CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
STARHEADED FOOL
Kaidren sits next to me in the sky cart as we journey back up the mountain. Neither of us speaks for so long, I think we’re going to pass the entire hour without exchanging a word.
Finally, he turns toward me. Our knees are so close, they brush. I feel the heat of him through layers of wool. It travels up my leg and spreads through me like a furnace. “Was this your first time in Ophera since your mother?”
I jerk my knee away. Instantly, I’m cold, but I prefer it. I miss Ophera, but I hate coming back. It makes me feel nostalgic and guilty and sad. “I’m not discussing this with you.”
“You really hate talking about her,” Kaidren notes.
“How perceptive.” I don’t look at him.
Silence, for four seconds, before he sighs. “My mother was a seamstress. It’s how I got those robes I saw you looking at earlier.”
I glance at him from the corner of my eye, cautious but curious. “I assumed those were from your father.”
He laughs, but it lacks humor. “A gift from my father was about as likely as a snowstorm in hell. He wouldn’t even acknowledge my presence until he was sick. I got those robes because my mother was a seamstress for a few of the Honorate.”
I can’t tell if he’s trying to convey without words that he isn’t going to push on the subject of my mother, or if he thinks discussing his own will soften me so he can pry later. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I figured we could call a truce. If only for a while.” He keeps going.
“I’ve always known who my father is. He knew about me too, but he ignored me.
My mom took those robes from one of her other clients.
She brought them home and patched them up for me.
Said I should practice for the real thing someday. ”
He pauses, lost in memories. Keeping my guard up around Kaidren is easy—except for when he discards the mask. When he’s vulnerable and genuine like this, I can’t help myself. “What happened to her?”
“After dear old Dad saw me for the first time, he fired her.” His wistful tone sours. “I’ll never forget the way he looked at me. Like I was a phantom. He knew I existed, but until he saw me in person, I don’t think he realized how much we looked alike. He fired her that same day.”
He falls quiet. Sad memories flick through his eyes like snowflakes.
He hasn’t finished his story; he’s collecting himself.
“He spread word, far and wide, that no one in Virdei should hire her. He didn’t say why, of course, but she was ruined just the same.
She was desperate for work, so she took a job in the mines. ”
My breath catches. The tshira mines are notoriously dangerous. He doesn’t need to finish this story for me to know its end, but I don’t interrupt.
“She survived six months before she went missing. It was another five days before they found her body and confirmed what we already knew—she was dead.”
An awful way to lose a parent. My skin is safe inside gloves, and my heart is sad, so I lay a hand over his and squeeze. “I’m sorry.”
He flips his hand over, intertwining our fingers. “So am I.”
Any other day, I’d pull away. But I can read how much he misses her in the mist in his eyes, in the tone of his voice, in the stillness of his chest. I keep my hand where it is.
“I never forgave him.” Bitterness douses each word. “Even when he finally deigned to acknowledge me and told me I’d inherit his title.”
“He sounds like an ass,” I say.
“He is. Was.” It’s not hard to imagine Kaidren killing his own father—to avenge his mother, to take his place in the Honorate, to punish him, or all of the above.
Neither of us speaks, and in that companionable silence, I realize why he told me his mother’s story.
It wasn’t a trick. It was to let me know he understands what it is to be so sad, the only way to cope is to be furious.
My chest is tight, and I find myself speaking to relieve the pressure. “My father is a lot like yours.”
Kaidren’s hand squeezes mine in reassurance. He doesn’t interrupt.
“I didn’t know it was possible to hate someone as much as I do him. He discarded my mother like trash. She was . . .” I blink rapidly, holding in tears of rage and heartache. “She was everything I’m not. She was kind. And she was loving and sweet and patient. And she was a fool.”
Kaidren flinches. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. I loved her more than anything, but she was foolish. She actually believed he loved her.”
“Maybe he did, in his own way.”
“He didn’t. I asked him.”
“You think he lied?”
“No.” My throat burns as I recall the cold, irritated way he answered the question I was pathetic enough to ask. “No, he didn’t even bother.”
Kaidren doesn’t fight me as I tug my hand away, but his eyes linger, like he wants to snatch it back. “I’m sorry,” he says. “After my mom died, Jules was the only thing that made it bearable. I’m sorry your second home was somewhere you were unwanted.”
