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That hits its mark, and he is stunned into silence briefly.
I like it when I catch him off guard. It gives me a glimpse of his inner thoughts, and I’m starting to realize he’s not used to being in control. “You’re nobody’s master,” I say, inspired by my realization. “You have no authority at all, do you?”
He drops me instantly, and I think he’s going to storm away, but he pivots instead, his motion a blur as he steals his great sword and puts the keen edge to my neck, pressing me hard against the desk. This time, his eyes are not bright, but a heavy shadow is cast over them. His horns are lowered as if he means to make good use of their points. “Say another word.”
To both our surprise, I bare my neck to him and feel the bite of his blade against my flesh. “Do it,” I tell him, my mouth turned down.
“You’ve taken everything else from me.”
16
GIROTH
My blade is to her throat and still, she will not give up!
She must be mad, if she is willing to risk her life, gambling on my good will. All the signs of fear are there, her racing heart and dilated pupils, her trembling limbs. I have her pressed hard against the wood, so I feel the minute quake in her core when she thinks I’m going to slice her throat open.
If only the Zonak were so brave, I’d lob them at our enemies myself.
Her resolve is harder than stone, and I have to admire it. Her nostrils flare, yet she maintains a stoic stance, all things considered. My sword arm holds, the steel of my limbs is steadfast, so I know I won’t cut her by accident. Only if she moves, or I decide she’s not worth the trouble, will that blade slice through that pretty neck.
Her eyes narrow.
“Is this a game to you?” I find myself asking.
“On the contrary,” she says evenly, “I find the situation to be quite grave.”
How she infuriates me!
No matter what I say, she is one step ahead with her wry human quips. She has read into me more thoroughly than a Soz’garoth, already aware that I am not exactly what I present myself to be. Does she smell the Ur’gin on me?
It makes me no less deadly, and she seems to know it. Equally, she doesn’t seem to care. How can I master a creature that does not fear death?
The ultimate threat is useless against her.
With that knowledge, I lower the blade and let her stand on her own two feet. She wavers and leans against the desk as if my weight had been the only thing keeping her steady, and she feels her neck. When she speaks, her voice is hoarse, and I have to strain to hear it. “Another trick of yours?”
My scoff makes her flinch. But I’m glad she has some semblance of natural instincts. It is healthy for a delicate creature such as herself.
“I’m not keen on tricks, human.”
Her accusing eyes flicker up to meet mine. “Is this how you treat all your guests? With a blade to their throat?”
“Only the ones that annoy me,” I retort, putting away my weapon. I don’t know when I developed a soft spot for this human, but I suspect it was in the very beginning, when I saw her clawing through the rubble of her home. My gaze drops to her raw hands, and she tries to hide them. I ignore the gesture and hold out my own hand. “Let me see them.”
“See what?”
“Don’t be coy,” I snap, then grab her wrists to expose her cracked hands. One nail is split, likely from where the blood had sprung. Most of it has dried and flaked but the injury needs to be treated if it is to heal correctly. I turn her hands over, sensing that she’s stopped breathing, and glance at her face to ensure she’s not going into shock. “You’re injured.”
Her lips purse tight.
I find my seat and draw her into my lap, her wrists still locked in my grip. With the other hand, I rifle through the drawers of the desk, which has only recently been bestowed upon me. It’s not really mine, but I do hope the previous owner had some salve tucked away. It’s not uncommon for scriveners to have it in abundance.
Sure enough, there’s a jar, half used, and I pry it open with my teeth and dip my finger into the muddy paste. She watches my every move, her fingers curling when I try to apply it. Still, she doesn’t seem to understand who is in charge. “Spread your fingers out.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
