20. Kira
Chapter 20
Kira
STRAIGHT FOR THE JUGULAR
Y ou’ve got to be kidding me.
I freeze with the last bite of biscuit in my mouth. Yeah, I wasn’t sure how Reznyk was going to handle the awkwardness of having slept together two nights ago, but I wasn’t expecting this. I didn’t think he’d just go for it.
The cork comes out of the bottle with a pop. Reznyk frowns.
“Is that a no?” he asks.
I swallow hard and try not to stare at the way his fingers hold the knife. It doesn’t help that I remember every single thing those fingers can do, and gods help me, some part of me is about to tell him to skip the teasing and just take off his damned pants.
“No,” I say. “I mean, that’s not a no.”
I shake my head. Gorgeous men, damn it. They turn me into a babbling mess every time. I grab my mug and finish the wine inside.
“Yes,” I say. “Questions. Great idea. You start.”
He fills my mug, then his. The scent of red wine swirls through the little cabin that’s so freaking adorable it makes me want to laugh. I’m sure Tholious and the rest of them pictured the legendary Godkiller living in the old keep, maybe hanging upside down like a bat at night. He doesn’t seem nearly so intimidating now that I know he lives in a damn cottage. With a cat.
“Okay,” Reznyk replies.
He lifts his wooden mug, swirls it, and takes a sip. He’s looking at me in a way that makes heat purr between my legs, and suddenly I find it in my heart to be grateful to Tholious for stranding me up here.
“Are you here to steal the amulet for the Towers?” Reznyk asks.
I laugh. It’s like an explosion bursting through my lips. I’m lucky I already swallowed my wine or I’d be spraying it across the room. But Reznyk isn’t laughing. He’s not even smiling.
He’s serious.
“Shit,” I say. “You go straight for the jugular, don’t you?”
“You’re answering a question with a question,” he replies. “I’ve been told that’s against the rules.”
I snort. “Fine. Yes. Tholious sent me here to find the amulet.”
“That’s your plan?” he asks, with a raised eyebrow.
“That’s not my plan,” I snap. “Nobody asked me about my plans.”
“What are your plans?” he replies, as the ghost of a smile curls his lips.
“Nope,” I say. “It’s my turn to ask a question.”
I take another sip of wine, and he does the same. It’s good stuff, this red wine. Honestly, it’s far better than it should be, given we’re in a literal shack in the middle of nowhere.
“So,” I say, putting my mug down. “Why did you steal the amulet from the Towers in the first place?”
He blinks. I lean back on the bed, waiting. If he’s going straight for the jugular, so will I.
“I didn’t steal it,” he replies.
I make a skeptical sound in the back of my throat. Reznyk shakes his head. He takes another sip of wine, then turns to me.
“The Towers gave me the amulet,” he says, in a lower voice. “They trained me how to use it. I just didn’t give it back.”
“So you’re, what, borrowing it?” I ask. “For an extended period of time?”
He laughs under his breath. It’s a nice sound, a warm sound.
“You could say that,” he says.
His eyes meet mine. I’m already warm from the wine, but his dark gaze sends a tremor of heat straight to my core.
“Why did you join the Towers?” he asks.
I laugh. It’s not warm, like his. No, this is almost a bark, resigned and bitter.
“Shit,” I say.
I glance around the inside of his little cabin. The sky outside the windows is ridiculously gorgeous; streamers of clouds painted scarlet and gold against an indigo sky. The mountains march to the sea behind the ruins of the keep, and I could almost believe we’re the only two humans in the entire world up here. I hated them yesterday, but now, I have to admit the Daggers have their moments.
My fingers tap against my mug as Reznyk’s question hangs in the air between us. I could drink, sure. I could throw back the wine and ask him a question, or even tell him to fuck off. But then he’d think I have something to hide, wouldn’t he? And I’ve spent the past three years trying to convince the world that I have nothing to hide.
“I grew up in Silver City’s orphanage,” I begin. My voice is rough, like it’s catching on the edge of something. “You probably know it from the Towers. Just across from the courtyard with the chickens?”
He nods. I take a very long drink of wine, suddenly deeply grateful for alcohol and its many gifts.
“Yeah,” I say. “So, obviously, no one adopted me. I just, you know, hung around. At some point I went from living there to working there. And then,” I continue, neatly glossing over several humiliating conversations with Dame Serena about my options in the world of work, which mostly boiled down to maid or whore, “three years ago, some Exemplars came to the orphanage. They pulled me into the drawing room.” My voice pinches, then dies, and my eyes sting. I blink, then throw back the rest of my wine.
“Anyway,” I say. “They told me I wasn’t just a nobody orphan. Apparently, my parents were Exemplars, and I had all this magical potential.” I can’t help the bitter twist to those words. Maybe he won’t notice.
“So that’s how I came to the Towers,” I finish, conveniently leaving out the last three years where I’ve failed to live up to that magical potential in any way, no matter how small or simple, and I’ve filled my time covertly searching every corner of the Towers for some record of my vanished parents.
