24. Kira
Chapter 24
Kira
IF I WAS TRYING TO KILL YOU
G ardening.
He meant gardening.
I’ve been here for almost a week, working with Reznyk in his garden while we joke and tease and talk about Silver City. There’s no reason for me to pretend to be something I’m not around him, no need to bite my tongue or avoid attention.
It’s a strange feeling, not having anything to hide.
The days have been beautiful, filled with sun and enough wind off the mountains to keep the temperature comfortable, but the nights are cold. This morning, when we sat on the ground outside the cabin sharing the last of the tea he stole from the hunting lodge, there was more gold than green in the trees rippling below us. The scraggly potatoes and spinach growing in his garden don’t have much time left.
Reznyk has been horribly, torturously polite ever since Zayne dropped me on his doorstep like a demented gift basket. He’s friendly. He’s funny. He’s got a sly sense of humor that winks like a blade in his palm, and I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the way he laughs when he’s not expecting to or the expression on his face when I actually surprise him.
I like him, damn it. I like him quite a bit. If we were together in the Towers, I’d be coming up with any possible excuse to get him alone and flirt like mad.
And he never touches me. He pulls away if I bump into him in the garden; he shrinks against the wall in the cabin when I walk past. Every night ends with me in his bed and him on the floor, in my bedroll.
Last night, after he blew out the candle and darkness settled its warm haunches around the corners of the cabin, I told him there was plenty of room in the bed. He laughed. I told him we should at least trade off nights in the bed, and he said it was better for my ankle. I told him my ankle was perfectly fine. He rolled over and pretended he couldn’t hear me.
Whatever happened between us in the Golden Peaks Hunting Lodge, it’s not going to happen again. Reznyk couldn’t make that any clearer if he climbed one of the mountains and screamed it from the summit.
I huff at the washbasin in front of me like it’s getting on my nerves. Reznyk wants me gone, and my ankle feels fine. It’s time to finally answer his last question: What do you want?
I wipe my wet hands on my shirt, then drag the sudsy basin away from my clothes before tipping it over and watching the soapy water disappear into the grass. When I turn back to the cabin, it looks like I’ve tried to decorate the place with my wet clothes dancing in the sun. Almost like I’m marking my territory, warning any other woman that I’ve claimed this little cabin and the man inside.
I sink my teeth into my lip and try to throttle that stupid thought. It’s been disturbingly insistent, the part of my mind that keeps telling me this cabin in the Daggers feels like the home I used to dream about. That I could make this work, staying here in the mountains, just me, the man who killed the last old god in the world, his cat, and his cherished memories of the only woman he’ll ever love.
Yeah. That would be great.
“Is that a rug?”
His voice makes me jump. I turn and see Reznyk grinning as he walks across the grass. Behind him, my shirts and pants and embarrassingly ragged underwear hang next to the little wool rug I was going to put in the cabin.
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah. I found it in the keep. I thought it would look good in the cabin, once I got it washed.”
“Was it on the second floor?”
I nod. “The washbasin too. I probably don’t want to ask where you’ve been doing your laundry, do I? Do you do something magical with it? Some sort of dark, forbidden, dirt-removing sorcery?”
“There’s a pool in the meadow,” Reznyk replies with a grin as he waves his hand in the direction of Desolation Peak. “That’s where I wash everything. No magic involved.”
“Ah,” I stammer, trying not to imagine Reznyk washing himself in a mountain stream. “The forbidden meadow.”
“It’s not forbidden,” he says, as he walks up to me.
“Right. Then what was that ominous ‘don’t follow me’ about on the first morning?”
“First, I was hungover,” he replies. “And second, you were limping. But if you want to go to the meadow, sure. I’ll take you there tomorrow.”
I’m suddenly very aware of how close Reznyk is to me. His lips curve into a smile, and the late afternoon light falling through the windows makes his dark eyes dance. I shift awkwardly, unsure how to start the conversation about my plan. It seemed so much easier in my mind. And away from the effects of Reznyk’s damn smile.
“How is your ankle?” he asks, completely oblivious to the effect he has on me.
“Still just fine,” I say.
“Good,” he says.
I swear, I can feel the rumble of that voice in my bones. I take a step back before I melt.
“And, uh, I’ve been thinking about your question,” I say. My voice trembles, and I turn away before my cheeks catch fire. “About my plan.”
“Do you have an answer for me?” He raises an eyebrow, and his lips curve into that damn half smile. I can’t tell if he’s trying to flirt with me or trying to kill me with raw sexuality.
“Maybe,” I admit.
Gods, he is close to me. I can smell him, that thick, rich scent that has me remembering the hunting lodge in all sorts of embarrassing ways. My teeth tug on my lower lip as I curse myself for being such a damn coward.
He might be waiting for me to make the first move, right?
“I have something for you,” Reznyk says, reaching for a pocket.
He pulls out a piece of linen, then unwraps it, revealing a dozen tiny crimson berries. He smiles at me again. My cheeks burn.
