Page 80 of Fortune's Blade

There was a good chance that I would have face planted, but someone was there beside me, someone who had had no trouble getting past the queen’s guards, someone who caught me before I hit the floor.

And took me out to the same chairs on the balcony where Ray and I had sat and I had consumed my floating feast. And where my visitor had talked with Ray and plotted to get me out of Faerie, whether I liked it or not. And where he now intended to convince me of the same, I was sure of it.

“No!” I pulled away.

“No?” One of my father’s expressive, dark eyebrows went up. “You do not wish to sit out here?”

“That’s . . . not what I meant,” I gasped, out of breath although I didn’t know why.

He gave me some water, pushed my hair back off my face and brought me a blanket from the next room. His hands were warm and gentle as he tucked it around me, and his voice, murmuring reassurances, was soothing. Or, at least, it was supposed to be.

But for some reason it had the opposite effect. I didn’t want him tending me as if I were his child, when we both knew I never was! I didn’t want him touching me at all!

“Get away! Get away from me!” I lashed out with a hand and the water glass flew into the ward beyond the balcony, shattering into a hundred pieces before dropping out of sight.

Mircea did not go away, but he did release me. I sat there, doubled over the arm of my chair and staring at the floor. And at the few shards of glass that had ricocheted back onto the tiles, one of which was still spinning.

They didn’t look like anything anymore. Not the drinking glass they’d once been, not something else. Just formless, useless, broken.

I stared at them for a long time.

“Dory will be alright,” I finally said, my voice hoarse. “She’s stronger than you know. You don’t have to worry about her.”

“I am not worried about her,” he said quietly. “I am worried about you.”

And for some reason, that also enraged me. I sat up and whirled to face him, and for an instant, there was fear in his eyes and he moved backward slightly. I was pleased to see it.

I wanted him to be afraid of me, as much as I’d once wanted him to love me. Wanted him to understand that he could no longer control me. Not where I went, not what I did, not who I was.

I hadn’t felt it until now, the absolute certainty that I wasn’t mere shards on a floor. I wasn’t something useless to be thrown out. I wasn’t wrong.

And I wasn’t going back.

The words weren’t spoken aloud, but Mircea didn’t need them to be. I had practically yelled them mentally, and they echoed in both of our minds. Loudly enough that he flinched, but did not turn away.

“Faerie is dangerous,” he told me, after a moment. “Particularly in the service of the queen—”

“Life is dangerous,” I cut him off, as I once would have never thought to do. “And messy and uncertain and sometimes tragic. But it is life, nonetheless.

“And I want it.”

I wanted it more than anything.

And for a second—no, not even that; for an instant, the surge of emotion I felt caused my control to slip and he saw what was in my mind.

“A child.” There was wonder in his voice. “This is what she offered you?”

“You sound surprised.” I got up, because I could not sit still, no matter that there was nowhere to go.

“I did not know that you desired such so badly.”

“Of course not!” I laughed and it was ugly, but I didn’t turn to face him; I didn’t know what I would do if I did. I hadn’t expected this . . . this rage . . . that had come out of nowhere. But suddenly, it was all I could feel.

“Dorina . . . I am sorry—”

I was in his face in an instant, for it was the worst thing he could have said. Once, I would have given anything for an apology, some understanding, a look, a glance, any scrap of affection that was just for me. Would have begged—did beg—for him to acknowledge that I wasn’t the problem, that I wasn’t the monster he thought me to be, that I didn’t want to hurt his child.

That I was his child.