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Clearly. The poor thing had suffered emotional drought and famine all those months that I had fallen into depression over Jericho’s death. It was a wonder she’d never tried to steal my breath at night while I slept. “So, what is this curse, anyway? You’re not allowed to harm me, right?”
He expelled a growly sounding sigh. “Unfortunately not.”
“What happens if you do?”
“The same thing that happens if you stupidly hang out of a window and fall to your death.”
Noted. “You can’t harm Jericho, either?”
“I can, actually.” He grabbed one of the chairs from the table, which he turned around and hiked his boot up onto, setting his elbow atop his knee. “Though it must be deemed necessary. As in, if he endangers your life. Otherwise, I’ll just be bound to you until you die of natural causes.”
This guy. If there was an award for absolutely zero social skills, he’d have a trophy room. “Jericho said you once tried to kill him. Why was that?”
At first, he only stared back at me, and one thing about the guy–he’d perfected the scary poker face. Whatever thought was running through his head was as mysterious as the ingredients of a hot dog. After a good minute, he dropped the statue play and rolled his shoulders back. “There was a time I would’ve killed you simply for asking.” From a holster clipped to his pants, he tugged a dagger that looked similar to the one Jericho had given me, with its metallic hilt and ornate blade. He nabbed an apple from the table, one I’d grabbed from the kitchen earlier but hadn’t bothered to eat, and carved a chunk of it. “I was hired to kill him,” he said, and popped the bit of apple into his mouth.
“Who hired you?”
Huffing, he carved his next piece of apple in a way that had me wondering if he was imagining my eyeballs beneath his blade. “I’m not required to answer these questions.”
“Then, don’t. I’ll just go back to doing something reckless, like hanging out the window.”
If he could’ve shot laser beams from his eyes, I was pretty sure I would’ve been a pile of ash right then. With an unamused expression, he slid the chunk of apple into his mouth, chewing it slowly. “Zorreth. The Founder of the Knights is who hired me.”
“The Knights … you’re talking about your little demon fraternity? Knights of some order …”
“Knights of the Infernal Order.”
“Right. So, this founder guy … why did he want him dead?”
“One does not leave the Infernal Order when one wishes.”
In spite of the fact he sounded a littleGame of Thrones, his words sent a chill across the back of my neck. “So what then, you couldn’t kill him?”
“I could have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He placed the half-carved apple back on the table and wiped his blade across his leathers. “He saved my life.”
“So … you let him go.”
“Letting him go would have resulted in my own death,” he said, sliding the dagger back into one of a half-dozen holsters clipped to his body. “I killed Zorreth instead.”
Just like that, it clicked. “That’s how you ended up in prison.”
“It is.”
Okay, so Vaszhago earned a small modicum of respect for that. “And considering he left because of my birth, you’ve been in prison over twenty-two years?”
“Give or take.”
It made me wonder if immortals viewed time the same way we did. If those years had felt like an eternity, or if they slipped by in a blink. “He seems to think you’ll wholeheartedly kill him without question.”
“I will.”
Frowning, I leaned back against the windowsill. “You would kill him. After he saved your life, after you killed a lord and was sentenced to Ex Nihilo on his behalf? Why?”
“Because that is what he asked of me.”