“Ophera is my home,” I say fiercely. “Always will be.” He has more questions.
I can read the curiosity in his too-earnest gaze.
Time to steer this conversation to safer waters.
“Speaking of Ophera.” I clear my throat.
“Your aunt Jules made an interesting comment about your tattoo. Which is odd, because I didn’t think you had one. ”
“I knew you weren’t going to let that go.” He sighs, but doesn’t look upset that I’ve asked. “One true thing?”
I don’t hesitate. “Deal.”
“I got a tattoo when I was five. Same as anyone else.”
My eyes fall to his wrist, but it’s covered. Without asking, I take his arm. He doesn’t object as I gently peel off a glove and slide up the sleeve. My gloved fingers skirt over the bare skin on the underside of his wrist.
He shudders at my touch, but doesn’t pull away.
I meet his eyes. “You don’t have it anymore.”
“That’s true. And also untrue.”
I pull his wrist up to my eyeline so I can inspect it more closely.
Squinting, I see something I didn’t before. The skin of his arm is the same shade of brown, but there’s a patch at his wrist that’s ever so slightly discolored. “What is that? Powder?”
“Ink. I tried using powder, but it melted under fabric. So, I got a second tattoo with dark brown ink to cover the gold. It hurt like hell.”
Seeing my confused expression, he answers the question I don’t ask.
“When my father summoned me for the first time, he didn’t even look at my face.
He just stared at my tattoo. He was sickly and dying, but he looked at me like, between the two of us, I was the revolting one.
I never felt so small. I’ve been covering it ever since. ”
His gloveless hand flips my arm over. Realizing his intent but fearing his touch, I pull up my own sleeve, baring my tattoo for his perusal.
“It’s beautiful,” he breathes. “When I found out you were the Praeceptor’s sister and you still keep yours displayed, I thought you were the bravest person I’d ever met.
You’re here every day, enduring their glares, and you never so much as flinch.
I don’t know how you don’t let it get to you.
” He reaches out to run a hand over the golden sun, but I yank down my sleeve before he makes contact.
He doesn’t seem surprised or upset by the rejection. “You made me regret hiding mine. Compared to you, I’m a coward. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? So much hatred over something so beautiful.”
Everything he says is the truth. Which is odd, because when we first met, he told me he liked my tattoo, but it was a lie.
Wasn’t it?
I recall the moment. What he actually said was: “I never got a tattoo, though. Wish I had. Yours is stunning.”
At the time, I felt the heat of magic and assumed he was lying about wishing he’d gotten a tattoo, or admiring mine. But he wasn’t. The lie was in the first part of the sentence, where he claimed to have never gotten one at all.
Kaidren thinks I’m brave. He thinks the stares don’t crawl under my skin and make me want to scream. The truth is, if someone had given me the option to hide my tattoo when I first arrived, or even a few weeks ago . . . I’m not sure I’d have been brave enough to decline.
“Your turn,” he says gently.
It takes me a moment to realize he means it’s my turn to share a truth about myself.
I’m speaking before I’ve ironed out the emotion from my voice.
“I had Honorate robes too. Luc brought me and my mom a few of his father’s old ones before I lived with them.
They were soft and warm, and he figured we’d use them as blankets, but I liked to put them on.
Look at myself in the mirror and imagine what it would feel like to walk into a room and command respect. ”
What it would be like to have everything and fear nothing.
By the time we reach the top of the mountain, it’s late and I’m exhausted.
We’re right outside Widow’s Hall. Kaidren still has a short trek from here to the Vale manor, but he doesn’t make to leave. Instead, he stands before me, shuffling his feet the way grey-horns do to keep warm.
It’s not snowing tonight, but it’s cold enough to freeze flames solid, and loose snow piled on the ground drifts in the night breeze.
I don’t know why Kaidren is still standing here, watching me like he expects me to do something, so after a few moments, I turn to leave.
“My aunt really likes you,” he blurts, stopping me.
Confused, I face him again. “I liked her too.”
His lips part to say something; then he closes them and clears his throat. “Probably because she doesn’t know you like I do.” His words are teasing, but his gaze is startlingly intense.
I raise a brow. “You think you know me?”
“Maybe not.” He drags his feet through the snow, closer. “But I’m starting to. I’d like to.” His tone is soothing and warm, and it curls around me like a sjaal. The composed mask he wears like armor is gone now. He watches me with that darkness he usually hides. I can’t look away.
