Chapter 14 #2
“Three days,” she whispered. “How am I supposed to decode centuries of ancient text in three days?”
“You’ll find a way.”
“What if I can’t? What if I’m not smart enough, or fast enough, or—”
“You are.”
The certainty in his voice made her look up and meet his eyes.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’ve watched you work. I’ve watched you learn a new language in days when it should have taken months.” His hand found hers and held tight. “You can do this, Thea. I know you can.”
“And if I can’t? If I fail?”
“Then we’ll deal with that when it happens.”
“He’s going to hurt Mira. And Vorlag. And anyone else I’ve been kind to.” Her voice cracked. “He’ll make them suffer because of me.”
“No.” His grip tightened on her hand. “He’ll make them suffer because he’s a sadistic bastard who uses pain as a tool of control. Their suffering won’t be your fault. It will be his.”
“That’s not how it feels.”
“I know.” His other hand came up, cupping her face with surprising gentleness. “But it’s the truth nonetheless.”
She leaned into the contact, drawing comfort from his warmth. His solidity.
“I’m so tired of being afraid,” she whispered.
“Fear keeps you alive.”
“I know. But I hate it.” She closed her eyes. “I hate that he has this power over me. Over everyone. I hate that one person can cause so much suffering and no one stops him.”
“People have tried. They’ve failed.”
“Why?”
He was quiet for a long moment.
“He has… power, and he’s not afraid to use it,” he said bitterly. “He’s also brilliant, ruthless, and completely without conscience. He sees people as tools, not lives. And tools can be discarded when they’re no longer useful.”
“Like you?”
“Like me.”
“You’re not a tool, Khorrek.”
“That’s all I’ve ever been.”
“No.” She opened her eyes, pulling back enough to see his face. “You’re a person. A good person who’s been forced into an impossible situation. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes.” She reached up, touching his scarred face. “You protect people. You care. You feel. Tools don’t do that.”
“Tools don’t defy their masters either.” His jaw clenched. “But I wanted to. When he raised his hand to you, I wanted to tear him apart.”
“I know. I saw.”
“You stopped me.”
“Because I couldn’t bear to lose you.” The admission came out quiet but fierce. “I know that’s selfish. I know you don’t belong to me. But I couldn’t—I can’t—”
He kissed her.
Not gently but hard and desperate. She kissed him back with equal desperation, her hands fisting in his tunic and pulling him closer.
All the things that made life bearable were there in his kiss. In the way he held her like she was precious. Breakable. Worth protecting.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers.
“I won’t let him hurt you,” he whispered. “Whatever it costs. I won’t let him hurt you.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I’m not.” His eyes met hers, filled with determination. “This is the one promise I’ll keep. Even if it kills me.”
“Khorrek—”
“You should rest. You have work to do. Three days isn’t much time.”
He was right. She knew he was right.
But the thought of being alone—of facing the fear and the impossible deadline without his presence—made her want to scream.
“Stay,” she whispered. “Just for a little while. Please.”
He hesitated, conflict written across every line of his face, then he nodded.
“A little while.”
He sat down next to her and tucked her against his side. She closed her eyes, focusing on the steady sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
“Do you ever wish—” She stopped and reconsidered. “Never mind. I was going to ask a stupid question.”
“It wasn’t stupid.” His arm tightened around her. “I wish for things I have no right to wish for. All the time.”
“Like what?”
“Like a life that belongs to me.”
“That’s not too much to wish for. Everybody deserves that. Freedom. Choice. Love.”
Love.
The word settled between them like a living thing.
“I don’t know how to love,” he said quietly. “I was never taught.”
“Love isn’t taught. It’s felt.” She shifted, looking up at him. “And I think you feel more than you admit. Even to yourself.”
“Feelings are dangerous.”
“Living is dangerous. Doesn’t mean we stop doing it.”
His lips twitched. “You argue like a philosopher.”
“I am a philosopher. Sort of. Academic, anyway.”
“You’re magnificent.”
The sincerity of the compliment caught her off guard, and her face heated. “I’m really not. I’m just stubborn and too curious for my own good.”
“Exactly. Magnificent.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You face down the most powerful man in the Five Kingdoms with nothing but words and courage. You refuse to cower. Refuse to break. That’s—”
“Terrifying?”
“Inspiring.”
Now she really was blushing. “Stop it.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know how to handle compliments from devastatingly attractive orcs who keep rescuing me from my own stupidity.”
“You’re not stupid.”
“I quoted Lasseran’s words back at him when he was about to hit me. That’s pretty stupid.”
“That’s brave.”
“Brave and stupid aren’t mutually exclusive.”
This time he did smile, and it transformed his face. It made him look younger. Beautiful.
I’m falling for him, she realized. Falling for this complicated, damaged, beautiful male who was raised as a weapon and is learning, slowly, to be a person again.
The realization should have terrified her.
Instead, it felt inevitable, like recognizing something she’d been searching for without knowing she was searching at all.
“Sleep,” he said gently. “You need rest before you face the library again.”
“I can’t possibly sleep. My mind is—”
But exhaustion pulled at her, the adrenaline crash after terror, and her eyes drifted closed despite her protests.
The last thing she remembered was the sound of his heartbeat, steady and reassuring.