“Yes.”
“Mersi. That’s it.”
I drop my hands and look at him. “The cook?”
His head is still hung between his shoulders, gaze punched at the floor. “Correct. She’s caring for the child.”
“Then why do you need me?”
“Idon’t.” He spears me with a stare. “Shedoes.”
I frown. “I don’t understand. You just said—”
“According to Mersi, the girl’s not well. She refuses to step into the sun, even though I have her housed in the northern tower that gets the most of it. She hides. She won’t leave the castle walls or even touch the grass.” He pauses. “She’s slowly destroying herself.”
The words are all sharp edges honed enough to hack me open.
I release a shuddered breath as realization hits. “You want me to—”
“Lend her your light, yes. I refuse to be involved. At all. Butyoucan be the family she lost and coax her back into the sun. Give her a chance at life. “
I look down at my feet and choke on the swell of self-disgust. That feeling that I am not worthy enough for anyone but my feasting demons. “I have very little to give, Rhordyn. You know that.”
All too well.
He doesn’t answer, but his silence roars.
I clear my throat, glance around the room. “Look at this,” I say, dashing my hand at the bed. Myself. “Look atme.”
“I am.”
I sigh deep, pace … stop. Peer out the window again, then squeeze my eyes shut. Finally, I nod—small and slow and so fucking self-serving it makes me sick. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
A beat of silence, as if he were expecting a different answer. “There will be rules. She won’t be exposed to any of this shit,” he says, gesturing around the space.
“Got it.”
“Good.” He shoves to his feet, snatches his sword, and straps the sheath across his chest. “Gather your stuff. I’ll wait for you downstairs.” Then he’s stalking toward the door in a flutter of hardy black.
“What sort of life am I giving her, Rhordyn?” He pauses with his hand wrapped around the doorknob, swallowing it whole. “You and I both know where this ends.”
The air stiffens so much it’s hard to pull breath. When he looks at me over his shoulder, there’s war in his eyes.
Cold, bloody, brutal war.
“Every year, every hour, everybreath… it’s something.”
He jerks the door open and stalks out, slamming it shut behind him.
Another fetid roar shreds the air, and my brother jolts in my arms. Heavy footballs rattle the ground, vibrating the lemon-yellow tablecloth we’re shielded under in a knot of shivering limbs.
“They’re getting closer ...” His fear-spiked whisper sends liquid fire searing through my veins.
“It’s okay,” I coast my fingers through his hair. “I’ll look after you.”
Always.
His grip around my middle tightens.
