Page 90 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

What I want to say is:

I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be as kind, as smart, as brave, as you are.

I didn’t think I could care about anyone but Tori. I thought I’d burned that out of myself. Blessed knows I tried.

I have never wanted a girl before. I have never wanted someone so badly in my life. I want to kiss you, touch you, drag you down, and rut until we’re both too tired and shaky to stand. To fall asleep with you in my arms, listening to you breathe.

But my arms hang dead, and my lips won’t move. Because I have no idea what she’ll say. If she wants me. If she likes women, or likes anyone.

Because the last person I slept with, I put my blade through his head when I thought it would help Tori. And I’m not sure I’ve changed.

She licks her lips, a quick dart of a pink tongue.

I get to my feet, pulling my hands away.

“I have to go.” Forcing the words out feels like vomiting broken glass.

Does she hesitate for a moment? As though she was waiting for me to say something else? “Good luck.”

First a side trip to Sister Cadua’s. She has what I need.

Then the market, which never really sleeps. A bottle of Jyashtani wine, costing far too much scrip.

Then to Zarun’s tower.

One of his crew is on guard at the door, a boy who blanches at the sight of me. I’m wearing the same outfit I had on the night of the Council meeting, sleek, tight-fitting leather and crab-shell armor, the blue tracks across my skin standing out in the lamplight. I tell him I’m here to see Zarun, and he hurries inside with the message, then reappears to escort me. He takes me up a floor via an echoing metal staircase, then raps at a door.

“She’s, uh, here,” the boy says. “The Deepwalker.”

“Very good,” comes Zarun’s voice from inside. “Get lost.”

He swallows hard, nods to me, and hurries away. I push the door open.

Zarun’s chambers aren’t as gaudy as I expected. There’s a front room with a large table and chairs, and a desk pushed into one corner. Through a rear doorway I can see a bedroom, with a huge bed in the Jyashtani style. Another room is curtained off. Zarun is standing in the bedroom doorway, wearing a black silk robe belted loosely at the waist. It hangs open enough to show off his smooth, well-muscled chest.

“Deepwalker. Not who I expected at this hour.”

“I thought we could have a drink.” I hold up the bottle.

“A drink?” He raises an eyebrow.

I keep my voice level. “A drink.”

“Well. Let it never be said I wasn’t accommodating to a guest.” He goes into the bedroom, comes back with a pair of sparkling crystal glasses and a corkscrew.

“Have a seat,” I tell him.

He takes one of the chairs. I open the bottle and pour, as he smiles at me, bemused. It gives me the chance to let the little sachet of dried mushrooms fall into his glass. The wine is a deep red, and the mushrooms dissolve almost immediately, but my heart is still beating hard when I hand it to him. If he has suspicions, they don’t show. He raises his glass, and I raise mine, and we both take a long swallow.

“So, if I may ask,” he says, “to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“Frustration, if I’m being honest.” I refill the glasses.

“Frustration?”

It’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. His eyes widen slightly, and if I’m not wrong there’s a hint of embarrassment in his grin.

“You have an odd way of flirting,” he says, taking another long drink.