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“We should get inside,” he says, eyes fixed on my mouth.
“Okay.”
But as he walks away, my heart crumbles. Everything from here feels uncertain. Life and death are a part of the same thread of fate.
“Dessin…”
He turns around, and for a moment, his gaze reminds me of the first time our eyes met in the asylum. The raw magnetism dragging us together.
“I won’t give up until I return all you’ve lost. I’ll love you until hell freezes over.”
His lips part like some muscle memory wants him to finish that statement. Say the words we’ve always said. But he doesn’t remember them.
I don’t give him the chance to linger on it. My feet sprint to him, closing the distance as I throw my arms over his shoulder, jumping in for a kiss before it’s too late. Dessin doesn’t move as I press my mouth to his. Doesn’t relax his stern muscles as I latch onto his shoulders, kneading my fingers into his back.
After the initial shock, he exhales into a brief pause, then grabs my face in his strong hands and deepens the kiss. It’s both reluctant and fueled with exploding passion. His heart warring with his mind. I memorize his taste, his cedar scent, the softness of his full lips, and the calluses of his palms grating against my cheeks.
And even then, Dessin.
He breaks the kiss off abruptly, storming into the stadium without looking back.
I slump in the spot he left me in, arms shaking in the place he once stood. Depression forms a collar around my throat, squeezing until I’m panting in Dessin’s absence.
“We don’t have long. You’re going to have to do everything I say and never deviate,” Kaspias says, making me flinch back as he unlocks the collar around my neck.
“What?” I ask, rubbing my hands along the raw skin.
Kaspias smiles genuinely, rubbing his hands together. “There’s an army at our border. And I’m here to execute your escape. You think you can lead them into battle to save your friends?”
55. Into Hell We Go
Ruth
I tremble like a blade of grass in Warrose’s arms.
“Are you shaking for me, my little rebel?”
I exhale. “Nope. I’m shaking at the thought of being dumped into a pit of lava.”
“You think I’ll get that drunk?”
“I do.”
He snorts.
Across the stage are barrels connected to rubber hoses. Prisoners stand in several lines waiting to consume their share of the drink. The audience mingles among themselves as they wait for the plank walking to start. Soldiers wear hats that look like animal heads: pigs, goats, bucks, and something else…
I squint into the distance, going still.
“RottWeilen,” I breathe.
Warrose looks at me quizzically, then darts his gaze to the audience and the many soldiers wearing hats that look like the heads of the RottWeilen. That look just like DaiSzek.
“Why the fuck are they wearing those?” he growls.
Dessin steps forward with a scowl.
“They’re celebrating the start of the meat carnival season,” Helga Bee says, appearing to Dessin’s right.