I set down my empty wooden mug. Reznyk looks like I’ve just slapped him across the face. I ignore him, grab a fresh bottle, dig out the cork with my own knife, and fill both of our mugs. My body buzzes softly with the hum of wine. I’m about to compose a song of thanks to Esyn, goddess of love and drunkards. I usually avoid her blessings, because I can’t afford to get drunk, slip up, and let someone at the Towers know what I actually think, but I would not have wanted to tell Reznyk that whole stupid story without her help.
“My turn,” I announce as I set the bottle down.
“Okay,” Reznyk replies.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. Fuck the amulet. There’s something else about him I’m dying to know.
“Why only one?” I ask.
He blinks. It’s rather adorable, the look of confusion that flickers across his very kissable face.
“What?” he replies.
“Don’t answer a question with a question,” I say, with a grin. “Why’ve you only had one lover? I mean, depending on your definition of a lover, of course.”
I thought that might make him smile. Instead, the little furrow in his forehead gets even deeper.
“You’re, um, not bad-looking,” I stammer. “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of opportunities. Why limit yourself?”
He reaches for his drink. My heart sinks.
“Don’t tell me it was The One,” I snap. “What? The woman you loved broke you? Ruined you forever?”
Finally, his lips curve into a wicked grin. “It wasn’t because of her,” he says.
“Thank the gods,” I grumble.
“You know, you look a bit like her,” he says.
I glare at what has to be a lie. He brings his mug to his lips. I try to stifle a momentary flare of jealousy for that mug.
“Not going to answer?” I say, not bothering to hide my disappointment. I laid my entire stupid history out on the table, and then he dodged my question. What did I expect?
Reznyk sets his mug down, then turns to look at the glorious sunset that’s flooding the sky and spilling in through the open front door.
“I was raised in a brothel,” he says quietly.
“No shit?” I reply.
He turns to me with a smile, but there’s a strange shadow over his features.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever said those words out loud,” he continues. “But, yes. No shit. I was raised in a brothel in Blackwater. The brothel in Blackwater, in fact.”
I whistle, long and low. He grins at his mug of wine.
“I learned about sex,” he says. “As you can imagine. I learned quite a bit, listening to the ladies share their tips and tricks over breakfast every morning.”
“I noticed,” I mutter.
He meets my eyes. The air between us grows thick and hot. Then he turns away and runs his hand across the back of his neck.
“But I saw the dark sides too,” he says. “Men spending everything they had for one more night with a woman. Sobbing, screaming at the doors. I saw a woman waiting for her husband outside the gates with an axe in her hands.” He speaks slowly, as if he has to pull the words back through all the years that have built up between then and now.
“I— I think I was afraid,” he continues, looking at me in a way that’s almost apologetic. “Sex can make you crazy, right? It can make you blind. So I told myself I’d wait. That when I had the kind of sex that could make a child, it would be special. It would mean something.”
He shrugs, like that’s something to be ashamed of.
“Gods,” I sigh. “What did she say to that? The One, I mean. That’s a lot of pressure on a girl, I’d imagine.”
He shakes his head. “She didn’t know.”
I almost spit out the last of my wine.
“You’re kidding!” I cry. “You spent your whole life waiting to have perfect sex, and when you finally had it, you didn’t even tell her what it meant to you? What in the hells?”
“I didn’t—” he begins. His cheeks look darker. “I mean, we didn’t have that kind of relationship.”
“You were fucking but not talking?” I snort. “What kind of relationship is that?”
“It’s my turn to ask a question,” he says. “What’s your plan to steal this amulet that I clearly told Tholious I don’t have? Where are you going once you have it?”
“No,” I reply, waving my hand in the air as if I’m brushing away his stupid-ass question. “Seriously. How could she be The One if you couldn’t even talk to her about your feelings? How is that even love?”
Reznyk brings his mug to his lips, then frowns at it.
“We need more wine for this,” he announces.
He puts his mug down, reaches for the sideboard, fumbles, and then grabs the last bottle. He digs at the cork with his knife. It comes free with a loud pop.
“Oh!” I cry. “Is that frost wine?”
Reznyk frowns at the label. “Shit,” he says. “Frost wine. Guess the hunting lodge’ll be sending someone up here next.”
“You took this from the hunting lodge?” I ask as he pours a stream of sparkling frost wine into my mug.
“Absolutely,” he replies, with an adorable drunk smile. “I stole it.”
I take a long sip of frost wine, letting it dance across my tongue. I haven’t had frost wine in years, and I’ve never been able to afford a whole bottle. My gods, I was wrong about the Daggers. I want to live here now.
“All right,” I say, bracing myself on the table as the room swims gently around me. “Tell me about The One.”
Reznyk swirls the frost wine in his mug. There’s a dreamy, distant look on his face that makes me feel like I’m about to be sick. Whoever this woman is, I hope she knows what she threw away.
“She’s—everything.” He hesitates. Takes a breath, then takes a sip of frost wine. “Everything I’m not, I mean. I was nobody. Am nobody. And she— She has everything. Like a queen. The Lady Lenore Castinac.”
“Great,” I mutter.
“Everything I did, I did to gain her approval,” he says. A frown creases his forehead, and my stupid, drunk heart aches. “I thought that was the life I wanted. Trying to win her over. To make her happy.”
