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“Oh, but I am celebrating. With great vigor. Internally.” Mira waggled her brows, once, twice. “Look into my eyes and you’ll be stunned by the revelry occurring as we speak.”
Hells, I did not understand her.
One moment she demanded I spar with her, the next she looked at me like my sharp words broke her heart, then she rambled on like this, drawing out unnatural grins I didn’t want on my face.
After a moment, her smile softened, less taunting, more sincere. “If we’re speaking truths to each other, you should know I can take care of myself despite, as you always point out, my royal helplessness. We are going to survive this, Hearttalker. I demand it of us.
“So, you must know, I desire to share the burden. No more breaking yourself trying to keep us alive. You’ve not stopped since the sinking sand, despite being the one to pull us off the ship, despite being the one to free us from the sea. Let me help. I might prove to be a formidable ally.”
She was certainly formidable, but perhaps not in the way she wanted. “It is my responsibility to keep you safe.”
“Yes, I know what the Ever King said.” Mira’s shoulders slumped. “But it would seem our circumstances have changed, and we are not safely sailing toward the Royal City.”
“Doesn’t mean—”
“Think of it this way,” she interjected. “I will take some of the weight of keeping us safe and alive because you will be unable to fulfill your duties if you are exhausted. Really, I do this for selfish reasons, Hearttalker. I need you in tip-top shape to keep me breathing.”
Another salty bite, another strange grin. “You make a compelling argument.”
“Only if it works and I win.”
“Fine.” I shook my head. “As you say, Vicious.”
Mira straightened with a touch of pride.
Words came before I thought to stop them. “If we’re still speaking about things we don’t know of each other, then I want to know why you don’t call me by my given name?”
Mira went still. One small twist in the corner of her mouth revealed a new smile, but there was something hidden behind it. Something almost sad.
“That is a tale for another time,” she whispered. “For you see, you will not like to hear the truth of it.”
16
The Illusionist
“What in the hells are you doing?”
I looked over my shoulder, careful not to lose my grip on the branch. Tait stood at the base of the slender tree, dark hair tousled, and a tangle of horror and annoyance painted his face.
Three hells, the man looked practically rabid the way he dug his fingertips into the smooth bark, the way his lips curled over the sharp canines in his mouth, like he might lash out and bite if I came close.
The way Tait avoided any sort of nearness with me, I could not say I’d mind if his mouth met my skin.
For the last two sunrises, Tait used the point of his knife to carve a line in the cavern wall, a way to keep track of time. While the sun was high each day, we packed supplies—the dark berries he found, a few jagged stones we planned to shape into shivs, and a strange root that moistened the tongue when chewed—then wandered the shoreline.
Yesterday, wreckage of the Sea Void washed ashore—strips of linen, silver plates, wooden bowls, even a few tins of fire sticks the crew used to light their pipes and paper smokes.
The tin protected the sticks well enough, and lighting a fire was no hassle at all any longer.
But we hadn’t ventured far from the sea, not yet.
Part of me suspected both of us were rather hesitant to leave our cavern, lest we miss sight of a rescue ship, a member of the crew, or tumble into more of the sinking sand.
But this morning, the third bleeding day, I could take it no more.
Sleep was an evasive creature. Wind wailed outside, and the whole of the night was spent fretting over another monstrous storm drowning us in our sleep.
Tait, on the other hand, had finally settled, finally seemed to be sleeping with some sliver of solace. A first for two nights. I did not mention the way he groaned in his sleep, the way he sometimes sounded like he might be pleading with someone.
