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He reached over, picking up something that had been folded in a cloth. My breath snagged as he unwrapped it, revealing a sheathed shadowstone dagger—the one he’d gifted me with.
“I forgot to give you this when I saw you last.” He handed it over. “The sheath and strap are adjustable. It should fit.”
I stared at the dagger, my heart thundering. He was handing me a weapon that I could use to end his life. The blade he’d given to me.
Doing everything in my power to ignore the pressure clamping down on my chest, I reached over and took it. The brush of our skin sent a soft wave of energy over my fingers. Hands trembling slightly, I lifted my right leg and slid the strap around my thigh, securing the sheath.
“Thank you,” I whispered, the words tasting like soot on my tongue.
There was no response for several long moments, and then Ash said, “I hadn’t planned on leaving you alone in your room for so long. That wasn’t intentional.”
My gaze shot to his. “Then what did you intend?”
“Not to make you feel as if you were my prisoner. You’re not my captive. You never will be my captive.” His gaze shifted to his glass. “Something came up.”
He sounded genuine. “And you didn’t trust me to have free rein of the palace?”
Ash arched a brow. “Is that a serious question?” I pressed my lips together, and I thought he might smile, but he said, “Making sure you were safe in one place while I was occupied was all I could come up with at the moment. Either way, I wanted to…” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologize for upsetting you.”
My brows lifted. “That apology sounded like it pained you.”
“It did.”
I narrowed my eyes.
His gaze slid back to mine. “I am sorry, Seraphena.”
The way he said my name, my full name… He made it sound like a sin. I looked away so quickly, several curls slid over my shoulders and fell against my cheek. I’d left my hair down, figuring it could help since he seemed to enjoy it. “I don’t like being locked in. Kept somewhere, hidden and—” Forgotten. Hidden and forgotten. “I just don’t like it.”
“I heard,” he finally said, and I exhaled softly. “According to Ector, you were quite vocal in expressing your dislike.”
“Don’t do it again.” The word please went unspoken, but I could feel it in every bone. Wait… “You can read my emotions, but can you read my mind?”
His brows lifted. “Thank the Fates, I cannot read your thoughts.”
Relief crashed through me—thank the Fates? I eyed him, letting that comment slide. “You said your ability to read emotions came from your mother’s bloodline?”
“Yes,” he said, picking up his glass. “Her family descended from the Court of Lotho—the Primal Embris’ Court.”
Interest sparked. “What was your mother’s name?”
“Mycella.”
“That’s pretty.”
“It was.”
My gaze lowered to my plate. “It has to be hard not having known your mother. I didn’t know my father, so…” I pressed my lips together. “Do you get to visit her?” I asked, assuming that she’d passed onto the Vale.
“No.”
I peeked over at him, thinking of my father. “Is there some kind of rule against that? Visiting loved ones who’ve passed on?”
“As the Primal of Death, I risk destroying the mortal’s soul if they’re in my presence for any extended period of time, at least for those who have passed through judgement. That is a balance to prevent the Primal of Death from creating his or her version of life. There is no exact rule against it for gods or other mortals, but it wouldn’t be wise. Visiting loved ones who have moved on can cause both the one living and the one who has passed to become stuck—to want what neither can have, whether that be to continue seeing their loved one or to return to the living. It can even cause them to leave the Vale, and that does not end well.”
I thought of the spirits in the Dark Elms. Those who had refused to enter the Shadowlands altogether. They never sounded happy. Just sad and lost. Would those who left the Vale become the Shades that Dav had spoken of? Either way, I wouldn’t want that for the father I’d never met. I wouldn’t want that for anyone.
Except Tavius.
I’d be fine with him finding that fate.
Ash leaned forward. I hadn’t heard him move. I didn’t see him move. It was as if I’d sensed that he’d moved closer, and that made no sense. But when I looked over at him, I’d been right. He lifted a hand, curling his fingers around the strands of hair that had fallen forward. He brushed them back over my shoulder. “The food is getting cold.”
I nodded as he sat back. I didn’t even know why. Feeling foolish, I watched him place nearly the same amount on his plate but he went far heavier on the bacon.
