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He couldn’t answer. He didn’t believe The weight of my own guilt is killing me and I can’t stand it another moment would make any difference to her.
“Let’s start with a couple days, Holstrom. A couple honest days of work … and we’ll assess whether you do a good enough job to merit the aid you seek.”
“I could walk right out of here and ask the nearest necromancer—”
“You could, but the vamps might take a bite before you can. Or you might ask the wrong necromancer and wind up … unsatisfied.”
Jesiba opened her laptop. She typed in her password, then said without looking up from the screen, “That big crate marked Lasivus needs unpacking and cataloging. There’s an extra laptop on the credenza over there. Password JellyJubilee. Both words capitalized, no spaces. Don’t give me that look, Holstrom. Quinlan set it.”
Ithan blinked again. But slowly got to his feet. Walked to the crate.
He summoned his claws, using them in lieu of a crowbar, and pried the lid off the crate. It landed on the carpeted floor with a dull thud and a spray of dust.
“You break it, Holstrom,” the sorceress drawled from her desk as she typed away, “you buy it.”
Wasn’t that the truth.
* * *
Bryce didn’t see the Autumn King for the rest of the day. She foraged dinner from the kitchen so she didn’t need to endure another meal and game of twenty questions with him.
She was carrying her plate up to her bedroom when her captor appeared at the top of the stairs. “I was looking for you.”
Bryce lifted the plate and the ham-and-butter sandwich atop it. “And I’m looking to eat. Bye.”
The Autumn King remained directly in her path as she crested the stone steps. “I want to talk to you.”
She peered up at him, hating that he stood taller than her. But she managed to give him a look down her nose—one that had worked wonders on irritating Hunt when they’d first met. And despite herself and all that had happened between them, she asked, “Why haven’t you cleared out Ruhn’s old room?”
He angled his head. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting a question like that. “Is there a reason I should have done so?”
“Seems awfully sentimental of you.”
“I have ten other bedrooms in this house. Should I ever need his, I will have it cleared.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Is there a specific answer you’re looking for?”
She opened her mouth to bite out a reply, but shut it. She surveyed him coolly.
He said a shade quietly, “Go ahead and ask.”
“Do you ever wonder?” she blurted. “What might have happened if you hadn’t sent your goons to hunt us down, or hadn’t tossed me to the curb when I was thirteen?”
His eyes flickered. “Every single day.”
“Then why?” Her voice cracked a bit. “You hit her, and then felt bad about it—you still feel bad about it. Yet you hunted us down, nearly killed her in the process. And when I showed up years later, you were nice to me for, like, two days before you kicked me out.”
“I don’t answer to you.”
She shook her head, disgust chasing away any trace of appetite. “I don’t get it—get you.”
“What is there to get? I am a king. Kings do not need to explain themselves.”
“Fathers do.”
“I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”