“Try one,” he says.
“Are they poisonous?”
He laughs, soft and low in the back of his throat. “Kira, if I was trying to kill you, I’d do something much more effective than poison.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I reply. Gods, I can’t stop smiling at him.
“Absolutely,” he says. “Poison can be very painful. And it’s not always effective.”
“This is a lovely topic of conversation,” I mutter.
“Look, I’ll eat one too,” he says, popping a berry into his mouth. Then he picks up a second berry and holds it out to me in his long, delicate fingers.
“Trust me,” he says.
I open my lips and take what he’s offering. He smiles at me as I crush the tiny crimson orb between my teeth. Juice floods my mouth, tart with a hint of summer sweetness. Reznyk’s smile widens. Red berry juice spreads across his lips. It makes him look wild and possibly dangerous.
“There aren’t many left this time of year,” he says.
I take another berry, then hold it out for him.
“Please,” I say. “They’re delicious, and I’ll feel bad if I eat them all.”
For just a heartbeat, he hesitates. Then his lips close around my fingers. Heat pools in my core as our eyes meet. The air between us is suddenly thick and heavy, and the sun is far too hot. Then he pulls away and grins at me with red-tinged lips.
“So,” he says, holding out the last berry for me. “What’s your plan? What is it you want?”
I take the berry and shrug as sweetness spreads across my tongue. The first answer in my mind, the stupid, impossible answer, is that I want to stay here, sitting in the autumn sunshine and feeding berries to this man until all the worlds end.
I sigh. “I’ve thought about this a lot,” I begin as I stare at a group of clouds chasing themselves across the sky. “And don’t laugh, okay?”
“I promise,” he replies, in that deep voice I feel between my legs.
My fingers twist together over my stomach. “It’s going to sound stupid,” I say. “But what I really want is to learn about my parents.”
Reznyk says nothing.
“They were Exemplars,” I continue. “I’ve tried to find out more about them, but—” I hesitate. I’m not quite ready to admit to all my nocturnal snooping inside the Towers. “I don’t think the other Exemplars want to tell me the truth. Not until I show some flicker of magical potential, at least.”
I blink at the clouds as my vision blurs.
“That’s not stupid,” Reznyk says.
“So, that’s my answer,” I finish, with a shrug, like this means nothing to me. “What I really want is to go back to the Towers with some sort of, I don’t know, magical energy. Magical potential. Something to prove I’m ready to learn the truth about my family.”
Reznyk frowns.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It sounds idiotic when I say it out loud.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he replies, in a soft voice.
Something chirps in the forest below us. It’s followed by another, softer cry from farther away. I exhale slowly, wishing I could melt into the mountain and stay here forever.
“Maybe the Towers wanted you for some other reason,” Reznyk says, in that strange, soft voice. “And they didn’t tell you.”
I laugh. It sounds like something breaking.
“Yeah,” I snort. “Maybe they were really hard up for an orphan who can’t sense magic.”
“Here,” Reznyk says. “Sit down and give me your hand.”
He settles into the grass beside me, holding his palm out. I sit down next to him, wipe my eyes, and press my palm against his. He smiles as his long fingers close over the back of my hand, and I feel warmer. Some of the hopeless desperation I’ve carried with me all over the Daggers dissolves into the grass.
“Do you feel that?” he asks.
I shiver. I’m so close I feel the heat of his breath on my lips. I feel a lot of things, honestly; an ache between my legs, heat in my cheeks, a tight knot in my chest. Is that what magic feels like?
“I— I don’t know,” I reply, in a low whisper. “I would know, right? If I felt it?”
Reznyk frowns, then lifts my hand like he’s holding it out to the sun. He stares at our interlocked fingers like he’s trying to read something written in another language.
“Now?” he asks, in a low whisper.
He’s so close to me. He’s staring at our intertwined fingers, and I’m staring at him, at those thick lashes, the curve of his jaw, the hint of tart red juice on his full lips.
Is this what it feels like to have the potential to shape magic? Is magic the reason why I ache when I’m around him, why I can’t stop thinking about pressing my lips to his or tangling my fingers in his dark hair?
Or maybe he’s been waiting for me after all. Maybe all I need to do is give this a little push.
I lean forward and press my lips to his.
He freezes, then pulls away with a gasp that leaves me feeling cold.
“That’s what I feel,” I whisper as his dark eyes meet mine.
“I— feel that too,” he replies, his voice thick and rough, like rope.
He turns away. His hand drops mine, and the moment shatters like glass.
My chest feels hollow. Godsdamn it, I know better. I turn toward the dark, cold mountains and blink until my vision clears. Why do I keep torturing myself by reaching for something I can’t have, something he doesn’t want to share?
Reznyk told me how he feels on my first night here. He’s in love with Lady Lenore Castinac back in Silver City, the woman he had perfect sex with, that queen who has everything.
And I’m not her.