Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
N eve washed and changed into a long black velvet dress while Eleksi collected food from the tavern.
In the absence of a table, he placed the food on the bed where Neve sat. He’d brought cheese pies, nuts, raspberry cake, and two bottles of iced lemon tea. She settled on one side of the bed, leaning against the carved headboard. The orange afternoon light filtered through the lace curtains, making the suite appear dreamlike.
After removing his cloak and jacket, Eleksi stowed his golden dagger under his pillow. As he lifted his arms, the hem of his black shirt rose, showing his chiseled abdominal muscles and a line of hair down the center, ink-dark against his pale skin. Neve stared, her heart rate increasing despite her fatigue.
His body seemed honed to be utilitarian and powerful, the way a sleek black stallion had considerable aesthetic appeal yet was unaware and uncaring of such. He was handsome, in a rather severe way, with his high cheekbones and angular jaw.
Neve wondered if he knew that he wore a slight frown at all times. Or perhaps that was only since meeting her, and nearly dying by her hand.
“Neve?”
“Pardon?” she asked, looking up into his silver eyes.
A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “I asked if I could sit here.” His eyes slid to the bed.
“Oh. Yes.”
She dropped her gaze. Staring into his eyes had an oddly hypnotic effect on her. But then, so did staring at his body. The fatigue was addling her brain.
He sat, and silence reigned as they ate ravenously. The smoky cheese pies were still warm from the oven and Neve leaned over the parchment wrapper to catch the flaky pastry. Eleksi let Neve have all the raspberry cake, handing over his piece when she finished hers before he’d even started.
They both took great care to avoid touching each other in any way. When Eleksi passed the cake to her, she nearly dropped it to keep from brushing her fingers against his. It didn’t make sense, because they’d just shared a horse together.
“This is strangely intimate,” she said as she swallowed, hoping to dispel a measure of the tension between them.
The timbre of his voice lowered when he responded. “Hardly. It’s not more intimate than what we did last night.”
Her eyebrows knitted. “You believe trying to kill someone is intimate?”
“Of course.” He leaned back on his elbow, stretching his trousered legs on the bed. “It’s perhaps the most intimate thing there is.”
“Really?”
“Aye. It’s a privilege to see a person as they die. Truly see them. Everybody walks around wearing masks all the time. But in death, it’s impossible to wear one. The essence of a person is revealed, always.”
He fell silent and she absorbed his words, unable to decide whether he was highly disturbed or made perfect sense. Perhaps he was both.
Neve collected the empty wrappers from the bedspread and placed them on the bedside table, dusting her hands before leaning back on her pillow. “I don’t wear a mask, though.”
“Yes, you do. Everyone does.”
Forgetting she was supposed to avoid his gaze, she turned her head to meet his intent stare.
“Did my mask come off?” she asked quietly. “Last night, I mean?”
“Yes, little witch.”
“What did you see?”
He blinked, his long eyelashes inky black. “I saw—” He paused, contemplating. “I saw a soul of great beauty. I saw conflict. And shame.”
Neve’s face grew warm, disconcerted that he could perceive so much. “Of course I’m ashamed and conflicted. You saw what I can do with my touch.”
“My observations aren’t condemnations. That’s simply what I saw. An assassin is the last person who’ll judge you for your deathly touch.”
“Your mask slipped, too,” she said, wishing to turn the subject on him.
“And what did you see?”
She bit her lip, recalling the sensation of stealing his life through her hand. What had his eyes shown during those moments?
“You seemed . . . sad.”
Raw emotion crossed his face like a shadow, making her heart lurch.
“I’m sorry,” she rushed to say. “I am sure I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
He gave her a small smile. “But you do.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad both of us failed. Assassin or not, killing you would’ve plagued me.”
“Have you ever killed someone before?”
“Gods, no. I try to stay away from people in general, because I’m afraid of that ability coming out.”
“You can’t control it?”
