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Death has been following Leon around for most of his life. In many ways, he and it are old friends. And when he’s in battle, when he’s wielding his blade and breaking open the earth to pour men into it, at least he’s meeting it on his terms.

Except he learned at Mistwell what death can be like when he’s not in command of it.

When those rare forces stronger than him take hold and rip that control from his fingers.

I doubt it happens often—he’s simply too powerful—but that early lesson must’ve stuck with him.

And it’s clear to me now why he couldn’t leave things to chance and just hope I’d say yes if he asked me to come with him to Filusia.

Not when his brother’s illness was one of those terrible specters he knew he couldn’t conquer with a sword or split earth.

There was too much at stake, and he must’ve already felt an echo of the same terror he felt the day he woke in Mistwell surrounded by death.

He’s afraid for his brother, that’s obvious.

But he’s afraid for me too. I believe that now, that he really feels he has to protect me, and to do that, I have to be by his side.

He’s also afraid for himself—of what it will mean if he can’t keep both of us safe.

Because maybe that would show he’s destined to repeat the tragedy of Mistwell. That must be a terrible burden to bear.

Terrible enough that I forgive him? That I forgive myself for the choices I made to let him into my mind and my body?

I don’t know, but I do know I won’t be easily rid of Leon.

He’ll be forever stalking through my thoughts or in the memory of his touch whispering across my skin.

And now he’s confusing things even more.

Because the story of Mistwell and of Fairon both tell me so much about his choices. His lies to me weren’t just an act of cruelty or simple proof that he doesn’t care about my feelings. In many complicated ways, they were the desperate acts of a man trying not to repeat his past.

I reach out to touch his face, my fingers against his cheek, palm nestled under the strong line of his jaw. He goes still, eyes wide, and I can tell he’s worried him moving will make me pull away.

“Most of the people in my country grow up knowing your reputation as a killer, and nothing else,” I say. My eyes trace his features, watching the tightening of his lips and the flare of emotion in his eyes.

“But I don’t think that’s the full picture,” I continue.

“What happened at Mistwell was a terrible mistake, but it only happened because you were trying to do the right thing. You said it yourself: You were trying to end things before anyone else died. That’s what you should remember, not the awful tragedy created by Herrydan’s broken mind and the prejudices of Palquir’s men. ”

Leon closes the distance between us and kisses me.

I’m not expecting it. Maybe if I’d seen it coming, I would have stopped it.

Or maybe not. As it is, any thought I have of resisting immediately crumbles under the heat of his lips.

I open my mouth to him, letting his tongue caress mine, his lips urging me to succumb to the pleasure he knows exactly how to stoke in me.

As his hand slips behind my head, pulling me in deeper, I’m hanging onto a precipice. If I let go, I have a long way to fall.

I go still, freezing against him, and he immediately notices the change. He pulls back, dropping his hand, and I release a sigh.

Of relief, of course. I’m relieved we stopped before things got out of hand. Just like I’m not at all desperate to feel his skin against mine again.

He looks at me with a question in his gray eyes, and being under their scrutiny is suddenly too hard.

It’s still there, his betrayal—the fact that he took from me the things he knew I couldn’t stand losing again.

My power, my freedom. Understanding him a little better, and sympathizing with him a little more, doesn’t wipe out what he did to me.

It sits there like a heavy, leaden weight between us.

“I have to go,” I say, shouldering my way past him and fleeing from the courtyard. Putting distance between us immediately makes it easier to breathe. I find myself relaxing a fraction as I move through the Lyceum, even if I still feel that kiss burning on my lips.

I find Tira teaching Stratton and Damia some Trovian card games in a grassy square near our rooms.

“No, you can’t beat me with that,” she says to Stratton as he lays his hand down on the lawn between them. “Two queens with a knave doesn’t get you anything.”

“Speak for yourself,” Stratton says. “ I call it a good time.”

Tira rolls her eyes, her hand absent-mindedly drifting downward. It’s then that I see Barb nestled in the grass between her and Damia.

The sight of my friend patting the head of a snake is at least enough to snap me out of the muddled thoughts swirling round my head. I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell Tira about the kiss at first, but I don’t have anything to gain from keeping secrets. That’s more Leon’s specialty.

Except he’s been letting you in, hasn’t he? He’s been telling you the truth more and more.

I ignore the voice in my head, not ready to unpack that idea yet.

“When you’re done, can we talk?” I ask Tira.

“Well, that sounds ominous,” Damia says, holding her arm out for Barb to wind her way up it. But Tira just nods and starts packing the cards away.

“We’re done,” she says simply.

“But I was just getting the hang of it,” Stratton complains.

“No, you weren’t,” Tira contradicts him. “And there’s nothing more I can teach you for now. You have to go and practice. There’s some things you can’t charm your way through, pretty boy.”

Stratton winks at her. “As long as you think I’m pretty.”

I tut at him as Tira gets up to leave. “She’d eat you alive, Mureln,” I say with a warning tone.

He just laughs as we leave the courtyard, and Tira throws me a curious look.

“You’re joking around, so whatever is bothering you can’t be too serious,” she says.

“Seriously confusing,” I say as we head back to our room. Once we’re inside, I fill Tira in on what happened. I skip the details about Mistwell—it’s not really my tale to tell. I do tell her that the hints of it people hear in Trova aren’t the whole truth. Then I get to the kiss.

“So what does he expect?” Tira asks. “He tells you some deep, personal stuff about his past and you’re supposed to just forgive him?” She shakes her head. “Men. It doesn’t matter if they’re fae or human, they still don’t understand the first thing about emotions.”

“I don’t think he expects me to forgive him just like that,” I say, turning the moment over in my mind. “It’s more like, he appreciated what I said and…got carried away?” I finish weakly, knowing the justification sounds shaky.

“It seems like you want to defend him,” Tira says.

“I don’t!” I reply, perhaps too defensively.

She holds her hands up. “I’m not judging, just making an observation.”

My thoughts from earlier come back to me.

“He has been sharing more with me since the library attack. Of course I’m glad to know why we’re here, and grateful that he’s finally willing to share about his past. But I still think it’s too little too late.

It shouldn’t have gotten this far before he bothered to start keeping me informed, should it? ”

Tira shrugs. “No, but didn’t you basically tell him earlier that we shouldn’t be defined by our mistakes? And maybe he’s realizing just what a terrible mistake he made in deceiving you.”

She’s probably right. I called him a hypocrite, but wouldn’t I be the hypocrite if I refused to let him make up for what he did?

“I did learn something from my card lesson with the fae,” Tira adds when I don’t immediately reply. “Have you noticed we haven’t seen Alastor recently?”

I raise my eyebrows, realizing we really haven’t. But I know his schedule is very different to mine since we got to the Lyceum. I get up early to eat breakfast before I train, and he lies in. I just thought I kept missing him.

“Why? Where is he?”

“Apparently, their captain sent him off on some mission. He’s been gone for a week.” She reads my expression. “I’m guessing the new, improved Leon-who-shares-things didn’t mention that.”

“No,” I say, my disappointment rising. “He didn’t.”