It weighs on me and drags me down. My muscles tense, shoulders rising up to my ears.
“Stop making me feel bad, asshole,” I growl. The emotions cut off abruptly. Roiven leans back in the chair, his eyes hard on me.
“That’s not what I was trying to do.”
“Well, it’s what happened either way. And if you didn’t tell me the truth this morning, what did youthinkwould happen when we showed up here?” I throw my arm out towards the door, gesturing to the rest of the mountain.
There’s a long pause. Roiven sighs.
“...Honestly?”
“No, please lie to me,” I snap.
“I thought it would go about how it did. About how it’s going now.”
I close my eyes and lean back against the desk, then draw a steady breath through my nose. For the first time since my exile, I find myself longing for a dull, pointless day at the Bluff. I want to tell Roiven to fuck off, but with the Hellions on the horizon, I can’t wallow in my feelings any longer than I already have.
I may hate him. And I may be just thetiniestbit hurt by him right now. But that doesn’t mean everyone else here deserves to die.
“Then why do it?”
“Because I needed to know how you really felt about everything. But you’re focusing on the wrong thing,” Roiven says.
“Not sure I agree with that statement,” I tell him through gritted teeth.
“You can feel the enchantment on me when you touch your hand to my skin, can’t you?” he asks. Roiven stands back up out of the chair, as if realizing I’m not going to join him. Hands in his pockets, he stalks towards me across the room.
“So?” I rub my forehead. The King of Witches stops a single pace from me, looking down into my eyes. My heart pounds harder and I feel my skin quiver in awareness of his nearness, but I refuse to budge.
“I can’t feel it in myself. Why is that?”
“I don’t know. Because you aren’t used to working with it,” I mutter. “Maybe if you…”
“It’s not that,” Roiven interrupts. “I could feel it in Hevrin, just not myself. Because I'm the enchantment's prey.”
I know it’s terrible, but right now, I couldn’t care less about him being Enchanted. He doesn’t deserve my pity.
“You said witchcraft couldn’t steal someone’s will, but I would never have agreed to become your wife. Explain that.” I jab his chest with my finger.
Exasperation roils off of him. Roiven’s head shakes minutely.
“You agreed to a permanent bond,” Roiven says. “You agreed to tracking, and shared emotions. What itmeansto my people is secondary.” Apparently Roiven is as good at finding loopholes in truths as he is in magic. “But Cai, listen, can you feel the enchantment in your own arm?” His gaze flicks to my armor.
I stare down at myself. Slowly I curl the metal hand into a fist, relax it again, and gulp. My armor doesn’t hum. There’s no buzz of power. There never has been.
“I can feel the enchantment in you. In that armor you never take off. It's doing something to you.” Roiven says. “Nor and Avreen told me they felt it too.”
I don’t look up to meet his eyes, even though I can feel them burning into me.
“I know it’s enchanted.” My voice comes out hoarse. “That’s how it saved my arm. Obviously.”
Roiven takes a step even closer, crowding me. I lean back further against the desk, my teeth clenched tight and every muscle straining.
“They pulled you from the sea,” he says, his words spilling quickly from his lips, like he’s trying to get it all out before I stop him. “They put you in an enchanted suit of armor and they sent you to kill your own people, and when you showed a hint of power they exiled you, and when they were finally ready to go against theTower the first thing they did was try to destroy you entirely—without enough time for your familiar to bond again. Why is that?”
My eyes snap up to meet his. I rub my temple as it throbs.
“Were any of our conversations real, or were you just trying to gain my trust?” I growl.
