Page 23 of The Last Hope

“Let the gods hear my roar,” I pray and touch my right hand to my right shoulder, left hand to my left shoulder. Right hand to my mouth and then up to the sky.

As I stand, Court eyes my face and shakes his head stiffly. “You should staunch your nose with gauze.”

I smile crookedly. “Are you doctoring me?”

He sweeps my gaze, almost asking if he’s reading into my words right.

I nod to him.

His lip hikes. “Would you like me to?”

“I think my prayers will be working all right,” I tease.

He rolls his eyes.

I add, “I’d like to do a lot of things with you.”

Court subtly checks the cockpit, and his body tenses. “We should be more careful.”

I see what he means.

The man-boy is spying onme.Studying the red markings on my face with too much hidden in his eyes.

I stare him down, and he only stares harder at me.

So I take a seat next to Court and grind my teeth. “Holy Wonders, what I’d give for dry root.”

“Your ear?” Franny jests.

“I could spare one,” I smile.

“Court’s ear—”

“Never.”

We look to Court to see if he’s smiling.

He’s watching the cockpit. Lips not lifting, but his stomach flutters and he breathes deeper than before.

I grin.

Franny swallows the last bite of her food and asks me, “How come you never taught me that prayer to stop my nosebleeds?”

I check my nails for any more meat bits. “Because you never disgraced a god.” I tell her how I lost the fight in the brig, and clearly the loss mattered to the God of Victory. Or else my nose wouldn’t be dripping.

Frustration crosses her brows.

We still don’t know why her nose has been bleeding on and off, and I suspect that’s another question she craves answered.

I turn back to the man-boy.

He’s still looking at me funny. His blue eyes could sketch my features for how long and deep he observes. Tracing all my brawn, all my crooked bones and gnarled hairs.

I lean into Court, arm against arm, our touch hitching our breath. And I ask in a coarse pant, “You think he wants to romance me?” I don’t know the signs as well as Court.

Something jumps into his throat. Swallowing hard, he tries to subdue his firm protectiveness. “I’m uncertain,” he admits.

I grimace. “But he knows I belong to you.” I said as much in the brig.