A DAGGER TO THE THROAT #2
Had I not been cursed with this power, I would have acted on what I felt long ago, and Maeson would no longer have to look at me with the same question in her eyes: What is this thing between us?
Damn it. I hated knowing that I was robbing her of something she deserved, but it seemed that no matter which option I chose, the end outcome wouldn’t bode well.
If I gave in, and lost myself and my memories, she would have only a shell of what was left of me—someone who might have been capable of giving her a life of adoration and love, if only I had not been cursed from the start.
Or, I could continue quelling the emotions and avoiding the bond, giving her the bare minimum, so that she would at least have some—but never all—of it.
I didn’t know which was worse.
Either way, it seemed we would both be left miserable. It all came down to which type of misery we would settle for. Which one I would ultimately determine for both of us.
There was one other option, though: the highly unlikely chance that I succeeded in unbinding the Aether, and came out on the other side with my memory and everything else intact. But I’d always been a skeptic, and I knew all too well how powerful the Aether was.
A wound can heal, but more often than not, a scar is left behind.
What kind of scar would the Aether leave in its wake?
Maeson shifted the dagger in her hand, drawing my attention back from the depths of despair, which I had once again plunged into. I folded my fingers over hers, closing them tightly around the dagger’s hilt.
“Here,” I said, offering to adjust her grip. “Wielding weapons is a far different craft than magic or power. You will physically feel the impact of the damage you’re inflicting. Can you handle that?”
She nodded.
“With your fire, you can render an enemy useless from several paces away, but a blade requires that you forgo the distance between you and your opponent. It’s more dangerous. Do you think you can press this to someone or something’s skin and make them bleed?”
“Yes.”
Her answer was too quiet for my liking.
Taking a life was no mild thing. But taking it with a blade, when you are staring your enemy in the eye . . . that was not an undertaking for the meek, or the wary. A single moment of hesitation could mean the difference between cutting down your enemy, and defending your own life.
I took her hand and brought the blade up until it pressed against the apple of my throat.
“Wha—What are you doing?” she tried to jerk back, but I held firm.
“Could you do it? Could you drag this blade across your enemy’s throat?”
Her mouth opened and closed, trying to find words as her eyes flitted from mine, down to my neck, and up again.
“Could you?” I pressed, tugging her closer.
She sucked in a breath. “You are not my enemy, so this isn’t exactly a proper scenario to train me with.”
I studied her, noting the fear in her eyes as she remained focused on the way my skin brushed up against the edge of the blade. She was worried about hurting me.
My grip tightened, just enough to make her wince. “Forget that it’s me beneath the blade.” She began to protest, but I grabbed a hold of her waist and pulled her body to mine. “I need to know, Maeson. Are you capable of wielding a physical weapon like this if your life depended on it?”
Bright green eyes stared deep into mine. “Yes,” she breathed.
I worked on a swallow, feeling the metal scrape against my skin. “Good.” This close, her scent was intoxicating, making it harder for me to focus.
Gods, I didn’t think we’d ever been this close.
My fingers itched to dig into her skin. If I were to just lean a few inches forward, those rosy lips would be on mine.
I didn’t care that there was a blade at my throat.
I would happily lean into it and sever every vein and artery, if it meant I could just . . .
I tipped forward, longing to close the distance to her. My heart kicked against my chest, stirring the Aether, which turned a curious eye on the situation.
Something wet slid down my neck.
Maeson gasped, and this time, when she tried to withdraw the dagger, I let her.
I reached for the nick in my skin, but her fingers got there first. She swiped her thumb through the blood, her healing magic flaring with a small spark, closing the wound quicker than my own natural ability would have done. When she lifted her eyes to mine again, I had to look away.
“Why would you do that?” she asked.
Because I care for you, I wanted to say. Those weren’t the words that came out though.
“I need to know that you can defend yourself.”
“I can.”
“Not with flames,” I corrected her. “If your power is nullified, what then?”
She paused. “I’m not going to be defending myself against you.”
I ground my teeth together. “You have to learn how it feels to raise a weapon to someone’s throat. It’s not as simple as calling on your power.”
She tilted her head, and I knew she saw right through me. “Aremis . . . what is this really about?”
I couldn’t bear the thought of her getting hurt, or of me not being there to defend her.
But I’d never told her either of those things.
I’d never spoken about any of my affections.
Not because I didn’t want to, but because every time I tried, my power was there, reminding me that I could belong to no one else while I belonged to it.
If I could just unzip the seal that held in my emotions, and pour out my heart right here and now . . .
“I . . .” I steadied my breath. “I’m . . . trying.”
Victory and defeat all in one word.
Trying.
“Trying . . . for what?” she pressed.
Gods, this was a terrible approach. What was I doing? I didn’t really feel like I knew anymore.
Just say the words.
I care for you. I care for you.
Silence stretched between us.
She let out a small sigh. “I’m doing my best to figure out whatever this is, Aremis. But I . . . I need you to give me something here.”
The slightest tinge of sadness in her voice nearly had me on my knees, begging her not to give up on me.
Breathe. Say it.