12
Two hours later, after finishing her stew and scrubbing her face clear of any lingering dust and cosmetics, Valine donned her black riding cloak and adjusted her many knives and sheaths. She’d changed once again, as her taupe linens were not durable enough for the icy desert nights. Instead, she wore high-waisted leather leggings and a storm blue, sleeved shirt with silver chains crossing the cleavage.
As Valine stepped into the night, she noticed Olivander and the other guards had already retired for bed, the quiet sounds of blankets rustling and clothes changing mixed with the snap and crackle of the fire Sarim sat before. Leaving the barrier of the tent behind, Valine crossed the sand to the Valmotti Warrior. The night scent of cooling dunes and the faint breeze pulling from the Lazuli brought a chill as it stirred her hair. For now, the ground was golden brown, but tomorrow—too soon—the grains beneath their feet would darken to a deep plum, and the tenuous balance of their lives would shift underfoot.
As she took a seat next to Sarim, she said nothing at first, staring heavenward. Stars dotted the violet sky. White fire bursts, drawing constellations of the saints and daemons. Valine recognized several. There was Nafiza, the saint of the mind, who was once three sisters—she held a mirror. Vitus and Mrithun, the star-crossed saint and daemon lovers, forever reaching. Barak and Stymir, the conjoined twins of lightning and storm, pierced with a bolt. But the entire sky was Charna, daemon of darkness, and her daughter needed no constellation because Nylantia was every star.
“Are you in love with him?” Valine asked bluntly.
Sarim turned to her slowly, eyes slightly widened, brows ever so lifted. “Who? Malik?”
“Yes. Are you in love with the king?”
Sarim cracked a small, crooked smile, showing off a slightly more than normal pointed incisor. “No, I am not. Though once I thought I was.” His eyes turned distant in remembrance. “I prefer both females and males, but when I was training as a Valmotti, I wasn’t allowed to pursue either. When Malik bought my contract and ripped it up before me, I believed myself in love.
“He told me that I was free, but he would be honored if I chose to serve him—with pay, mind you. At the time, I was a freshly turned eighteen-year-old man who had never been shown a whisper of consideration, but suddenly, I had every possibility at my fingertips, offered by a crown prince, no less. Of course, I thought the barest of human decency was the prerequisite for love. So, I agreed and was given everything I’d needed and never got. I had my own chambers, clothing, coin. I had food I didn’t need to fight for, I had servants—who were treated well—tending to me. I felt like the king.” He scoffed to himself. “I couldn’t comprehend the things I’d been given were without strings. So, I propositioned him.”
Sarim met her eyes, and she realized what she’d seen earlier in his gaze. They were the same. Once upon a time, Sarim had been her—new to the palace, given every wonder the kingdom could offer, services purchased for never wanting. Both finding themselves with hearts pining for the king.
“Did he accept your pursual?” she asked, surprising herself with the knot in her chest. The king was surely no virgin, and neither was she—so why did her throat turn so thick?
“He did not.”
Valine felt the jealous anxiety bleed out of her.
“He knew I was not in a healthy headspace. I’d just come from years of abuse and maltreatment, and he did not want to take advantage of me. He told me that I saw him on a pedestal he did not deserve. That a savior complex was not what he wanted to give someone so they’d bed him. He told me perhaps if, once I had worked through the damage the Valmotti had done to my psyche, he would consider it again if I found myself still seeking him.”
“Have you worked through it?” Valine questioned, twisting her fingers, staring into the embers.
“I believe I have.”
“And?”
The question hung in the air.
“I do not find myself yearning for him. He has become my best friend, and I owe my life to him, but no, I do not wish to be with him. For a moment,” Sarim hesitated. “I thought I felt a spark…with you.”
Valine’s heart thundered. She could deal with romance when it was a weapon—when it was faked to serve her means. She could have sex to get to a mark when it was false to do the job. But when someone showed her their heart, and she could not give the responses they wished, she wanted to run.
