An Ember in the Ashes (Ember Quartet #1)(75)

“I have a plan. That’s all that any of you need to know.” Mazen nods at Keenan, who touches my arm and makes for the door of the tent, indicating I should follow.

For the first time since the raid, I feel light, as if just maybe I’ll be able to accomplish what I set out to do. Outside the tent, the fire-thrower is midshow, and I spot Izzi in the crowd, clapping as the flame lights the night. I am almost giddy with hope until I see Keenan watching the dancers whirl, his brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Will you, uh . . . ” He runs a hand through his hair, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so agitated. “Will you honor me with a dance?”

I’m not sure what I am expecting him to say, but it isn’t that. I manage a nod, and then he’s leading me to one of the dance stages. Across the stage, the tall Tribal boy from earlier is dancing with a dainty Tribeswoman who has a smile like lightning.

The fiddlers begin a swift, tempestuous tune, and Keenan takes my hip in one hand and my fingers in the other. At his touch, my skin comes alive as if warmed by the sun.

He’s a little stiff, but he knows the steps well enough. “You’re not bad at this,” I say to him. Nan taught me all the old dances. I wonder who taught Keenan.

“That shocks you?”

I shrug. “You don’t strike me as the dancing type.”

“I’m not. Usually.” His dark gaze roams over me, as if he’s trying to puzzle something out. “I thought you’d be dead within a week, you know. You surprised me.” He finds my eyes. “I’m not used to being surprised.”

The warmth of his body envelops me like a cocoon. I feel suddenly, deliciously breathless. But then he breaks eye contact, his fine features cold. The prickle of rejection tingles unpleasantly across my skin even as we continue to dance.

He’s your handler, Laia. That’s all. “If it makes you feel any better, I thought I’d be dead within a week too.” I smile, and he gives me a quirk of his mouth in return. He holds happiness at bay, I realize. He doesn’t trust it. “Do you still think I’m going to fail?” I ask.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He glances down at me and then quickly away. “But I didn’t want to risk the men. Or—or you.” He mutters these words, and I lift my eyebrows in disbelief.

“Me?” I say. “You threatened to shove me into a crypt five seconds after meeting me.”

Keenan’s neck reddens, and he’s still refusing to look at me. “I’m sorry about that. I was a . . . a . . . ”

“Jackass?” I offer helpfully.

He smiles in full this time, dazzling and all too brief. When he nods, it’s almost shy, but moments later, he’s serious again.

“When I said you would fail, I was trying to scare you. I didn’t want you to go to Blackcliff.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew your father. No—that’s not right.” He shakes his head. “Because I owe your father.”

I stop mid-dance, only picking up again when someone jostles us.

Keenan takes that as his cue to continue. “He picked me up off the streets when I was six. It was winter, and I was begging. Not very successfully, either. I was probably a few hours from dead. Your father brought me to camp, clothed me, fed me. He gave me a bed. A family. I’ll never forget his face, or how he sounded when he asked me to come with him. Like I was doing him a favor instead of the other way around.”

I smile. That was my father, all right.

“The first time I saw your face in the light, you looked familiar. I couldn’t place you, but I—I knew you. When you told us . . . ” He shrugs.

“I don’t agree with the old-timers about much,” he says, “but I do agree that it’s wrong to leave your brother in prison when we can help him—especially since it’s our men who put him there, and especially since your parents did more for most of us than we can ever repay them for. But sending you to Blackcliff . . . ” He scowls. “That’s poor repayment to your father. I know why Mazen did it. He needed to make both factions happy, and giving you a mission was the best way. But I still don’t think it’s right.”

Now I’m the one flushing, because this is the most he’s ever spoken to me, and there’s a vehemence in his face that’s almost too much.

“I’m doing my best to survive,” I say lightly. “Lest you waste away with guilt.”

“You will survive,” Keenan says. “All of the rebels have lost someone. It’s why they fight. But you and me? We’re the ones who’ve lost everyone. Everything. We’re alike, Laia. So you can trust me when I say that you’re strong, whether you know it or not. You’ll find that entrance. I know you will.”

They are the warmest words I’ve heard in so long. Our eyes lock again, but this time, Keenan doesn’t look away. The rest of the world fades as we whirl. I say nothing, for the quiet between us is sweet and graceful and of our own choosing. And though he, too, doesn’t speak, his dark eyes smolder, telling me something I don’t quite understand. Desire, low and dizzying, unfurls in my stomach. I want to hold this closeness to me as if it’s a treasure. I don’t want to release it. But then the music stops, and Keenan lets go of me.