22. Maren
22
Maren
“ A t least,” I managed to murmur up at him. “At least, I think Cenek is dead.”
Kye raised a brow. “You don’t say?”
I smiled tightly.
“What did you do to him?”
“Cenek?”
“No,” he said patiently. “The fucking weevil.”
“Oh, him. Marik.”
Kye ran a rough hand over his mouth and down to his chin as though fighting for command of himself, a fist fused into his side.
“I ruptured his testicles.”
“How did you—” His eyes closed. “Never mind. I really don’t want to fucking know.” The corner of his mouth lifted, the scent of anger dying away as he turned to unbuckle the other bedroll from Kolibri’s saddle. The black mare watched him with dark eyes, her body unearthly rigid.
“Not sure she’ll let me comb her down,” Kye muttered, clearing loose hair from the steel bristles. I stood, my legs groaning, but Kye cautiously took a step toward Kolibri, an open arm outstretched. Kolibri swished her tail, giving him a quick glance, and then cast her eyes to me.
He came to her shoulder, sliding his fingertips gently over her. His voice smooth and soft, he whispered words I couldn’t hear. Kolibri ignored him, swishing her tail every few minutes as he went to work on her coat. She turned her head to peer at him only after he’d finished, and he lurched away as she leaned to the side and flattened her ears, snapping at the air in his direction.
Kye swore, dodging blunt teeth. “She won’t let me ride her,” he said, sitting next to me. “But that’s okay with me, as long as she’ll tolerate me enough to comb her.”
“At least Sero is friendly.”
Hearing his name, the gray horse nickered in agreement.
“Thank you,” I said, watching as he sat on my bedroll, “for the horse.” Half-hidden under the cover of night, Kolibri raised her head at the sound of my voice.
“She suits you,” he mused, clamping a stalk of grass between the crowns of his teeth. He surveyed me and the foot of distance that separated our bodies.
You’re my wife.
A trickle of heat lapped across my skin under the weight of his gaze, twisting with something dark and hungry and irreverently profane. He blew a long breath. “Question for a question?”
My eyes shifted over him. His shining brown curls, blowing around his temples in the gentle wind. His unbuttoned shirt, a dusting of dark hair underneath. The veins in his forearms, somehow quietly elegant.
I fit my jaw into my own hand. “If you follow the rules.”
He raised a brow. “What are the rules?”
“You can’t poke me.” A smile cracked my lips as he snorted. “And you can’t ask anything personal.” Kye had come too close for comfort when he’d asked how long I could hold my breath. I wanted to know more about him, but I needed guidelines. A way to draw a line in the sand.
“Fine. You first.”
I pursed my lips, sending my hands to search idly for the canteen beside me as I thought of something to ask him. “If you weren’t born a prince, and you could do anything, what would you do?”
Golden-brown eyes squinted. “Veering on personal.”
“It’s not that personal.”
“Running a brothel might be fun.”
A dry laugh escaped my mouth. I corked the canteen and threw it at him. “I can’t kiss men, but you can run a brothel?”
He caught it with a neat hand, uncorking it for a sip. “I’d have to hire a matron, of course. Then I could run it from the shadows. A puppet master.”
I shook my head at him, amusement curving my lips. “What kind of whore house needs a puppet master?”
He looked at me as though I’d insulted him. “My pretend business is a fine establishment.”
“Lout,” I spat through a smile.
“The main floor would be a tavern, of course. And the top floor would house the ladies of the night.”
“Kye, I was being serious.”
He rolled a shoulder. “So am I.”
“If you could do anything, you’d open a brothel with a tavern on the main floor, hire a matron, and run it from the shadows?”
“You say that as though you don’t understand the appeal.”
I laughed, scrubbing a hand over my forehead. “Fine. Your turn.”
But Kye didn’t immediately ask me anything. He gazed at the sky, the corners of his eyes slightly crinkled as he chewed on the stalk of grass, sending the seed pod on the end up and down. “I think I’d go to Cressi.”
“Where your mother was born?”
He nodded, his fingers spinning the sapphire ring he no longer wore.