“I don’t think that’s love,” I say.
Reznyk takes another sip of wine, then shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. All I knew was that I would do anything, steal anything, build anything, burn anything, just so I could lay it all at her feet.”
Something cold creeps across the back of my neck. I put my mug down as my gut twists and the amazing stew I had for dinner presses against the back of my throat.
“Is that why you killed the old god?” I whisper. “Did you do that for her?”
Reznyk freezes. The color drains from his face.
“No,” he whispers. “No, that was?—”
He lurches backward, knocking his chair over. Then he sways forward, pressing both hands against the table.
“I—I’m sorry,” he says. “I had too much wine, and I— I can’t talk about this.”
He turns, then stumbles through the open door. The cat on the foot of the bed raises its head to watch him go.
“Shit,” I mutter to the cat.
I pick up my mug and finish my frost wine. Then, just because no one can stop me, I pick up Reznyk’s mug and finish his frost wine too. And then I push myself off the bed and stumble after him.
The night air is cool against my cheeks. The first of the stars dance in their velvet sky. Reznyk is sitting on the ground outside his cabin, staring down at the forest below us. I sit down next to him, reach for his arm, think better of it, and drop my hand back to my side.
“I stole a necklace once,” I say.
My voice is rough, and I remember what Reznyk just said. I’ve never said these words out loud either.
“Well, I didn’t exactly steal it,” I continue. “It was during a Crown Day festival. You know?”
He makes a sad sort of noise in the back of his throat that probably means he remembers Crown Day in Silver City. I push on.
“It was the first time I snuck out of the orphanage,” I say. “I had a borrowed dress and a couple glasses of wine, and gods, I felt like the queen of the world.” I smile at the stupid memory. “Anyway. You know how they rope off the area by the fountains? How it’s for the golden ticket holders?”
He nods. I look down at my hands as my cheeks burn with wine and memories.
“When it’s late enough, they don’t really care anymore,” I say. “I waited till the guard turned around, and then I slipped under the rope and grabbed a glass of wine and just acted like I owned the place.”
Reznyk makes a sound that’s almost a laugh.
“I looked down when I stepped on something that went crunch,” I continue. “And it was a necklace. No, not just a necklace. It was?—”
My voice fades. How can I describe it? Sure, gold and diamonds and something that looked like a butterfly.
But it was also something incredible. I’d never seen something that beautiful before, never held anything like that in my hands. When I picked it up and wiped the mud off the butterfly’s cracked golden wing, I actually thought I might cry.
“I took it,” I said. “And a moment later, I see this woman put her hands to her neck. She says something real loud. Everyone around her freezes.” I take a breath, remembering how my entire body went cold.
“That was my chance, right?” I say. “I should have gone up to her, said I found what she lost. But then I looked down at myself, and I saw an orphan in a borrowed dress who snuck under the ropes to be there. And?—”
My voice fails again. The memory lives in my mind, one of those bright, shining moments when every other breath of my life pivoted on a single decision. I could have done the right thing. Nine hells, maybe she would have rewarded me.
But I’m nobody. I shouldn’t have been there in the first place. I looked down at the wine splashed across the front of the dress that the gods only knew how many women had worn before me, and I realized that moment could swing in another direction.
I could be called a thief. That night could end with me in prison.
And there was something else too, something darker and crueler than fear of being called a thief. My fingers wrapped around that shining gold necklace, and some part of me claimed it. It was my pretty thing now, my beautiful gift. I didn’t want to give it up.
“So, I spent the night in the outhouse,” I say. “All damn night. Until all the stalls closed and the guards gave up and went home, and then I buried the stupid necklace in the orphanage gardens.”
Reznyk makes a sound like he’s trying to laugh. “Are you comparing finding a necklace in the dirt to murdering an old god?” he asks.
His voice is rough, like it’s had to travel a very long way to reach me. I put my hand on his arm.
“No,” I reply. “I’m just saying I know what it’s like to have something in your past that you don’t want to talk about.”
He inhales. It’s a sound that’s caught halfway between a word and a cry. He leans forward. His shoulders tremble.
“It— It had silver blood,” he whispers. He turns to stare at his open palms, his long fingers spread across his folded legs. “So much blood. I— I can still see it on my hands.”
He makes that sound again, the choked sort of cry. His head drops. I scoot closer to him, until my thigh presses against his leg, and then I cover his hands with my own.
“Reznyk,” I whisper. “They just look like hands to me.”
He inhales. The night air presses down all around us, and the first of the starlight plays off his eyes and his lips as he turns toward me and begins to lean closer.
Godsdamn it, it is not fair for him to be this gorgeous. I so badly want to fuck this man senseless, but he’s drunk, he’s just poured his heart out, and he’s clearly still in love with The One. I’d have to be a real asshole to take advantage of him in that many different ways.
I close my eyes, then softly touch my forehead to his. When he sighs, I swear I can taste the frost wine on his breath.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “It’s okay, Reznyk.”
And then, because my self-restraint has its limits, I push myself away from him, come to my feet, and drag myself back into the cabin. My last thought before passing out on the bed next to the cat is, hey, my ankle doesn’t hurt at all anymore.