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The cowardly man won’t exactly be blurting out his repulsive habits, so at least I can be fairly confident that one secret is safe.
A chill runs down my spine, and I swallow hard as I try to decide which truths to give him. I’m barely contemplating what to say when he barges into the room with such force that the passageway door rattles on its hinges.
It’s well past midnight, but I haven’t been able to quell the nervous energy thrumming through my body since he left for the alchemist’s.
The moonlight illuminates his form, furious and powerful and trembling with the force of his rage. When I turn on the oil lamp next to the bed, I see that his eyes are burning blue like the hottest part of a fire, his jaw clenched. He’s temperamental on a good day, but this is different.
This is something more.
I would almost believe, for a change, that it isn’t directed at me. But he wasn’t half this upset when I told him about the alchemist’s betrayal to begin with.
So, it’s not that either.
I raise my eyebrows in a silent query, and he storms over to where I’m bundled up on his bed, ripping the furs off of my body. Khijhana bares her teeth at him but doesn’t yet interfere. I am rethinking my assessment of where his anger is directed when he pulls an iron key from his cloak pocket and unlocks the shackle binding me.
Fear and uncertainty bubble in my stomach like acid. Is he casting me out?What happened at the alchemist’s?
Haunted eyes stare down at the bruised, chafed skin on my ankle for a moment like he’s surprised to see it there. Before I can ask, he disappears behind his tapestry.
He returns with a small jar of ointment, then sits on the edge of the bed, gesturing to my ankle as if he’s asking for permission.
I am too baffled to do more than nod.
For all that he is furious, his hands are gentle as they apply the pungent salve to my wounds. I sigh as the pain ebbs away, but I am too confused to feel any real relief.
“I only have one question for you,” Einar rasps out after a few stilted heartbeats.
Not the inquisition I was expecting.But then, none of this encounter has adhered to any sort of normality. I motion for him to ask.
“Who gave you those scars on your abdomen?”
My stomach flips, and bile rises in my throat.How could he possibly know that?
There’s only one reason he would be asking this. Einar is too clever by half. He sees too much. In fact, except for the rare occasions when he is blinded by his emotions, it would seem he seeseverythingin a way that even Madame is not capable of.
I swallow and force my voice to be casual when I respond, like I’m not about to be physically ill. “I see you had a productive visit with the alchemist.”
Einar is not amused by my nonchalance.
“How could you not tell me that?” He bites each syllable off, and a red flush creeps up his neck.
“I thought you said you only had one question,” I say airily, picking up my teacup only to set it aside when his gaze skates from the tremors in the liquid to my unsteady grasp.
His enormous hand still rests on my slim ankle like he’s forgotten it’s there, and I slowly pull my leg back to myself, curling in a bit. Though it shouldn’t matter now, I don’t want Einar’s touch to be tainted by my intrusive memories.
He stands up, backing against the wall like he senses how badly I need space right now, but he doesn’t break eye contact with me until I answer.
“Fine. I didn’t tell you because it wasn’trelevant.” I use the word from our agreement.
I know the statement will infuriate him, but it’s better than the alternative. I couldn’t stand his pity right now.
I couldn’t bear it.
“Wasn’t relevant?” The words are barely audible through the teeth he’s clenching, likely in an effort not to yell.
“Not to the wellbeing of your people or under the terms of our deal.” I wave him off like it doesn’t matter, like it doesn’t actually gut me, and try to change the subject. “Did you get what you needed from him?”
“No.” He spits the word out.
