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“I’m not giving up. I’m accepting reality.”
“What reality? You don’t want to go back there! And I need you—”
“You don’t, as you’ve made clear these past few days. If you can break into my father’s court, fight off the council’s own guards, force a meeting . . .” He ran a hand through his hair. “You’ll be all right, Cassie.”
“No! I won’t be! I need you—”
“Why? What can I give you that others can’t?”
“What?”
Green eyes suddenly burned into mine. “It’s a simple question. You said you need me. Why?”
“I—I told you. This job—”
“Which you’re handling admirably.”
“I am not! I couldn’t even get to my parents without help!”
“There are other demon experts—Jonas for one.”
“But I need you!”
And all of a sudden, Pritkin was backing me around the table. Not like his father had done, in a rush of anger, but slowly, relentlessly. To the point that I kept tripping over chairs.
“Then give me a reason.”
“I . . . there’s so many—”
“Name one.”
“I can name a hundred—”
“I didn’t ask for a hundred; I asked for one. And you can’t give it to me.”
“Yes, I can!”
“Then do it!”
“I . . .” I stared at him, because he looked like there was a lot riding on my answer. Maybe everything. And I didn’t know what he wanted to hear, because I’d told him the truth. There were literally so many things that I didn’t know where to start. How could he not see all the ways he’d changed my life? How could he not know—
But he didn’t. It was in the way he turned his head away, when I just stood there. In the way he closed his eyes. In the small, self-mocking smile that played around his lips that I didn’t understand but knew couldn’t be good.
I had to say something, and it had to be the right thing, and I didn’t know—
Pritkin’s eyes opened, but I couldn’t read his expression. For once, the face that was usually flowing with a thousand emotions was . . . blank. Resigned. He was already distancing himself, already leaving me in every way that mattered, before his body ever walked out that door.
And I didn’t know what to do about it.
“You’re right,” I told him desperately. “I can get others to do what you do. They won’t be as good, but . . . okay. It could work. But it doesn’t matter because no matter how good they are, they can’t replace you. They can’t because I don’t need you only for what you can do. I need you . . . for you.”
I’d learned that the hard way, all week. I hadn’t realized how much I’d relied on his scowls or his shrugs or his grudging looks of approval to help me figure something out—until they weren’t there anymore. Or how I could talk to some people about a lot of things, but only to him about everything.
And how unbelievably valuable that was.
I stared into his eyes, wondering how to get through. I sucked at emotional stuff; I always had. It was easier to make a joke or some stupid quip than to try to put into words emotions I was never supposed to have. Emotions that were dangerous to have, because they left you vulnerable and I’d learned early that vulnerability was a very bad thing.
When I’d heard that my governess had been murdered by Tony, I hadn’t cried. It had felt like someone had twisted a knife in my gut, but I still hadn’t, because I knew she’d hate it. Knew she’d view it as weakness. “Tears are useless,” she’d told me a hundred times. “Don’t cry; act!”