“Don’t bother,” I say. “You’d be disappointed.”
“I doubt that.” His gaze drops, and for a moment, I could swear he’s looking at my lips. “You haven’t disappointed me yet.”
“Really? I thought I was conniving, spiteful, and cruel?”
“You are. Doesn’t mean I’m disappointed.”
I’m sure of it now: his eyes fall to my lips.
Run. A little, rational voice whispers to me. Kaidren looks ravenous. Dangerous.
I don’t move.
“I made a lot of assumptions when I met you. I thought you were gullible. I thought you were sweet. I thought I liked sweet.” Kaidren continues his slow approach until the toes of our boots graze, and I feel the cloudy warmth of his exhales on my cheeks. “Now I don’t think I like sweet at all.”
This time, when his gaze lowers to my lips, it doesn’t waver. It darkens with determination. He sucks in a breath and leans forward.
For a moment frozen in time, I stay perfectly still. His brown eyes are hauntingly deep, the kind you can drown in; his voice is smooth as churned butter; he lies as easy as he breathes; and some days I’m certain I despise him.
But there’s a rage inside him I recognize.
A hunger for power, a willingness to do whatever it takes to get it.
It should scare me. Sometimes it does scare me.
But with the danger he poses comes a desire I can’t deny.
I feel as if I know him, and I think he might be the first person who’s ever seen me clearly.
Kaidren Vale is annoyingly attractive. Less so when he’s flashing that fake smile I hate.
More so when he’s glaring in earnest. Or when he’s looking at me like I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
I’ve never been kissed before, and as his lips descend upon mine, they look so, so soft . . .
One touch and you’re ruined.
The voice of reason is small, but it’s enough—I pull away.
I’m dazed, and my heart flutters a combination of panic and lingering anticipation.
Kaidren’s eyes fly open. He looks startled. “I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly.
It’s anything but fine. I can’t believe how foolish I almost was. He’s an isha. I wasn’t seriously considering letting him kiss me, was I?
I turn to flee, but in all my fluster, I slip on ice.
I fall back, gracelessly and embarrassingly.
Kaidren catches me. His eyes are gentle as he turns me to face him, hands warm around my waist. “Mira—”
I shove him back. Even though I’ve been sitting still for over an hour, I’m breathless. “Don’t.”
He raises his hands, palms out. “I don’t want you to think I was—” He releases a frustrated groan. “That wasn’t a game. I swear to you, that was real.”
He’s not lying. Dammit, he means that. I can’t tell which thought is more terrifying: Kaidren trying to kiss me because he wanted to or Kaidren playing a cruel game with my heart.
“Good night.” I rush away for the safety of Widow’s Hall.
If Kaidren calls after me, I don’t hear it. Or maybe I just don’t want to.
“You’re back.” Sef lounges on my bed, waiting for me. She sets aside the book she was reading as I burst through the door. “Did you find anything?”
Not really. The only thing I uncovered was that his aunt Jules collects illegal magical goods. Is it enough to blackmail him? I’m not sure, but admittedly, thinking is a bit difficult when the only thing on my mind is how close I let Kaidren’s lips get to mine.
I sit on the corner of the bed, trying to churn through my thoughts. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”
She waits for me to continue. When I don’t, she nudges me. “What’s wrong? You look . . . frazzled.”
“It’s nothing. Kaidren was there. He almost touched me.” Almost kissed me. I keep that part to myself.
“But he didn’t.” Sef looks confused. “So, there’s no problem.”
“Like I said, it was nothing.” Except that I almost let him. Worse, I think I wanted him to.
“I don’t think I like sweet at all.”
What am I supposed to do with that?
I can’t think about this anymore. I begin shucking layers of warmth to pile into my closet, when I feel something heavy in my coat pocket.
Frowning, I reach for it. It’s smooth and cylindrical. The vial I took from under Kaidren’s bed. The frost that obscured its contents has melted. It’s full of a thick, lilac-colored liquid.
My heart freezes.
Arliss Vale was killed with kishori—a purple liquid.
Sef gasps. “That isn’t . . . ?”
“Poison.” I sound faint, even to myself.
For months, I’ve hunted for anything I can use against Kaidren. At long last, I’ve found it, the kindling I need to burn his world down. Proof he murdered his own father.