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Valdus sits up straight, pulls his shirt up, and tears the bandage off. I gawk when no blood rushes from the wound. Stumbling to the bed, I’m unable to stop myself and run my fingers over the faint pink line where Inara has cut him open only a few days ago. Valdus stiffens under my touch, and I pull my hand away, afraid I’m hurting him.
When I look up, his face is closer than I expected. His breath flutters over my skin, twists my stomach, but this time, nausea has nothing to do with it. Neither of us moves, and for a moment I wonder if he’s as afraid of ruining this moment as I am. Could it be possible that he wants to know how it might feel to bridge the small gap between us and take a leap?
As if hearing my thoughts, Valdus lets his head fall back on the rusting headboard. He pulls the shirt down his chest, covering the wound. “Promise me you won’t do anything like that again.”
Stuffing all the silly thoughts down deep with the things I’m still not ready to unpack, I clear my throat before I speak. “Like saving your life, you mean?”
“I’m not worth dying over.”
“You know, most people would say thank you,” I mutter and jump off the bed.
It seems the near-death experience hasn’t changed a thing between us. He’s still the King of the Rebellion. I’m still a daughter of the tyrant.
Valdus catches my hand before I can storm out of the room. I pause, unable to turn and face him again. Not when my cheeks blaze with heat.
“Thank you, Neylan,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He draws an icy circle on the back of my hand with his thumb, and I have to force the next breath to leave my lungs. “Thank you for saving my life, even if it wasn’t worth it.”
I don’t dare to move, waiting for Valdus to drop my hand and chase me out of the room. When he pulls his fingers through mine, my hammering heart is ready to break out of my chest.
Valdus tugs me back until I sit down on the bed next to him. “Could you try not draining all of your energy next time? Could you try not endangering your life in the process?” he asks in a soft murmur, as if afraid someone would hear him care for the well-being of the enemy’s daughter.
“Only if you promise that there won’t be a next time,” I dare to say.
“You might get your wish. Numair has grounded me from any missions for a long while.”
“I didn’t think anyone could stop the King of Rebels.”
“Will you ever stop calling me that?” Valdus drops my hand, and I can feel its missing touch deep in my heart. He rubs his thumb over his lower lip and sighs. “After his father got caught, he got very cautious. I don’t think he’s ready to lose someone else.”
“Are we ever?”
Valdus doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. We all know that someday this desert will take everything from us.
“What will happen now?” I ask, unable to bear the silence any longer.
“I have to go back to work. The sooner, the better,” he says, running through the options out loud. “The guards are restless. A patrol shot in a forgotten town is not something they want to deal with right now. Not with rumors of war.”
“War?”
Valdus nods.
“No governor would be so impudent to attack my father openly.”
“The war isn’t coming from within the empire.”
“Poshia? Baspana?” I ask, thinking about our neighboring nations. “They have almost no technology left after The Cataclysm. No binding to our knowledge.”
“They don’t need it. Not with the resources they’ve amassed since then.”
I try to wrap my brain around the news. My father rules the desert with a tight fist, but with the war coming he’ll turn ruthless, weeding out every sign of rebellion against him. Even if it’s a simple attack on a patrol in a forgotten town.
“You’ll stay here to rest. No one will find you here.”
His words don’t calm me. I’m no longer worried about me. My concerns are for this new family that accepted me. “What about the greenhouse?”
“When you’ve recovered, you can go back to your little miracle,” he adds more softly.
“You still want to do it?”
