“I need to think about it.” If only because it means he’ll be stuck here longer while he waits for me to make up his mind.
“You don’t have long, imperialist,” Roiven warns me. He points to the right. “There’s a crater over there with rainwater in it.”
I spit on the rocks, to show him what I think of him. Roiven’s eyes stay on me as I trudge in the direction of the water. The pool is wide, but shallow, the water almost sweet. I cup my hands and let it soothe my throat.
Surely Harfor’s orders to protect this cockroach no longer apply. I should gut him while the dragon’s too far away to stop me, then die in honor. But the idea of facing the dragon’s fire again makes me break into a cold sweat.
Am I betraying the War-Father if I choose to live, to do as the dragon wants? What would Harfor think of me?
In the distance, Sava skims low over the ocean and rises back up with a massive reaper fish struggling to escape her claws. It thrashes, fighting with everything it has. But it’s as helpless as I am.
My boots are still damp, so I walk a lap around the island barefoot as I think, torn between finally killing the man I hate, and wanting to survive this. The black stone is deliciously warm underfoot. Heavy, low clouds streak the sky, promising another storm. All I can see, in any direction I look, is the Wild Seas. The waves roll like they’re begging me to come in, but the sight makes me nauseated. I wish the island weren’t so flat so I could escape the view.
I can’t swim to freedom, and there’s nothing on this barren spit of rock to use as a ship or raft. The witch and his dragon are my only way off, and they know it. I’d like to keep them away from their people for as long as possible, so they aren’t there to defend the Tower when our Hellions strike. But I don’t want to die out here. And if I kill him or refuse to work with him, Iwilldie. So we’re going to have to come to an agreement.
I punch the rock with my metal fist hard enough that pain rings through my shoulder. I would rather literallyanyperson back me into a corner than the King of Witches. But he’s done it quite neatly. If there’s another way out, I’m not clever enough to see it.
It’s past noon when I finally give in. Roiven sits on the highest point of the island, legs dangling over the black stone lip, staring at the horizon. I approach from behind, each step heavier than the last.
“Have you decided, knight?” he asks without turning. Wind stirs his dark hair.
“You’ll need to strip so I can see the rest of the enchantment.”
He turns slowly over his shoulder and gives me a disbelieving look, dark eyebrows raised.
“Believe me, witch. I’m not interested in seeing any more of you than I have to. But I need to read the enchantment.”
“And then you’ll help me?”
“And then I’ll decide.”
That seems to make sense to him. He nods sharply, stands, and strips the shirt over his head in a smooth movement.
14
The black lines of the enchantment form spiderwebs over his skin, lines and circles and curves faintly humming with the crushed crystal mixed into the ink. The marks trace over his ribs and abdomen, sliding beneath the waist of his trousers.
I try not to stare as Roiven slowly unfastens the ties of his pants and eases them down.
He’s beautiful, but evil is still evil no matter how good it looks. I tear my eyes away from his thickly-muscled thighs and surprisingly plump rear, up to the most innocuous bit of him I can find. His shoulders. His broad, well-formed, muscular shoulders. My chest feels warm.
I am well and truly an embarrassment to the Empire, for the thoughts running through my head at the sight of this witch.
Roiven balls up the trousers and holds them over his phallus, as if any modesty can still be spared when he’s standing utterly unclothed on a black rock island in the middle of the ocean. The gray light filters through the clouds to illuminate all of him. The sea-wind teases his long black hair and pulls it away from his face.
“Well?” he asks sharply.
He has the most attractive naked body I’ve ever seen. And the hints of bruises I saw when Harfor delivered him to me are all gone. He reallydoesheal fast.
I blink, cough, and remember why I asked him to undress in the first place. Slowly I run my eyes over the cruel lines marking Roiven, trying to ignore the body beneath and focus only on the enchantment itself.
I walk slowly around him, studying the lines that cross the tapered plane of his back and how they cut down all the way to the heels of his feet. When I used to pick an Enchanted to smuggle, I never had the luxury of studying their marks so closely. It was always just small, stolen moments, one ear straining in case anybody was coming.
Roiven’s head turns to follow me, but his feet stay planted. His whole body is straining and tense, like he expects me to try and stab him at any moment, and it makes the cut of his muscles look all the sharper.
“You can relax. I’m not going to touch you,” I tell him.
“Oh?” His voice is as jagged as broken glass. “Youtry stripping naked in front of someone you detest and see how it feels.”
