Something hardened inside Roa. She pushed him away.
“If you’re suggesting Dax is sleeping with...” She fumbled the words, thinking of Lirabel staring in the direction of Dax’s tent. Thinking of that last night in the House of Song, of the voices giggling in the hall, of Lirabel never coming to bed...
“No,” Roa said, shaking the doubt from her mind and hugging herself to ward off the accusation. “She would never do that.”
“Are you sure?”
Roa glared at Theo, furious he would even suggest such a thing.
“Why shouldn’t she take what you clearly don’t want?” he said. “It elevates her status—something she desperately needs.”
Roa’s mouth opened to refute this, but Theo interrupted.
“She’s a ward in your house, Roa. Unless someone takes pity on her the way your father has, Lirabel has nothing. Noinheritance. Just three younger sisters to provide for and a debt she can never repay. Unless her circumstances change, she’ll continue to be a ward of the House of Song until the day she dies.”
Roa swallowed. “Her circumstanceshavechanged. She’s the king’s emissary now.”
“And what if her new status comes at a cost? What if, in exchange for her position, Dax requires... something extra?”
Roa’s stomach clenched. The thought made her sick.
“I won’t listen to this.” She stepped away from him. “I know I hurt you when I rode away to help him. I know I betrayed you completely when I married him. But this is your jealousy talking.”
“Myjealousy?” He reached for her, his strong hands cupping her face as he pressed his forehead to hers. “I’mworriedabout you, Roa.”
She stepped out of reach, shaking her head.
“Do you know what I was doing these past few months? While you were off fighting his war?”
Roa paused.
“I was hunting down the Skyweaver’s knife,” he said. “Foryou.”
Those words made her go rigid.
They hadn’t spoken of the Skyweaver’s knife in years. It was a weapon rumored to have the power to restore life. To bring back the dead.
After Essie’s accident, convinced of its existence, Theopersuaded a grief-stricken Roa to search for it with him. They’d spent years chasing down clues found in the old stories before Roa realized it was a fool’s errand.
Now she knew better. The Skyweaver’s knife was a myth, nothing more.
“It doesn’t exist.”
“I found it.” He reached for her shoulders, turning her back to him. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
Roa pulled away, annoyed. “Where is it, then?”
“In transit from Darmoor. A baron in Firgaard bought it for his private collection.”
She couldn’t believe in magical knives. Not again. Too much hope led to heartache.
“I’m not doing this.” She said it firmly. Defiantly. “Good night, Theo. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Roa walked swiftly out of the tent and into the cold sand. Essie flew after her.
Are you all right?
Her sister’s voice was hazy, fading. But with sleep or something else, Roa couldn’t say.
