28. Kira
Chapter 28
Kira
WHY YOU’RE HERE
“ G ods,” I whisper under my breath.
Reznyk acts like he can’t hear me. He’s turned away, so all I can see is the slight tremble in his shoulders, the way he’s holding his knees to his chest like he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart.
“How old were you?” I ask. “When you stole the chain from the Exemplars?”
He ignores me. I reach for him, let my fingers brush his shoulder.
“Reznyk?”
He shivers, then pulls away.
“I don’t know,” he mutters, answering me without turning around. “Thirteen, maybe? What does it matter?”
The wind catches in his long black hair, pulling it toward me. I swallow hard as Zayne’s words float back to me. He sees it all the time, Zayne said, little shits claiming they’re from Blackwater in order to impress someone.
But what Reznyk just told me is horrifying, not impressive. Some distant part of my brain whispers that perhaps I should be afraid of the man who stole a silver chain from an Exemplar and used it to destroy an entire town.
But all I can see is a terrified kid who lost his mother and his home. Shit, Silver City orphanage is full of scared, angry kids. They’ll throw a punch at a grown man just because they don’t want to be the first to flinch.
I held those kids as they cried themselves to sleep. I rubbed their backs and made them tea and tried to convince them there was more to life than fear and incandescent rage.
Sometimes it worked. Barcus became a blacksmith, using his fists to create instead of destroy. Maryam started to smile after a year in the orphanage, then to laugh, and then she was married with a sweet little baby of her own, and she would come by with a plate of cookies and gossip about the other women in the marketplace where she worked.
And sometimes they snuck through the windows at night, those wild, broken children, off to rob the Maganti estate or to join the Mercenary Guild or to wash up weeks later on the banks of the Ever-Reaching River with knife wounds in their gut.
Suddenly, I remember the way Reznyk’s eyes danced in the light as he stared at me. Something cracks open inside my chest, and gods above, is this what magic feels like? Like something just broke open inside of you?
Or is this what it feels like to fall in love?
“Shit,” I announce.
I push myself to my feet and rub my hands along my arms. Reznyk continues to stare across the valley like he’s convinced he can make me vanish if he ignores me long enough.
“So that’s why you’re here?” I ask.
Wind tugs at his shirt and ruffles his hair. Reznyk sits there like a boulder.
“You’re going to die up here, starve to death, as what, some sort of penance?” I push. “Because you feel bad about what happened when you were a child? You think that’s going to make anything better?”
He ignores me.
“You think dying here is better than going to the Port of Good Fortune with me?” I cry.
The wind carries my words, making them sound shrill and brittle. My face feels hot. Gods help me, I’m about two heartbeats away from completely losing it.
“Damn it!” I snap.
I spin away, gulping air as I stare at the sheer stone faces of the mountains Reznyk named after his friends, and then I stumble down the slope and into the meadow. Flowers bob in the sun. Tiny insects hum and buzz, all going about their business as if winter wasn’t hunched on the far horizon with its teeth bared.
I stop at the edge of the stream, just before a low tangle of willow bushes. Little golden birds flit and dart through the leaves. I press my palms over my eyes and try to slow the frantic beating of my heart. So what if Reznyk doesn’t want to come with me? So what if he wants to stay in the Daggers through the winter with enough food for a month or so? Why do I care so godsdamn much about him?
“Kira?”
His voice sends a tremble through my body. I lower my hands slowly, then turn to find Reznyk standing behind me with a strange expression on his face. He looks almost lost, like he’s not sure where he’s standing or how he got here.
“It’s not like that,” he says, softly.
I laugh. It’s a terrible reaction, possibly the worst thing I can do, but I can’t stop myself. He’s just so full of shit. For all his dramatic posturing in the keep, his slamming doors and making ominous pronouncements about not following him, some part of him is still just a scared little kid with stolen magic who doesn’t know what in the nine hells he’s doing.
I cross my arms over my chest and raise an eyebrow.