“Was she a lord’s daughter?”
“Yes. And no,” he said, fingers over his empty knuckles. “There are no lords in Cressi. There’s royalty, but the kingdom is small, and the government there is more code than law. It’s run by the black market. My mother was the granddaughter of the Prince of Thieves.”
“How did they meet?”
“My mother and King Emilius?”
Chin tucked into my hand, I nodded.
“It’s not romantic, if you’re wondering,” he sighed. “Her father sold her to mine. He was a wealthy man, and he had influence in the Cressian court, which was trying to lure more ships to their shores for trade. Their black market is so thick with thieves, there are hardly any Cressian ships. They don’t import or export themselves, but they’ll welcome any traders brave enough to come looking for business, and with the black market, many do. All the spices that come to Calder are grown in Cypria but smuggled into Cressi. Most silk and lace, the purest precious stones. Emilius’s father drew the trade routes from our shores to theirs. He sent a naval fleet to protect merchant ships while they docked there. They’re still there, too, sitting in Cressian harbors. Nine Calderian ships.”
“But your mother?”
Kye tilted his head, staring at the corner of his bedroll. “Her father designed a ring for Emilius with a black diamond. More valuable than the Calderian mines at Winterlight. My mother was just the consolation that came with it. A way to insert Cressian blood into the Calderian line.” His expression softened, and the lines in his brow disappeared. “My turn.”
I opened my mouth, wanting to ask more. I knew so little of Kye’s mother. Another one, Cemre? The words had drifted in and out of my head since Kye shared his earliest memory. But I’d given him one simple rule—and intuition warned me that Kye’s memories of his mother were kept moored in elusive waters. I tilted my head, inviting his next inquiry.
Kye caught the blade of grass between his fingers, tossing it away to sit up higher. “What hold does Thaan have on you?”
I hesitated. My hands sank into my lap, fingers winding around invisible thatches of pili grass, the familiar motion of weaving a basket.
His brows twinged. “It can’t be that personal. You’ve only known him since Taurennos .”
“That’s true.” I gnawed my cheek, wondering how to answer his question.
“If it’s a matter of blackmail over Naheso’s death—"
I shook my head. “It’s not. It started that way when you arrested me on the island.” He stiffened, and I hastened to continue. “But it’s more than that now. Thaan…owns me.”
Kye frowned as leaves rustled in the breeze, hidden thoughts churning behind his eyes. “He owns you.”
“Yes.”
“In what way?”
“I can’t s—”
“You can’t say.” I nodded, and he rubbed his dark stubble. “Just so I’m clear, there’s something you can’t tell me, and it has to do with Thaan.” I fidgeted, and he reached across the patch of grass to grab the edge of my bedroll, pulling me toward him. “Let’s settle up, Leihani. I’ll tell you what I know, and you can either confirm or deny.”
“Okay,” I said, suddenly even more uneasy than I’d been the moment before. Here they were—the questions I’d been waiting for.
“You killed Aleksei by blocking the airway to his lungs.”
My mouth went dry. “Yes.”
“And saved Hadrian by clearing his.”
Not completely accurate, but— “Yes.”
“Can you hear my thoughts?”
That one surprised me. I let out a nervous laugh. “No.”
Kye tilted his head. “How do you always know where I am?”
I opened my mouth to deny I could, then stopped. “How do you know that I do?” His tongue ran the edge of his white teeth as he watched me in a way that, without warning, sent my pulse threading through my ears and electric sparks through my skin. What was the harm in answering? It might appease him enough to keep him from searching for answers I couldn’t give. “I can hear you.”
“Even when I’m standing still?”
I stretched an arm, my finger gently prodding his chest. “Your heart and lungs give you away.”
He caught my hand by reflex, holding it in place. “My heart?”
Golden eyes trapped me on the spot, oxygen abandoning me. Moisture popped in the air. Warmth spread under his fingers, whispering across my hand, sizzling into my knuckles. “Yes. I can hear it now. Talking to me.”
“Talking?” It thudded faster in response. Kye’s mouth curved into a small smile. “What’s it saying?”
