“Then you still take their side,” he says coldly, and drops my chin. “You’d still rather destroy villages like this one, and kill the people in them, than…”
“No.That’s not what I said. I don’t want any more fighting.”
I grew up on Hellions. I’ve known sailors who were drafted onto ships when they just wanted to stay home, watched Enchanted who’d been consecrated led on board and then thrown over. They’ve all died in Roiven’s storms and Sava’s flames. And even those who were eager to kill witches, well… so was I. I didn’tknowwitches. I only knew the lies we were told about them.
I can't blame Roiven for protecting these lands anymore. I know he had no choice. But can't I find a better way? Most of the Empire’s casualties aren't eager to be at war, and they die just the same as those who are.
There’s no good in killing every innocent on the Empire’s side just to atone for the deaths on Roiven’s.
“Bond with me,” Roiven urges. “There’s so much you don’t understand yet. I could—”
I shake my head.
“Let’s just get this part over with,” I tell him, and rip the lines of enchantment out through his skin before he can say anything more.
I sleep, and find Roiven gone. I exercise and I stare at the flowers and wonder why I was so quick to believe so many lies.
Then the fourth day dawns, warm and blue-skied, and I step outside my room to find Roiven waiting. The witch sits on top of the stone table in armor, his boots resting on one of the benches. Is he expecting combat?
As I open the door his eyes quickly find mine.
I’m wearing the pink dress again. I know it doesn’t suit me. I belong in armor, with grime on my face. I’m far too broken to look pretty, or to wear pretty things, but the dress is comfortable, and it feels nice to pretend I have a use other than killing.
Maybe it’s just dreaming, to think this war could end in any way other than bloodshed.
Roiven hasn’t brought a tray of food with him like he has been each morning. But he’s holding my sword. My gorgeous, gold-washed,grotesque, imperial sword.
It doesn’t look as beautiful as it used to.
“A report came. A pack of four Hellions have crossed into our lands, heading for the rest of their navy,” he says grimly.
I stop a few feet from him and fold my arms as I study him. His leather armor covers his chest and shoulders, but his arms are mostly bare. The black lines of remaining enchantment twine around pale white scars from the magic I’ve removed. All the enchantment marks on his face are still there, restraining his ability to lie.
He’s still achingly handsome.
“How long do we have?”
“Days,” he says.
“They’re coming here?”
“No. The Gray Tower. It’s time I returned.”
Roiven stands up and hops down from the bench. Another step, and he’s only inches in front of me, standing too close. Myheart jumps and I draw a ragged breath, feeling my face flush with unfamiliar heat. Everytime I remove the enchantment my hands are pressed to his flesh, but that’s different; there's necessity involved.
There's no reason he needs to stand so close now. So close I can feel his heat and smell the stormy, smoky scent of his skin.
“Negotiate with me.” His voice is low.
“You’ve changed your mind?” My heart squeezes.
“Form a bond with me.”
“Roiven…”
He holds the sword between us, balanced on both hands. I reach for it, and Roiven’s fists close around the sheath, not letting me take it.
“Bond with me, and come with me to the tower. Not as a prisoner. I’ll give you your sword back. And… I’llthinkabout accepting a deal. One where we get to keep our lands.”
