Chapter 46
She flicks her dagger from the sheath on her leg, and points it at me, drawing a lazy circle in the air with it.
“I may be cruel, but you are na?ve if you think I’m letting you in my shield.”
Nizzara with her fighting leathers on making a man scream on the mat is one sight, but her in a barely-there gown with wet, glistening skin, dripping hair, and a dagger pointed at me is quite another.
I shrug. “I’ve never backed down from a challenge before and I don’t plan on starting now. I”ll earn your trust somehow.”
Her face does that thing when she’s purposefully keeping some emotion from showing. Her eyes harden. Her shoulders square up, and her lips relax into an unimpressed pout. Damn those lips.
“This isn’t a challenge. It’s a rejection.”
Memories flash of the last time her father trained with her, the first time he slapped her, the first time he punished her.
Memories flood of all the times Liha left her when she needed comfort, followed by Soriah—all the times she failed as a mother. Memory after gut-gripping memory, all in golden, blinding light, weaken my knees and freeze my insides in the same go. She doesn’t trust me, or anyone anymore.
It takes effort to open my mouth and speak through these memories flashing behind my eyes. “Throw down whatever challenge you have.” I square my chest in front of her dagger and step forward, pinching its sharp point against my pectoral. Her eyes widen when the blade meets substance.
I refrain from smiling at that and tilt my head to catch her gaze. “Tell me how to gain your trust, and I will do it.”
She narrows those merciless eyes. “Brutal, fucking, honesty. Nothing less,” she says, twisting the dagger and deepening the pressure. “And yes, lying by omission is still lying. If you can do that, I will consider trusting you.”
Something in her gaze tells me it will take more than honesty to gain her trust, but it’s a start. “Done.”
“The story about your mother,” she says, still applying pressure. “Was it true?”
Air turns cold around me. “I never lie about my mother.”
Her chest is rising and falling more rapidly now, and I’m curious if it has anything to do with the way her eyes keep roaming my chest.
Her gaze finds mine once more. “You said you planned to hurt me.” She swallows. “Elaborate.”
I lean forward, pinching the dagger harder against my chest. “I was sent here to steal your soul by the god of death in exchange for my freedom. I have until the King’s Final Duel to deliver it.”
Her eyes narrow, and I can almost see her mind working, jumping from one piece of information to the other until she says, “Freedom from what?”
That mind of hers reminds me of Lo, jumping straight to my motive. “Freedom from Baratrum, where I’ve been the last ten years.”
“And you expect me to trust you? To believe you’d ever give your freedom up for my benefit?”
I shrug. “I can only take your soul if you freely give it to me, so I guess that means you’re in control here.”
She deepens the pressure of the blade, until I’m sure if I was fully alive, there’d be blood. “Why would you tell me that?”
“Because it’s the brutal, honest truth.”
My eyes trail her again. “Do you usually assault men with daggers while wearing racy nightgowns? Because if so, I’ve been hanging out in the wrong social circles.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile hidden inside them as her gaze finds my lips.
“I told you my smirk is dazzling.” I dip my head. “Are you going to wipe it off my face like you promised?”
She does the thing with her face again, and I’m met with stone-cold Nizzara once more. “You are even more cocky as a—”
Her eyes trail me up and down. “What are you?” She pokes me harder with her gleaming black dagger. “How can I do this?”
“I’m a deathwalker, caught between life and death.” I tuck my icy fingers in my pocket. “And yes, considerably more cocky in my human form. So, how about it? Was I honest enough for you?”
She flips her dagger before sliding it into the sheath at her leg. “For now. We’ll see if you can keep it up.”
Her walk is stiff, but somehow still spitefully graceful as she leaves the bathing chamber.
I lean on the archway between her room and her bathing chambers. “I’ll keep it up,” I say.
She slides a book from the growing tower on her nightstand. “Doubtful.”
I fold my arms, unable to tame my smile.