“Not like what?” I finally ask.
He winces. “It’s not personal,” he says. “It’s not about you. It’s about them.”
He looks down the slope of the ridge where the old god vanished with the wolves into the dusky pine forest, and that thing inside my chest cracks open once again. It’s like a wound, like he’s injured me in some secret, invisible way.
“Shit,” I mutter, eloquent as ever. “Look, Reznyk, how old do you think the old god is?”
He blinks like he’s never considered this.
“Old, right?” I continue. “Older than the wolves.”
“Maybe even older than the mountains,” Reznyk says.
“And they’ve survived,” I say. “All that time. Without a protector.”
Reznyk turns away. He looks like something hurts.
“The Towers—” he says. It’s almost a whisper, like he’s afraid of being overheard.
“The Towers have no reason to come up here,” I say. “Hells, they only sent us up here because of you. You could be drawing the Towers closer to the god just by being here.”
He shudders, then spins away. I raise my hand and let it fall.
“Don’t stay here,” I finally say. “You don’t have to come with me, but please. You deserve better than this.”
Reznyk growls, something low and violent that echoes across the meadow. When he spins to face me, his eyes are wide and wild. His lips pull back in a snarl.
“No, I don’t!” he screams. His shoulders tremble as the wind pulls his cloak and hair back. “You don’t understand!”
He looks down at his hands, his open palms, his fingers curled like talons. They’re trembling. The air around them is hazy, almost like mist rising from a river, and some dim, distant part of me wonders if that’s magic, if I’m finally coming into my birthright.
But a much, much larger part of me recognizes those hands for what they are, magical shimmer or not. The gods only know what Reznyk is seeing. But whatever it is, it’s not the truth.
“Reznyk,” I say. “They’re just hands.”
He makes a choking sound. When he looks up at me, his dark eyes shine in the light.
“You know what I am,” he says, in a voice as rough as the mountains. “You know what I did. You should know—” His voice chokes off. His hands curl into fists as he shakes his head, his black hair falling over his face like a veil. “There’s no place for me,” he whispers. “Not anymore. Not now.”
“Oh, fuck that!” I snap.
His head snaps up, shock rippling across his features.
And I kiss him.
It’s awkward and clumsy, my lips hitting his so hard I feel the bite of his teeth through his skin. Blood blossoms on my tongue. He pulls away. I reach for him.
“You don’t have to earn your place in the world,” I say. “You’re just here, same as the wolves and the flowers. And?—”
My throat pulls tight, suddenly horrified by the words bubbling up inside of me. What difference is it going to make how I feel? I’m not The One, and I damn well know it. But I think of that scared little kid, the one who lost everything and couldn’t see a way out, and I have to try.
“I don’t want you to die,” I say.
I drop my hand. Reznyk catches it as it falls. He meets my gaze, that strange, inscrutable look in his dark eyes, and the whole world stops, frozen in this brilliant autumn afternoon, this golden alpine meadow suspended in amber.
And then he pulls me into his arms, and the world bursts back into life. The soft rasp of his shirt presses against my cheek. I’m surrounded by his scent, rich and thick and magical. His chest rises and falls. Below the threads of birdsong, and the soft hiss and rustle of the wind, I hear the low, throbbing beat of his heart. Or perhaps it’s my heart echoing against his chest.
“Thank you,” he whispers into my hair.
His lips brush my forehead, and another laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside of me. I shake my head against his chest.
“Hells, Reznyk,” I say, turning up to meet his gaze. “That’s not much, saying I don’t want you to die. That’s not even?—”
His lips catch mine, stopping me before I can tell him how ridiculous he’s being, and my words evaporate. Because Reznyk is kissing me again, finally, and I’m falling apart in his arms.
It’s not soft or gentle, the kiss he’s offering. It’s not a tender, hesitant first kiss or a gentle thank you. No, this is hungry. This is the kind of kiss he gave me after two bottles of wine and a full game of Questions. It’s a kiss of hunger and hard edges, a kiss with ragged desperation in its hidden teeth.
