Chapter 13 Astrid #2
“I couldn’t sleep,” she says, willfully misunderstanding him. “What about you, Prince?”
He raises a brow. “No. I couldn’t sleep, either. How long do you think you can keep your arm up like that? My shoulder’s aching just watching you.”
“As long as I need to. Which will probably be as long as you’re still here.”
“I see. Would it help at all if I told you I’m not going to kill you?”
“Not really, as I trust you about as far as I could throw your dragon. You said you wanted to mount my head in the dining hall earlier.”
“True, though you should take it as a compliment. Most of the heads I collect, I impale on spikes and leave to rot on the ramparts.” She scoffs, though she’s not wholly sure whether he’s joking.
His lips quirk, and he shakes his head just once.
“A lot has changed in the past few hours. For one, we no longer have to duel each other—the Covenant has confirmed that—and two, you’re no longer going to die by my hand.
If you’d chosen your timing better, we could have added ‘not having to dance’ to that list and prevented everyone witnessing me trying to lead a woman with as much rhythm as a sea slug. ”
A sea slug? “Charming. Your manners are about on par with one.” She ignores his other comments; she doesn’t want him to know she was in the dark about Skylar.
About any of it. She studies him, wondering how he’s feeling about all this, about this new heir.
No, not just heir. His new sister. Goddess, she’s not the only one who’s had a big night.
She lowers the vial slowly and dares to look away, back at the tapestry. He’s quiet for a few moments and she peers over her shoulder; he’s still propped against the shelves, still watching her. But his brow has softened and he’s not making a move for his weapon.
“Why not kill me?” she asks. “If you did it now, no one would even know it was you. You’d save your… heir. You’d keep the Heart.”
“Fortunately for you, that’s not how I operate.”
She turns away from him again, eyes on Nyx. “Really? The rest of your family does.”
A beat passes. “Would you like me to kill you? Is this why you’re pushing it?”
“I’d rather you didn’t, but I haven’t had the best of luck when it comes to your family and near-death experiences.”
“Well I’m not in the mood for murdering witches tonight, so consider this a reprieve in your bad luck.”
A creak sounds as he pushes off the bookshelves and walks toward her. She spins to meet him, vial raised again, and he tuts. Actually tuts at her. Indignation bursts through her, and she’s tempted to chuck it at him just for that.
“What’s in that bottle you’re decidedly not throwing at me?
” He stands next to her, so close now she can smell him.
It’s like ocean winds, and she has to stop herself from breathing him in because he smells so good.
Enemy, she reminds herself. He is the enemy.
Even if he’s not planning to kill her here now, he still wants her dead.
His family still plans to go to war with hers.
“The only way you’re finding out is if I use it on you, and, trust me, you really don’t want that,” she replies.
“Fascinating.” His eyes track down to the Brewer’s Belt. “What skill you lack on the dance floor you evidently make up for with your mastery of potions.”
“Keep talking like that and you’ll find out just how much of a master I am.”
His jaw tightens, eyes flitting briefly to her mouth, before he looks away.
“So, you discovered the tapestry,” he says, changing the subject. “There are few things my mother loves more than this.”
Astrid follows his gaze. “What about you? Does she love you more than this tapestry?”
“Oh, she loves me more than anything. And Zeb. You know what mothers are like with their sons.”
No, but she knows what fathers are like with their daughters. Or knew, anyway. Another reason not to forget why this man next to her is the enemy. She tightens her grip on the vial.
“And what about her mate?” Astrid asks.
His voice is deadpan as he answers, “He’s tied for second with the tapestry.”
She huffs a surprised laugh. “So you do have a sense of humor. After you fled earlier, I thought your fragile little ego couldn’t take a joke.”
“There’s nothing little about me, Princess.”
Stars, what a typically male thing to say. “No, just whatever it is that rattles around in that skull of yours.”
She thinks she hears him laugh, but when she glances at him, his face is carefully blank.
“I apologize,” he says after a moment. “I shouldn’t have been quite that… abrupt.” Astrid is so stunned she thinks her tongue might fall out of her mouth. “The lizard skin—it was starting to chafe.”
