Page 202 of Starside

“I’m regretting it more and more every second.”

His fever has gone down; the medicine is working. I feel a flush of relief. Still … he’s warmer than he should be. It must be uncomfortable, especially in the heat of the stables.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, rising and turning on my heel. I saw ice in the kitchens. I return with it minutes later.

“This will help,” I say, avoiding looking at him. I hold the ice to his forehead, until my own hand goes numb. Until it’s dripping down his heated skin.

“Interesting,” he finally says.

“What is?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Nothing. You’ve imagined a thousand ways to kill me. I would think you’d be happy to let me rot.”

I frown. “How—”

“You talk in your sleep,” he says. “When you’re not screaming. Or snoring.”

My cheeks heat. I wonder what else I’ve said.

I try to find all the nonexistent composure I have and say, as casually as possible, “You can die after the Questral is over.”

“Right,” he says. “Tell me. What do you want, Aris?”

“What?” I say on a breath, far too aware of his proximity and the heat of his body. At how close we are. At how I’m in front of him, on my knees.

“Why do you want to kill the gods? What do you want? What are you hoping to get from your revenge?” He studies me. “Why do you want it in the first place?”

Oh.

His words are a bucket of ice over my simmering thoughts. I look away. “Don’t pretend to care, Raker. You’ll lose some of your villainous sheen.”

At that, I swear I see him smile from the corner of my eye. But when I turn back again, he’s all the same broodiness I’ve come to know well.

His voice is flat. “I don’t care. If I survive this, though, our fates are tied until we reach the end of this journey. I want to know that your motivations are clear. That you will do anything needed to reach the end.”

“Have I not proven that?” I ask, my voice sharp, remembering everything we’ve had to do just to make it here.

His head tilts, considering. “The ends of journeys are always the hardest.”

I lean forward so he can hear my every syllable as I say, “I will do anything to reach my revenge. Anything.” I hope he can see the intensity in my eyes. I hope he can hear the unspoken words. I’ll do anything—even kill you.

The ice in my palm has practically melted against his heat. The drops are now snaking down his neck, disappearing beneath his armor, and I watch—I watch with far too much interest. I watch, lips parting, suddenly overcome with thirst.

When I look back up at him, I see he’s watching me too. His eyes are burning, like he can sense my longing. Like he knows very well that I’m lying to both of us when I deny that I see something I like. Slowly, his own gaze drops down to my lips, then to my neck, then to my chest. It snags there, lingering.

I follow his eyes and gasp, leaning back, dropping what’s left of the ice. The material of this dress is thin. The ice—it’s cold.

His eyes snap back up to mine. Nothing short of anger twists Raker’s face as he says, “Don’t visit me again, Aris.”

35

Breakfast is waiting in the foyer of my quarters. It’s set on a silver tray, atop intricately painted porcelain plates. The pastries are still warm, stinging my fingers as I pull them apart, steam curling. Butter melts across my lips and I groan as the sugar-crusted top scrapes gently against my tongue. I recognize cinnamon—a rare spice my mother let me try once, from her coveted collection. It’s folded in between the layers of this bread. There’s another similar pastry with orange-blossom icing that sticks to the top of my mouth.

I eat every single one, accompanied by a cup of steaming lavender-colored tea.

What must it be like to wake up every morning like this? My thoughts drift to Raker, hungry in the stables, but then I remember the fury in his gaze and force myself to forget him.

He took the medicine. His fever was already improving. He’ll be fine.