Page 36

With the wine, though, our meal might thaw the ice between us. “Can I get you more?”

He leaned back. “Who taught you to cook?”

“Revna, but I was young and didn’t pay attention. I learned more from Cook. I’d hang out in Tarian’s kitchens trying to help. Cook preached about spices covering every sin, and never learned the value in moderation.”

Kion poured more wine. “Tell me about your life before Ardalez.”

“I don’t want to bore you.”

“Nothing about you bores me,” he said. “I want to know.”

Candlelight glimmered in the room’s corners. The fire burned low with popping sparks that shot out and sizzled. An easiness settled in with the warmth.

I lifted the goblet, taking a sip before saying, “When I was very young, my father told me a story about the lady of the heavens. She was the Goddess of fertility, love, and war. The constant struggle between regeneration, passion, and destruction. One day, she visited the underworld, where her sister had her killed, thus locking her in the underworld forever. But after the sister assumed power, the people suffered. The crops refused to grow. Wars had too many souls flooding into the afterlife, and the God of the underworld had enough of the turmoil. He agreed to let the Goddess leave to restore order if her husband took her place. He did, and the Goddess lived happily ever after, I suppose, since we still wage war, plant the crops, and fall in love.”

Kion’s finger flicked against the cup rim. He was lost in thought, or else he was staring at the light reflecting off the ruby wine. “Do you want a man to sacrifice himself for you?”

“No.” I held the goblet to my lips, swallowed the wine to steady my nerves. “It was sad that the sister who should have loved the Goddess betrayed her instead. But the Goddess was incredibly selfish to go back to her life while the man who actually loved her suffered in her place.”

“Maybe sacrifice was their fate.”

“Then it was a poor fate,” I countered, “if every act of kindness requires a sacrifice, a forfeit of something else. Being with you today, it saddened me to realize that your only happy moments are the moments that the dragons give you.”

Kion’s expression didn’t change.

My inhale tightened as I asked, “What Goddess was worth your sacrifice? To go into the underworld and trade yourself for her? Dragons lost their families. So did you. I did, and countless other humans, and all of it, every precious, painful moment is tragic. But we live, we hurt and cry. We die with regrets—and the selfishness of dragons makes me angry, demanding the sacrifice from you for what was not your fault.”

The chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “That is their way. ”

“I’m not sure their way is enough for me to forgive them. You suffer for my sins, and no matter what you or I do, no matter how long or how great the costs, the penances will never end.”

“I agreed to it,” he said. “I chose the dragons.”

“And who should I choose? Which tyranny should I prefer? That of the dragons or Tarian? The red priests or a high mage? Should I close my eyes and accept Orm’s fate because there’s no other choice except dying?”

“You made me feel today.” His voice was low and gritty—oh, how he hated it, feeling something more than emptiness. “You laughed, and I remembered, with that sound. I remembered what it felt like to have a loving family. Something I once wanted.”

“Then what is your secret?” My lips trembled. “To stop wanting what you can’t have?”

“Accepting that certain needs exist, but letting them go. Walking away.”

Ice splintered through me until I had to look toward the fire. “You say you are cursed and unable to love,” I challenged. “But what if you’re afraid to be loved because that means loving someone back, and then experiencing the pain when you lose them?”

He brushed the curse tablet resting against his chest. “The Draakon cannot love. That is his curse, to not put one need above another.”

“You run from it, Kion Abaddon, named after the Angel of Death. You run from the one purpose of life. To love and be loved. ”

“As do you, Senaria Wraithion, named after the guardian between realms. The woman known as Silk, who folded her hands demurely, walked barefoot through the blood and did as the king asked.”

It was hours later, after I’d cleared the meal and he’d washed the dishes.

The fire banked low. We lay on the pallet bed because he insisted I take the bed, and I insisted that he not sleep on the hard floor.

Rather than stand there arguing until dawn, we’d compromised.

I wore clothes beneath the sheets. He also wore clothes and remained flat on his back on top of the blanket.

I rolled to my side and stared at his face, the play of firelight over the angle of his nose, the firm chin.

Perfect lips. His eyes were closed, and he’d folded is hands on his stomach.

Each breath was deep and slow. I traced Orm’s curse medallion where it lay on his chest, feeling the faint sizzle against my skin.

Kion snaked his hand up to capture mine. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve never watched a man pretend to sleep,” I said. “I’m testing your reflexes.”

His eyes remained closed. “For the right moment to strike?”

“I’m unarmed, and besides, I’ve decided I like you.”

His mouth twitched. “You like me.”

“Can I trust anything that happened today?” I asked.

“You can trust the dragons. And the things I said to you. ”

I slid my fingers from his grip and traced the curve of his forehead, pushed back strands of his hair. “What were you dreaming?”

“I wasn’t asleep, so I wasn’t dreaming.”

I made a humming sound. “Few people have mastered that, pretending to not do what they’re doing. Don’t you ever want something else for your life? Peace? Contentment?”

He scowled; I rubbed at the frown lines between his eyebrows.

“What do you wish for, late at night, when no one sees you?”

“Impossible things.”

“Tell me one impossible wish before I let you sleep.”

He sighed.

“What do you wish for, Kion?”

“The solace I don’t deserve.”

“But the days blend with nowhere to go, and the nights are restless and cold.”

He turned his head, opened his eyes. “No one has ever looked at me the way you do.”

“Am I doing it wrong?”

“No.” His fingers skimmed across my cheek. “You make me think I’m doing it wrong.”

“Why?”

“Because every time I’m around you, I wish I wasn’t the man I am.”

In the morning, he was gone from the bed, and I was alone.