Page 13 of Grim and Oro (Lightlark)

WATCHING AND WANTING

Thanks to her people’s elixir, her ankle heals quickly. Less than two weeks later, we continue our search for the sword.

It isn’t on the Wildling newland, like I might have assumed if my general had truly claimed it.

No, according to the blacksmith, the sword was stolen, and last sensed on Nightshade—so Isla suggests we try to extract information from the most notorious thieves in my realm.

The moment we portal to the fishing town I feel her panic rush like poison through my veins.

I whip around, ready to strike at any danger.

But she’s just staring at me .

Is she afraid of me? Finally?

No ... as my own wave of panic dissipates, I feel the truth.

She’s afraid for me.

What a ridiculous thought. Why?

“ Your curse ,” she says. She points at the moon, and then me, as if I could have possibly missed it. “You can’t—”

Ah. “Go outside at night?”

She nods vigorously.

Has she ever seen one of my kind die from the curse? Does she not know I would have been a pile of ash at her feet before she was able to get a single word out?

No. She’s been locked away in that room. The only times she’s been to my lands with her device are the times she’s met me.

“That won’t be a problem,” I say simply, before turning around.

I feel her concern being smothered by a flare of annoyance and curiosity. “Even you are not powerful enough to escape the curses.”

I sigh. She’s stubborn, like me. She isn’t going to drop this, even though I wish she would.

She clearly knows nothing about her heritage.

About her father. I do not want to rub it in her face, I do not want to lie to her unless I have to, but this, I admit, deserves an explanation.

“No. But someone else was, and they made me this.” I show her the charm beneath my shirt.

A simple piece of metal tied to unbreakable string.

Her confusion only grows. I only grow more irritated. Why tell her anything at all? I don’t owe her anything. I don’t even need to speak to her.

I know only one proven way to stop her questions, and it is to make her angry.

“While I am flattered by your concern for my well-being,” I say, in a tone I am sure she hates, “focus on finding the sword. Not me.”

That does it. She goes silent, and I feel her anger boiling around us.

Good. Better she be angry at me than concerned about me. I almost laugh at the absurdity. Her having any care at all for her enemy.

Because no matter how many times I visit her at night, we are still enemies. She stabbed me in my chest. I deceived her into agreeing to a plan that will almost surely lead to her death.

A sliver of regret spikes through my stomach, and I close the bars around my emotions, smothering it.

I can’t use my power in case the sword is with the thieves, so I lead us toward a boat with paddles. She tries to grab one—because of course she does— and I snatch it out of her hand. She’ll only slow us down.

Around her, my body is a coil of tension. She unnerves me. If I can’t work it out in other ways, I will do it here, with these paddles, on the sea.

I begin paddling, focusing on the strain of my muscles instead of her, behind me. It almost works, until I can feel something from her that I would never expect out here in the middle of the ocean, in the dead of night.

Fear, maybe. Curiosity. Apprehension.

Not a wave of desire.

She’s watching me. I can almost feel her gaze like I can her emotions.

For the first time in my life, I am not content with my powers. Reading feelings isn’t enough. I wish I could read minds. I wish I could know exactly what is going on in her head. I wish I had the courage or the right to ask.

“It’s surprising,” she finally says, putting me out of my misery.

And that’s all.

Nothing else. I almost ignore her. I almost pretend I didn’t hear her. But curiosity wins, minutes later, when I finally bite out, “What, pray tell, is so surprising?”

“Your flair is portaling. You can go anywhere without lifting a finger. Yet ... you climb quickly. You can paddle well. You are ... muscled.”

I was right. She was studying me.

Could she possibly find me as interesting as I find her?

Of course , I think. Of course she would notice the same thing I noticed about her. She has never relied on powers. Has she wanted them? Is she shocked to see that I have not relied solely on my abilities as well?

“Ogling my body, Hearteater?” I say, almost desperate to taste her flash of embarrassment.

I do, and it pleases me in a strange way. It’s like I can feel her blush, her skin burning, beneath my lips. I have the strange, disgusting urge to turn around and run my mouth across her heated skin.

I remain very still.

“Only in your dreams,” she bites out.

All of them , I think. You’re in all of them .

Instead, I say, “Is there a question?”

