Chapter 66
Nizzara is beginning to heal fast—unnaturally fast. That’s the only reason we are in the training room. I am glad for it, because her next duel is in three days. Even if I convinced her to give up her efforts to end her betrothal, she has to fight until she dies or loses. Such is the King’s Duel.
Her healing is not a Mark forming now that we’re bonded either, because I’d know if that were the case.
I have wondered what Mark will form. Because with the amount of power flowing between us . . .
There’s no way we won’t share one.
She yells out, swinging her sword for my torso with more speed and ferocity than I’ve ever seen from her.
Probably because she got another one of Kazem’s letters.
If her lip biting is her thinking face, then this stone-cold emotionless expression is her I’m-trying-not-to-kill-you face.
“Quit avoiding the death blows,” I say. “I guarantee your opponents can fend them off. You need to put the fear of the gods into them.”
Her only answer is another frustrated scream as she kicks for my head. I grab her ankle and toss her off balance. I am impressed by how much effort it takes for me to do it though.
She’s stronger.
Also, not our Mark. She’s been training hard the last few months, and I smother a chuckle knowing her vigorous hours in the training room are more from her hatred of losing than her fear of dying.
“What? No more lectures on knowing your opponent?” she hisses up at me before she jumps back to her feet.
I smile at her sass. “Your next opponent is a nobleman from Zo. He’s a hustler. But don’t change the subject—”
I sidestep her fist.
Realms, she’s hot.
“I am not letting you get around this. You have to learn the killing blows.”
“No. I don’t.”
I catch her fist in my hand like a brick wall catches a speeding car. Definitely stronger. I keep hold of her hand, and my fingers traitorously weave between hers. Her statuesque mask cracks at the contact. I run my other hand along her thigh until my fingers find her favorite black dagger. I slide it out and place it in her hand.
“You can’t hurt me.”
Her black eyes are a storm. “What if it hurts me?”
I tuck a white strand that’s loosened from her braid, behind her ear. “You aren’t afraid of pain, remember?”
Her fingers wrap around the hilt, the war of emotion still raging in her eyes.
I tilt her chin up. “You will always be afraid of the dark part of yourself if you never face it.”
Her throat bobs.
“I’m not saying you have to kill anyone. But you do have to face this fear, so it won’t hold you back in the ring, okay?”
A moment passes before she nods.
I take a step back, giving her an unobstructed view of my chest for her to strike.
Her stone-cold mask is completely gone, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen fear in those eyes. Her tan face is losing color, her knuckles turning white around the dagger.
I guide her hand, inching the blade toward my chest until its sharp point is pinching my black tunic. Her breathing picks up, chest heaving.
“I’m dead, Nizzara. You can’t kill me.”
How do I tell her she’ll have to fend off an army of deathwalkers after my soul is drained at the King’s Final Duel?
I plan on telling her, but I don’t want to pressure her into learning these killing blows. Besides, the way I’ve turned our training to account for my ability to disappear—forcing her to keep her sixth sense open—is my way of beginning the conversation.
She deepens the pressure of the blade. It pricks the skin of my chest, pausing before she shakes her head and backs away, dropping the dagger to the training mat.
“I can’t.”
I turn to my spirit form. “I’ll never force you to do anything, but I will challenge you.” I caress her cheek with shadow. “Because you have to live. I’ll accept nothing else.”
She nods, closing her eyes when I wrap myself around her. “I don’t want to be afraid,” she whispers. “But today I am.”
We continue our session without another word on the subject. Her firm, strong body repeatedly coming in contact with mine is going to be the thing that kills me again.
When she collapses in bed hours later, her barely-there nightgown does not do me any favors.
She glares through my essence as we lay facing each other on her bed, her desires about kissing and touching burning every inch of me. That’s why she’s glaring—because I turned back to spirit to keep my hands to myself.
“This really is about my soul, isn’t it?”
Realms, the whole speaking in my mind thing is not helping either. It sounds softer, closer.
When I don’t answer, she gets up on her elbow and turns those fiery black eyes on my spirit form with vengeance. “I hardly think sex will take my soul, Dae.”
It’s bad enough that she trusts me so fully. Bad enough that we are bonded, and that she desires me of all things. I can’t give her another reason to get closer to me. Realms, as much as I want her. But I’ll be gone in a few weeks, and if I was with her in that way, it would ruin her chance at a good betrothal.
“I am not risking a damned thing when it comes to you. Now go to sleep.”
“. . . desire to punch Dae in the face . . .”
“. . . desire to trace his lips with my tongue and—”
“Nizzara,” I growl.
Her smug smile is more than infuriating. But I love it all the same.
My only saving grace is that sleep pulls her away from me before I can give in to her very explicit desires.
When she’s deep asleep, Liha’s pink spirit falls from above, so pale and weak. Even more so than in Nizzara’s memory of her.
“I can leave,” I say.
As much as Liha’s betrayal stung Nizzara, she still loves the little, pink spirit. It angers me as much as it fills my chest with warmth. Such unwavering loyalty.
“She doesn’t have nightmares anymore,” she whispers.
Or maybe her voice is so weak it sounds like a whisper.
Liha shapes herself into the ancient princess with her crown and pointy ears. Her image flickers from pink to non-existent. When her gaze falls on Nizzara, there is such undying love in it.
“Every time I was in her shield, I kept her soul hidden from Gravera. Every time I left, I was able to continue blinding Gravera in his shield while trying to save him. She loves him, you know?”
I nod.
Liha touches Nizzara’s sleeping forehead. “She knows what she is. That’s why she hasn’t gone to the coves for that book.” She smiles, her eyes still on Nizzara. “She’s smarter than she wishes to be, but knowledge runs in her blood.” She frowns. “Among other things.”
Knowledge. Healing.
“Wala is her mother,” I say.
Liha nods. “And Nil touched her in the womb.”
No.
Liha’s gaze cuts to me. “I can’t protect them anymore. Mazzar is past the point of return and it’s only a matter of time until Gravera forces him to return here. I can’t hide her soul anymore. The gods want her dead. Not half-dead. Dead, dead.”
“Why?”
“Because the greatest heroes have a touch of darkness inside. She scares them.”
She peers down at Nizzara as if this will be the last time she will see her. “She won’t use me in the ring, so I will offer the rest of myself to her father.”
She returns to a ball of light.
“You’re going to leave her in the hands of a deathwalker?”
“I can only sense strong desires, but I’ve known yours for a while, Dagen.”