“How lucky you are,” I seethe, taking a step toward him before I can help myself, “to believe that strength and smarts are the only things that determine a person’s destiny.”
His brow is furrowed when he glances over his shoulder at me. “Of course I don’t believe that. There are choices to be made, too.”
“Well, not all of us are presented with the samechoices, either.”
He actually seems to consider this for a beat before slowly turning around to face me once more. “Nevertheless, an important choice lies in front of you now.”
I force myself not to shift under his scrutinizing gaze, no matter how uncomfortable it might make me.
“Come with me to my city,” he says.
I scoff, lifting my hand and twisting my wrist in the lantern light to show off the bright red marks the ropes left behind. “I was already on my way, wasn’t I?”
His eyes seem to focus, not on the rope marks, but on the star burned and carved into my skin—the symbol of Malachi’s family, of our unfinished vow. He stares at it for an uncomfortably long time before forcing his gaze back up to mine. “Not as my prisoner. Come as my guest.”
I can’t stop the bitter laugh that rises out of me. “You don’t want me as your guest.”
“Are you truly so certain of what Iwant? We’ve only just met.”
“Your reputation precedes you.”
“I could say the same about you, given your chosen profession.” His eyes dart toward my Ashwalker mark on my other arm. “Your kind have a reputation for spreading lies and inciting insurrection against my kingdom wherever you go.”
“I like to think of it as spreading truth and hope.”
“Well, we all want to see ourselves as the hero, don’t we?”
My scalp prickles with irritation. “There’s nothingheroicabout what your family has done to this empire. Your father alone was responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands.”
He shrugs. “I am not my father.”
“And I should just take your word on this, I suppose? Believe that you’re a better man than that tyrant was?”
“That isn’t what I said.”
I glare at him.
He flashes a small, sharp smile, and I swear I catch a glimpse of several teeth that look more dragon-like than human. “In many ways, I’m actually much worse than my father.”
“You admit you’re dangerous to me, then.”
“Profoundly dangerous.”
“So why would I agree to goanywherewith you?”
“Because you know there are no limits to what I could give you in return.”
“I wantnothingfrom you.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing,” I repeat, but the word shakes slightly, and he pounces on the show of weakness like a wolf who’s picked a dying animal out of the herd.
His voice drops low once more, almost seductive this time. “Maybe not for you, then, but for others you care about?”
Images of the Burn flash through my mind before I can guard against them. Marta and her crooked hands. The Corvaine girl and her terrible cough. The marketplace with its shuttered stalls and stale goods and shivering, tired people just trying to get by.
Still here.