“Yes. It’s been hundreds of years since war. You can portal anywhere with half a thought. Why keep up with your ... fitness regimens? Why ... when you have so much ability?”

I tell her the truth. Something she must know. Something I want her to understand, for she is not powerless. I don’t know the extent of that power, but I know it is hidden, just waiting to surface.

“I have never relied solely on my powers. A person’s mettle is determined by who they are beneath them.”

I turn to look at her. I need her to hear me. “And only a fool waits to prepare for a war until one is declared.”

She’s silent after that, and I am both grateful and disappointed.

When we wash ashore, I turn to her.

There’s something in her eyes. Something in her feelings. She’s not as afraid as she should be. She’s a relatively inexperienced ruler, walking into a den of the most dangerous thieves on Nightshade. She should be terrified . Does she think I will protect her?

“I won’t save you,” I tell her. “If it’s you or the sword, it will not be a difficult decision. I will find a way to get it without you.”

I mean it.

I need to mean it.

“I am aware,” she tells me through her teeth.

“Good.”

I find myself hoping it won’t come to that, knowing that it will.

I lied.

I hear a smashing of glass, and gods help me , even though I told her I wouldn’t save her, I portal downstairs in an instant, only to find her standing outside, covered in ash.

Pride fills me. Killing a Nightshade by smashing through a window is ingenious.

Then, she folds over and retches.

I sigh.

We’re not done. More blood is spilled. And, at the end of it, when everyone is dead, she does not celebrate.

No. She’s crying . The man she killed—and the one I killed after—was filth, the worst of men who sell much more than rare objects, yet he has made her cry .

I feel those tears like blades cutting down my insides.

All of her feelings are like weapons. They pierce far deeper than anyone else’s have.

They dig into my skin, just like the punishments I used to be given.

It is, I think, another form of torture.

Because ... because I care . I care that she’s crying, even though that man doesn’t deserve her tears.

I portal her back to her room. Of course I’ll stay , I think. I’ll wait until those tears are gone. How long does it usually take? Last time, she fell asleep. That was the only thing that got them to stop.

Her eyes are closed. If I wiped the tears away, would they stop completely? Would she produce more?

My hand reaches out, and I stop myself.

She’s your enemy , I say. You’re going to kill her .

Her tears mean nothing. They need to mean nothing .

“There is a celebration on Creetan’s Crag in two weeks,” I say, having a hard time finding my voice. “That’s when I’ll return.”

I fight every urge to stay as I portal away.

The hearteater is going to die.

That is the ideal ending of this scenario. We find the sword. She unlocks it. The power it takes harms her—maybe even kills her.

It is inevitable.

The fact that those words produce a flicker of regret in me is exactly why I need to stay away from her, outside of our search for the sword. In truth, this time.

I am stronger than this. Some woman isn’t going to break through hundreds of years of resolve. She is nothing.

So, I stop going to her room at night. Instead, I visit the scar, which has torn open again and again. I find myself relishing in the fight, for it is the greatest distraction. All this tension, this feeling , this fury—I channel it into my powers and fight and kill until it is gone.

Until my body gives out, and there’s no time or energy to visit her. Sometimes, I fall asleep right on the dirt, by the scar.

Days pass without her, and relief rushes in. She was just a momentary temptation. Nothing special.

To prove it to myself—that she means nothing, that she has no control over me—I tell Astria to call for another Covet.

The women line up, the same as before. All wearing red on their lips. All in slips of fabric. I walk in and am met with their unfettered excitement. They’ve volunteered to be here. They know what it entails.

They might as well be faceless. I can’t focus on any of them. I try . I force myself to look at each one.

Judging by the flare of desire from my guards stationed at the end of the room, they must be desirable.

But not to me.

My emotions remain as flat as a lake.

Good. I’m not supposed to feel anything. Good .

I just have to choose. It can be any of these women. It doesn’t matter. This is my duty. It means nothing.

Choose .

Eyes, staring me down. Inviting me in. Desire, from them. For me . It should be enough to just choose, to just go, to just revel in the momentary release and distraction.

I blink—and all I see is green. Green eyes, glaring at me . And red. An aura so sharp and saturated, it bleeds into my dreams . Every shade of everything I’ll never have.

Every shade of everything I suddenly need.

She means nothing. Let me prove it. Let me have all these women, one after the other, and not think about her once.

I step forward.