Page 44 of Grim and Oro (Lightlark)

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Because you’ve mentioned your mother several times, and your father none.”

My eyes narrow. He appears to be telling the truth, but would I know if he was withholding? I can’t be sure.

“It’s all right,” he says, his voice mocking. “I bet he hated you back.”

My anger flares, and flames erupt in my fist again.

“It’s all right,” he repeats slowly, drawing out the word, unconcerned. “So does mine.”

We lock eyes. It’s like he’s daring me to kill him. Like he wants me to.

I shake my head in disgust. “You and me,” I say, my voice fracturing with fury. “We—we’re nothing alike.”

I push off the cold metal bars, then leave, turning my back to him as I ignore the bitter taste in my mouth.

Lie .

My brother has summoned me to the throne room. I might be insulted by the formality of the gesture, if I didn’t know how busy he was.

He’s been practically glued to the throne since our parents died, hearing every demand and update. Every way the island is suffering in the war’s aftermath.

His face looks hollow. More so than when I saw him last.

“You have to eat, Egan,” I tell him.

He blinks. “I will,” he says. “The meetings—they’re more important.”

“Than your own well-being?” He’s wasting away.

He frowns. “Of course. I’m the least important part of this kingdom.”

I look at him, perplexed.

“My own wants matter least,” he continues. “That’s what Father taught me. He was flawed ... but he put the island above all else.”

Including his children.

The commitment to duty, I admit, was admirable, though I never agreed with his insistence on exploring lands beyond Lightlark. As part of the ruling line, I should share that sense of responsibility.

Shame fills my chest like poison. I recall the way I stormed out of the prisons, because of my own emotions. It was wrong. My brother is here, refusing to sleep or eat. Meanwhile I failed to get Grimshaw to reveal anything about his plans.

“Oro,” my brother says. “They say you’re visiting the prisoner. Is it true?”

So he knows. I nod.

The full strength of Egan’s trust in me is visible in the way his brow doesn’t even furrow. “Why?” he asks simply.

“Enya believes he’s planning something. She doesn’t trust the surrender. I’m trying to trick him into revealing information.”

Egan purses his lips thoughtfully. “And how is that going?”

Horribly .

I almost killed him five seconds into our first conversation .

“It’s still early stages.”

He nods. “You’ve always been a good judge of character.” He doesn’t know it’s because of my flair. I kept it a secret from my father. Egan was close to him. I didn’t want it to be a burden for him to keep.

I think about telling him now ... but decide against it. Especially as the doors open, and nobles begin shuffling in for the next meeting.

“Let me know if there’s anything I should be aware of,” he says. I turn around. “And Oro?”

“Yes, King ?” I say, in earshot of the approaching nobles.

Egan winces at the title, as if he hasn’t gotten used to it. “Be careful.”

“I will,” I promise, before slipping through the doors, already dreading whatever the bastard is going to say when I show up in front of his cell again.

“Can’t stay away, can you?”

His tone is mocking as ever.

I approach, then recoil. “You smell like shit,” I say, standing as far from his cell as possible.

He grins sardonically. “Next time I’ll make sure to scrub extra hard with the soap I’m provided.”

There is no soap. No bath. I remember my time in the prisons and feel a flicker of pity.

Grimshaw curls his lip in disgust. “Don’t start pitying me, second son. Burn me alive first.”

I still, shocked. Then I take a step forward. There’s no use delaying the question. “Can you read my mind?”

“No. And trust me, I’m grateful for it.”

Truth. I nearly sigh in relief.

He snorts. “If I could, yours would be the last I would get caught rummaging in.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why?”

He shrugs, his chains clanking against the wall. “You’re not very important, are you, second son? I wouldn’t waste my talents on someone so insignificant.”

He wants to rile me up. “Yet here you are, speaking to me.”

He flashes a mocking smile. “I am, as you can see, a very captive audience .”

Bastard.

It’s not the insult. It’s the fact that I could imagine one of my friends saying the very same thing.

He is not your friend , I remind myself, heat curling from my hands. His father killed your mother .

