“Why not?”
“Why do you even want me to?” To control me, that’s why.
“My people’s safety. Say you’ll do it.”
Roiven’s hand reaches into my vision. He touches my wrist.
I look up to find Roiven’s gaze is hard on me. Intense. His dark hair forms a stark curtain around his stubborn face, the lines of enchantment cutting angrily through his skin.
And he wants to do the same to me? To put me under witchcraft, just as he’s been put under enchantment? He’s insane if he thinks I’d agree. Even if I’m beginning to wonder if the War-Father’s teachings weren’t wholly accurate.
“I won’t.”
“Then I can’t just let you go where you please. Avreen told me you were in the other courtyard.”
“I don't even have my sword, or a real way to get home. What do you think I'll do?”
“I’m responsible for the people here. I can’t let my own feelings put their safety at risk.”
I take another bite of bread, chewing slowly.
“I understand.”
“Do you?” His forehead furrows.
“I kept you near me at the Bluff, didn’t I?”
Roiven stares at me for nearly a full minute, but I don’t meet his eyes. At last he takes his own portion of food and begins to eat.
Even with my mood soured, the food is good. The pleasure of having a meal grown on land hasn’t dimmed, and I savor the textures, glancing around at the beauty of the garden courtyard.
This is better than how Roiven was treated. It’s even better than I was treated, on the Bluff. Good food, the prettiest garden I’ve ever seen, and no punishments.
I don’t belong here. It seems cruel to taunt me with this place’s beauty when it’s not meant for me.
We eat, in strained silence, for some minutes. My plate is nearly empty.
“I want the war to end,” I announce.
Roiven stops mid-chew and stares at me.
“The War-Father used to call it necessary cruelty. The Enchanted. But it isn’t. Maybe we don’t have to slaughter each other at all. Will you negotiate with me?”
If I can’t stop the council at Barivum from giving Harfor even more Enchanted, maybe I can stop the War-Father from draining them. Because if the witches aren’t as evil as we’ve been taught, draining the Enchanted isn’t necessary cruelty. It’s murder. By the hundreds.
“Negotiate for what?”
“If we could reach terms. For peace. Then I could go to the War-Father, and try to convince him…”
“Cai,” Roiven says, in a gentle voice that makes me want to punch him. “The Empire wanted you dead. They must know you’re a—”
“Don’t,” I interrupt, before he can get the word out. He frowns at me.
“Denial won’t change anything.”
“Just don’t,” I snap. “Look, do you want your people alive or not? Because I don’t want any more Enchanted to be consecrated.”
He sighs heavily, and shakes his head.