The sensation of dry cotton plagued my mouth. Goosebumps suddenly lined my arms, and a frothy shiver ran the length of my spine. His eyes darkened, dropping to my mouth, and whatever his heart was saying, I felt my own answer wildly in my chest.
I swallowed. “Is this a mistake, Kye?”
“Is what a mistake?”
Lips gently parted, my veins still sizzling with warmth, I stared at him. In the weeks after signing my contract, I’d never considered the question. I’d been willing to marry him just to gain my freedom. In those first months at the castle, my hatred had shielded me from anything that might root in my heart. The lure of him. His golden eyes and sweet scent, the crescent scar on his lip and dark stubble across his jaw. The rasp of his voice, the way I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. The callouses embellished in his palm, rough and yet soft when our hands crossed paths by accident.
Mihauna , I must have truly despised him to not fall under the weight of his spell. But I no longer hated Kye. Hatred had kept my head above treacherous waves for months, guiding me to shore. Hatred was a familiar course, a current in the water I knew like the back of my hand, beckoning me along like a compass. I’d promised myself I’d kill him on my wedding night—only to find he’d never even betrayed me.
And what was once a simple, recognizable loathing had blurred, my clear current vanishing altogether. I didn’t know the way to shore. Kye had ripped me off course and into uncharted territory.
Heat crackled inside me. We sat inches apart on our bedrolls, knees joined, his hand over mine, and a slow fire billowed between us. He waited for me to answer him, but I forgot what I’d said. All I heard was the intoxicating murmur of his voice, smooth and rough all at once.
You’re my wife.
I’d be lying if I said the words he’d once uttered to Burian before killing the pirate hadn’t chimed softly in my head in the weeks since our escape. But neither of us mentioned our wedding. Nor the fact that neither of us had wanted it. That we’d each thought we’d been trapped by the other as Thaan watched across the palace court, playing us both for fools.
Marry Kye. Fight in the war. Murder Hadrian.
My mind stuttered on the last thought. Hadrian. And the oath I’d made to kill him.
Kye might forgive me for marrying him. For his stolen memories; for robbing him of his will to choose. But I was certain he’d never forgive me for murdering his brother. For being the sole reason he inherited a throne he despised. A fate he was desperate to escape the day we met.
And yet, it was in my blood. I’d taken a vow. I had to kill Hadrian.
Or I had to die.
He’d never forgive me.
I pulled my eyes up to meet his, my own question answered. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be touching him. Shouldn’t lean into his words, his body, every time I glanced his way. My current of hatred had washed away, but the sea was rife with other currents. I still had Thaan. He was what I should be thinking about. Thaan and the Breath of Safiro, the stone that, according to Selena’s diary, held my freedom.
The back of my throat hardened to ashy coal, and I gulped it down. Moisture glazed over my vision as my hand dropped away from his, trickling over the blades of grass between us. I sifted them through my fingertips as I thought of what to say, words tumbling around in my head, each one too much to give, and each one not enough.
He waited patiently, though his shoulders sagged. “Is what a mistake, Leihani?”
“This. Us,” I whispered, unable to meet Kye’s eyes. “I think it might be.” The man before me analyzed my words in burning silence, air striking me in a soft blow as he exhaled into the dusky wind. The pit of my stomach grew black and hollow at my own words. He finally sank into his bedroll, shifting to view the canvas of stars over our heads through the trees, and I heard him swallow.
Without warning, I ached to touch him. To take it back. To tell him it was a lie. That lying was all I had, because I was sure he’d never find peace with the vow I’d made, but I was almost just as sure I might never find it without him.
My arm stretched between us, finding the smooth curve of his shoulder, and my fingertips drifted over it. Warm, firm, familiar, the feeling of him lit embers under my skin, dazzling and bright. He turned his head, golden gaze seeking mine, and the view of him nestled over his bedroll, lashes thick and eyes shining, sent a punch to my gut.
“What is it you want, Leihani?” he asked, his voice suddenly full and low and rough .
You’re my wife.
I licked my lips. Closed my eyes. Gathered my courage. All of it. Every drop I had.
“I want you .”