“I—I…” Valine swallowed.
“It’s all right, Valine.” He patted her knee, resting his hand there. “I said I thought, not that I do. I think it’s that I felt a kinship. A connection because I’ve been in your shoes.”
Valine cracked a smile and a hoarse laugh. “Somehow, I can’t picture you in these boots.” She lifted her foot for effect, and the black leather slid up over her knee. The laces threaded were through elaborate silver eyelets, and buckles of silver serpents crossed her calves.
“You’ve never seen me outside of uniform, assassin. How do you know I don’t wear lace blouses and velvet pants in my free time? I feel like they’d pair quite nicely with those.”
“It would certainly turn heads.”
“And that you do,” Sarim started and turned serious. “You know there’s something starting between you and Malik, don’t you?”
Valine inhaled sharply, fingers reaching for his, the ones resting on her booted knee. “I feel…something for him, but I fear what it means. He is a king, he must marry a princess. He must have his queen.”
“And that can’t be you?”
“I—”
“As someone who was deprived of everything his entire life, consider it. Even if you lose him in the end, isn’t that worth the moments you do get? Even if you do get hurt, you can say, for a time at least, you got what you wanted?”
For a moment, the world disappeared out from under her, the darkness blotting out the stars, the flames withering while Valine contemplated. She wanted, oh, she wanted. She was always wanting and yearning. She’d always been selfish, even when she was a precious lady in the Desdemon household. There was always more to be had. She was like a basilisk with its hoard—because everything she acquired, she kept. Even if the newer, shinier bauble was within reach, she took both.
She wondered if she had Malik, the King of Adraali, if she kept him, would he always give her more? He could take the world, and she would be part of it. She would be the hand at his side, but could she be lucky enough to be the hand on his heart?
“Are you so sure that Malik is what I want?”
“I think he’s what you need.”
Valine was floored. “How so?”
“You both possess a brutality and goodness in equal measure that few do. You are a matched pair and are both desperate to be understood. How could you not be drawn to such harmony?”
“You presume to know a lot about me.”
“I was trained to read body language, and I have the unique perspective of once being in your position and deciphering the differences in him from ten years ago and now.” Sarim sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to force you into something that you don’t want. I just don’t want you pining after someone you could have had before if you’d just opened your eyes.”
There was a personal note to Sarim’s words, and Valine cocked her head.
“I thought you didn’t—?”
“Someone else.”
Valine was instantly intrigued. She turned more eagerly toward him, mouth set in a toothy grin. “Who? Have I met them? Is it someone at the palace?”
Sarim glanced at her askance, opening his mouth as if he were about to speak, but instead shook his head and scoffed. “Now, why should I divulge that to you?”
“Okay, well, first of all, you pried into my love life with all the grace of a bull, and second, are we not friends? Shouldn’t friends tell each other these things?”
Sarim rolled his eyes to the sky but smiled. It was a warm, genuine smile, and it lit up his handsome face. He was truly striking: dark hair, a short, groomed beard, bronzed and golden skin, eyes like amber and honey. Anyone would be blessed to see that face every morning.
“I think you should go to bed.”
“Oh, my saints, I do know who it is!” Valine gasped. “You wouldn’t be telling me to fuck off if I didn’t.”
“I didn’t tell you to fuck—”
“Is it Freyja or Alastair?”
Sarim’s lips thinned, and he stared pointedly into the fire as if his non-answer could will her away, and one of them would evaporate on the spot. Surely, Sarim wanted to combust in that moment.
Valine grinned, and clutched his shoulder excitedly. “So, when are you going to make your move?”
Sarim sighed. “I think I can handle the first watch without you. Go to sleep.”
She pouted. “You’re no fun.”
But instead of arguing, she wrapped herself in her riding cloak, and laid down before the fire, basking in its bone-permeating heat. As she shut her eyes, flames danced behind her lids, and she wondered with whom Sarim’s heart lay, and dreamed that Malik’s belonged to her.