“So conflicted,” he says, shaking his head. “Not a very useful trait, if you ask me. Good thing you’re the second son. You would make an awful king.”

I glare at him, even if, on some level I don’t disagree. “I thought you couldn’t read my mind,” I say.

He lifts a shoulder. “I never said anything about your emotions.”

I don’t know what shocks me more. That information—or that he told me the truth, unprompted. He could have lied. He doesn’t know about my flair. Why tell me one of his abilities, when he could have easily used it against me?

Yet—perhaps he isn’t trying to use it against me. Perhaps, just as he has told me, just as I have inferred from his own actions, he is perfectly content to stay in this cell forever. Or perhaps he’s playing a similar game to mine.

Only one way to find out.

I sit down across from his cell, resting my back against the wall.

Grimshaw’s eyes narrow. For the first time, he looks suspicious. “Why are you here? If you’re not going to put me out of my misery, why deepen it with your company?”

I can’t tell him my reason. I also don’t particularly enjoy lying. “I’d like to understand my enemy.” It’s partially true, at least.

“Right.” He doesn’t believe me for a second.

I need to keep him talking. “You say you hate your father. So why not kill him?”

“Why didn’t you kill yours?” He meets my eyes. “Why don’t you kill your brother?”

“I love my brother.”

Grimshaw looks unconvinced. His lip curls in distaste. “Take love ”—he says the word like it disgusts him—“out of the equation. Why don’t you kill your brother?”

I know what he’s asking me to admit. And I wonder, even with reading emotions, how he was able to intuit a truth I’ve only ever told Egan, decades ago.

“I don’t want to rule.”

Grimshaw nods calmly, as if he anticipated the answer. “Are you still pretending we’re so different?”

I swallow hard. We are nothing alike. But I’ll indulge his delusions, if it means protecting this island and those I love.

“You’re saying you don’t want your father’s throne?” I need to know what drives him. Understanding Grimshaw could mean unlocking his plans—or at least guessing at them.

“I don’t want anything,” he says. It’s true. His emotionlessness, his coldness ... they’re not an act. It’s clear Grimshaw shut down a long time ago. What happened to make him this way?

“Not even a woman?” I ask. Perhaps it was heartbreak that got him here.

“Wanting implies caring. I’ve never cared about any of the women I’ve been with.”

I’m shocked that he’s admitting this much. Why? Why speak so plainly to his enemy? But he’s been here for days, in isolation. Perhaps my presence is a solace.

Grimshaw rolls his eyes. “My lack of feeling shocks you.”

“What shocks me is that you seem to believe everyone is as heartless as you.”

He shakes his head. “No. Fools exist, second son. I’m sitting right in front of one.”

I smirk. “You think I’m a fool for loving people?”

He nods.

“Why?”

“Because love, the kind people like you believe in, doesn’t exist. Let me guess: You believe love is some disease , something that happens to you without your own free will.

” He scoffs. “Like it isn’t a decision you make.

Like you don’t get to decide whether to give someone else power over you.

” He frowns. “Loving someone is allowing them to train the tip of their dagger on your heart at all times. And smiling about it. It’s idiotic. ”

I shake my head. For the first time since I’ve been in these prisons, I laugh, truly. I can’t help myself.

His voice is cutting. “You think that’s amusing, second son.”

I nod. “I do. I think it’s funny how you think you would be impervious to it. To love.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I am impervious to it. Because I refuse to be a fool.”

I think about all the people I’ve loved. My mother. My brother. My friends. It isn’t exactly what he explained ... but it’s close. I would do anything for them. That love is endless.

My mother .

I close my eyes against the images of her being cut down. Of her body, turning to ash—

“The pain you feel now is because of this love you speak so highly of,” Grimshaw says.

I tense.

“Yes, I can feel your pain,” he says, glaring at me. “It’s enormous. It’s tiresome.”

I grind my teeth. “I apologize that my all-encompassing sorrow over my parents’ murder by your father is inconvenient for you,” I snarl.

“Thank you for your apology. But getting out of my face would be preferable.”

I can tell we’re done for today. I give him what he wants.