And my gods, I open for it like a flower. His arms tighten around my waist as I reach up, my fingers twisting in his black hair, my tongue dancing with his, sliding and embracing, falling away only to come back together, harder and deeper. I kiss him with every spark of sexual frustration that’s been churning inside me ever since lightning arched through the night sky above the Daggers and showed me the man who made me scream the night before, standing in the shelter of a ruined tower with his arms crossed over his chest.
And he gives it right back, his lips and tongue pressing into mine so hard it’s almost a struggle, almost a test of strength. There’s no more room for the part of me that whispers he doesn’t love me and that the ache in my chest is going to hurt so much worse if I don’t stop?—
Hells, it’s too late. I plunge into our kiss, desperate for more of him as my body goes up in flames, kissing him like I’ve never kissed anyone before as his hand slips under my shirt and goes up my back, scattering sparks across my bare skin. I press into him, shifting my hips until the hot ache between my legs meets the iron between his, panting as our bodies ripple together, and no one should be able to make me feel so damn good without even taking off my clothes.
He moans, a sound so deep and low I swear I can hear it in my very core. A moment later he breaks our kiss, then traces my jaw with his lips. I twist against him, the place between my legs hot and wet and aching, and my gods, how can he do this to me with just a kiss?
His mouth drops to my neck. I tilt my head back; clouds tumble over themselves as my gaze rakes the sky. Reznyk’s arm closes around my rib cage as his teeth trace a path down my neck.
I break our kiss just long enough to drop my hand from his hair, trail it down the wall of his chest, and slide my fingers into the waistband of his pants. His entire body pulses when my fingers meet the soft head of his cock; he makes a sound that might be the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I bring my lips to his neck, kissing and biting, following the trail of sweat as my hand wraps around the steel of his cock.
“You might need another pair of pants,” I whisper.
He trembles, his entire body pulling tight. “Fuck,” he groans.
I tilt my hips, grinding the ache between my legs against his thigh as I run my hand up and down his cock. Gods above, it’s not fair! I want this man inside me more than I’ve wanted anyone in the past.
If I ever meet this woman he loves, I promise myself as he gasps in my arms, I’m going to punch her in the fucking face.
“Fuck,” Reznyk rasps again.
He trembles again, then pulls back, out of my reach. His mouth is on mine before I can protest, driving hard, one hand tight around my waist while the other rips at the waistband of my pants. He tugs them down so violently I hear something rip, and then his hand presses between my legs and all thought vanishes.
He doesn’t break our kiss. No, if anything, he drives into me harder as his hand parts my thighs, fucking me with his tongue and his fingers, ripping me apart while I’m still standing. His thumb drives into my clit as my thighs rock against his, and his gorgeous fingers slide into me, curling, pressing against that spot from the inside as I cling to the back of his shirt, my body cresting, cresting?—
I explode like a feast day firework, breaking our kiss to scream his name, something that I’ve never done before. But his thumb doesn’t stop, he drives into me even as pleasure breaks inside my body, and the world dissolves around us as I shatter longer and harder than I ever thought possible.
The world comes back to me slowly, floating in bits and pieces. Clouds drifting across their cerulean sea. Birdsong, the chatter of flowing water. Reznyk’s arm draped around my waist, his cloak spread out on the grass below me. Somehow, we’re on the ground, my pants shoved down to my knees, my lips sore and swollen and hungry for more.
“Oh my gods,” I mumble as Reznyk pants beside me. “I might never walk again.”
He laughs softly. I turn to see him staring at me, the sun filtered through his dark hair, that same strange expression in his eyes. He’s looking at me like I’m a message written in a language he’s never learned to read, and my chest aches in all the secret, cracked places that split open around him.
It’s terrible, I realize as he stares at me. It’s every bit as horrible as all the tavern songs say, falling in love.
And it’s not nearly enough.
I roll over on my side and slide my fingers under the hem of his shirt.