“Well,” she says, “I have a cream for that.”
“I may need to borrow it.” His mouth quirks fractionally, as if a fish hook is tugging at his upper lip.
It’s stupid, the effect it has on her, the way something seems to flutter and settle in her belly like snow falling from a branch.
She stoppers her vial and slips it back in the belt.
He follows her every movement before his gaze rests on her face once more, looking at her like he’s trying to see inside her, see how she works.
It makes her uneasy. She doesn’t know what he’s playing at, apologizing to her, joking with her, smiling at her.
She looks away first. “What’s so special about it, then?” She points to the tapestry. “I can’t make out the plaque properly. What does it say?”
“I’m a man of many talents, fluency in Old Vatran being just one of them.”
Not particularly impressive, given Old Vatran isn’t that different from the modern language. “Oh, really? You can speak a dead language but not Arturean?”
“Who said I can’t speak the language of the witches?
” Zryan’s Arturean is perfect, and Astrid’s eyebrows fly up.
Okay, that is impressive. For a Vatran. “It says what you already know, that this is an artist’s impression of the Battle of Sarkan during the Heart Wars between the witch king and The Dawn.
” The Dawn—another of Aeloria’s nicknames.
“My mother had me learning all sorts when I was growing up,” he says by way of explanation.
“Interpreting art and tapestries, reading old texts, studying ‘dead languages,’ as you so elegantly put it.”
She hadn’t expected this about him. She looks him over. It’s all the leather, she decides. It doesn’t exactly scream “studious.”
He shakes his head and looks back at the tapestry. “They have a lot to answer for, don’t they?”
“Better the duel than a war. Better one person than millions.” The words come out more bitterly than she intended. She might only have to kill one person to save millions, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Not when his family might be planning to go to war anyway.
“Are you that naive?” There’s a note of pity in his voice that riles Astrid. “This has never been about saving lives.”
“No, I guess not. Not for you anyway.”
“Don’t presume to know me.” His tone is harsher now. “I will do whatever needs to be done to protect my people.”
“What, like feed them to your monstrous pets? Remind me never to ask for your protection.”
His eyes flash. “He was dangerous. A rebel.”
“He said you took his daughter.”
“He means the conscription,” he says tightly. “His daughter will be at one of the bases. Safe.”
“Ah yes, the conscription. For that army of Blooded you’re building.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. He barely reacts, tilting his head as he regards her.
“Things in Vatra are currently a little volatile. And what about your army? Or did you think we weren’t aware the witches were having their own recruitment drive?”
“Things in Arturea are currently a little inhospitable.” Another reason, if she needed one, that he is her enemy.
The Blight. “Our Ulvene are helping our citizens to survive. And we’re not forcibly taking people and separating them from their families, stopping them from seeing their loved ones again. ”
His mouth forms a line as they look at each other, Astrid’s pulse skittering all over the place.
“You’re not supposed to be in here—you know that, right?”
She puts a hand to her chest and gives a mocking gasp. “I’m not? A witch can’t partake in a little nighttime reading around here?”
His eyes fall to the hand resting on her breastbone, and he averts them. “You need to go; you don’t want anyone else finding you here.”
His voice has lost the little warmth it briefly possessed, all signs of the teasing and humor gone. Astrid backs away a step. She’s lingered too long. She turns toward the door.
“Princess.” She stops. “I toyed with the idea. Of killing you. You’re right: it could solve so many of our problems, and if my father or another of his court had found you here, you’d have been dead before that smart mouth of yours could cast.” She finally looks over her shoulder at him, fingers moving to her belt.
“And, frankly, I think you’re incredibly foolish for sneaking out in the middle of the night when you aren’t blood bound—lucky for you, I don’t have a taste for picking off the defenseless”—she bristles at that—“especially not while they’re in a library without their familiar,” he adds pointedly.
“But, Princess, don’t misunderstand me. I may not have killed you tonight.
” He sounds regretful. It doesn’t soften the blow of his next words. “But I still need you to die.”
He disappears, leaving her cold for the first time since she left Isfjell.