Neve put her head on the side. “I don’t really know, because it seems too dangerous to experiment. The first time it happened, I was sixteen. Artur was a boy I’d grown up with. One night, after a neighborhood party, he kissed me. I—” She blushed. “I liked it. I suppose, in my excitement, something deep inside me reared up and grabbed onto his energy. His essence. The next thing, I opened my eyes and he was unconscious, slumped in the chair. It took weeks for him to recover. Everyone thought he fell ill, but I knew the truth. I’d begun to kill him.”
“Did his family blame you?”
Replaying that night in her head, she closed her eyes briefly. “No, but only because no one living or dead has the same ability. It’s something ugly and innate—something I was born with.”
Polinth had leached an elf’s life force, but in small amounts over a long period.
“It’s ugly only if you say it is.” He cracked his knuckles, one by one. “Strangely, it sounds a lot like passion, to me. Something deep and powerful and hungry. Is this the reason you feel ashamed?”
She faltered, deciding how much to divulge. Never before had she been able to speak about her darkest secret. Now here she was, discussing it with an assassin of all people.
But then, who better? Like he said, it was hardly as though he could judge her. She could say anything.
“Sort of. It’s a shameful ability, to be sure. But also, I feel ashamed of how much I might enjoy exploring the depths of that power. There’s allure in the mysterious.”
“Perhaps you just need to practice, so you can control it.”
“Practice on whom? Would you volunteer? Besides, I’d be driven from the kingdom if people knew about it. Even Zermes isn’t that tolerant.”
Eleksi laughed softly. “You’d make an excellent assassin, if nothing else. I could give you a job.”
“But I don’t want to kill people. I just wish I was normal.”
“No such thing.”
“Well, alright. I wish I wasn’t death personified, at least.”
“Death isn’t anything to be afraid of. There are far scarier things in this world.”
Neve smiled faintly. “Like you.”
“Yes. Like me.”
“But you couldn’t kill me. Why not?”
The shadow passed over his face again. “A couple of reasons.”
“Oh.” Her imagination went wild. Had she unwittingly done something to dissuade him? “But what are those reasons?”
He considered her for a long time, his silver eyes searching hers. “One reason was that I was reminded of my grandmother. She mostly raised me.”
“I remind you of your grandmother?”
He chuckled. “No. The dog did.”
“Beatrice?”
“My grandmother worked in mines as a young woman. She lost her left arm, from the elbow down. The wolfhound appearing at that moment was unbelievable to me. Like a message from the Beyond to spare you.”
“Your grandmother is no longer with us?”
“No. And she was the only person who’s ever—” He trailed off, and she let him, because her eyelids were becoming leaden.
The fire sparked in the hearth. Its warmth had filled the room, like the food had filled Neve’s stomach, leaving her drunk with drowsiness. After an uncomfortable morning on horseback, the bed felt as soft and inviting as a field of clover and daisies. She slid down, so that her head lay on the pillow. Eleksi remained sitting, next to her.
“Do you hope to meet him?” he asked.
Neve blinked sleepily. “Who?”
“Your father.”
“Right.” Neve pressed her lips together. “I don’t know. My mother always told me that my father was an awful man. Perhaps that was true. How should I know? The king is well-loved by the populace, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t hurt my mother.”
“Aye. But you know, if Meliohr wants you dead, King Leonid is no doubt in her sights, too. She’ll want him in the ground.”
Anxiety twinged at Neve’s insides. “I hope not. The kingdom has flourished under Nikolaou rule. When I was a child, King Branimir and Queen Petra were immensely popular. Until he went mad, that is, and caused the death of Levissina’s husband.”
“I’ve heard Branimir’s son, Prince Davron, is alive but still exiled in Velandia. He would be the rightful heir to the throne.”
“He’s welcome to it,” replied Neve, her eyelids as heavy as stone.
A fresh wave of fatigue crashed over her. She nestled into the pillow and let her eyelids flutter closed. Her thoughts began to drift and morph, and soon she was fast asleep.