked close to her chest, she looked so small. So defenseless. Her head turned, scanning the battlements, and I knew the truth deep in my bones. She searched for me and I wasn’t there. Did she think I betrayed her? That was salt in the wound.

Torches flickered, illuminating the numerous faces, all pale smudges with coal-dark eyes looking down at her. Her mother was there among the spectators. Her little brother, too. As stoic and silent as everyone else. As helpless as I was to save her.

I wasn’t there. I was stuck in here, failing her.

The wagon rolled to a stop and the guards hopped down. They reached up and helped her descend. With cold efficiency, they led her to the waiting pole. Even across the distance, I could see the rusty stains of blood soaked into the wood. The deep gashes and rips embedded in thick oak. Those details told the story of what was to come.

I flexed my hands around the bars, palms slick with sweat.

She didn’t resist as they backed her to the pole. The solid length hit her square along the spine. I wanted her to fight, to run, even though if she broke free there was nowhere to go. An intense gray fog hugged low to the ground. The flat expanse of land that surrounded the walls of the keep was long eradicated of trees. In the far distance, the land gave way to shrubs and then trees so thick and dense it was impossible to determine what lurked within. She peered in that direction, gazing into the fleeting glow of midlight.