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The bitter overrides the sweet in that last sentence.
He gives himself a little shake and pushes his mouth into a grin stiffer than the one before. “I’m still serving my country. No more damp tents and stale camp food! There’s plenty to recommend about the academic life.”
His mock-jovial tone doesn’t fool me for a second. He hates that he’s here—he hates that he’s lost the life he gave so much to.
No wonder he acts like such a prick sometimes.
I don’t even know what that feels like. I never had a chance to make real dreams to lose.
But I can honestly say, with an ache in the pit of my stomach, “I’m sorry.”
Stavros glances down and appears to realize for the first time that he’s rested his hand on my leg. As he lifts his gaze to meet mine, he strokes his thumb over my ankle. An absent, totally casual gesture that sets off a flare of heat straight to my core.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Ivy of wherever you’re actually from,” he says in the languid tone I’m used to. “You’ve at least made recent days a little more interesting.”
He shakes his head, and a hint of the bitterness comes back. “The real problem is that I’mhere, and we’re fighting our own kind of war right now, and I still couldn’t win it before innocent people got killed.”
He’s trying to sound flippant about it, but his frustration prickles through. As much as he can be an asshole and an arrogant jerk, I can’t deny how much he cares about the people he meant to spend his whole life defending.
Even though I get a pang of loss when I slip my leg from beneath his fingers, I adjust my position so I’m leaning close enough to him to set my hand on his shoulder. “It took the whole host of godlen and the All-Giver on top of that to end the first bunch of scourge sorcerers. I hope your ego isn’t so big you expect to equal them.”
Stavros lets out a bark of a guffaw and turns to me with a flash of his dark eyes. “I suppose it can’t get there with you around to pop holes in it.”
When he looks at me like that, heat sweeps through my entire body. My skin tingles with the awareness of just how little space remains between us now.
It would be ever so easy to lean even closer and—
My body sways, and a jolt of panic washes away the flush of desire.
I jerk myself backward, covering my lapse with a straightening of my skirts as if I’m simply tired of being smothered by them.
Great God help me, I almostkissedhim. The man who’d probably laugh while the executioner fixed a noose around my neck.
“It’s been a long night,” I say, keeping my voice as even as possible. “We should probably both get some sleep.”
Stavros hesitates, and for one anxious moment, I think he’s going to ask what’s wrong. Instead, he pushes to his feet. “Of course. I’ll let you get back to it. Don’t let the daimon haunt your dreams anymore. They’re settled down for now.”
I let out a rough chuckle. I’m not going to tell him what I was really dreaming about.
About the first person my riven magic ever killed.
“If they turn up, I’m sure I can simply stab them,” I say, and Stavros echoes my laugh.
I sit still until he’s vanished into his bedroom. My burst of panic has spread into a duller chill of fear that’s wrapping around me.
What the fuck is wrong with me? First I’m mooning over Casimir at the ball, then I’m falling all over the former general?
I enjoyed the impression of having earned his trust. I wanted to find out what it’s like to kiss him.
Just like I wanted to melt into Casimir’s arms and pretend I was the only one he’d want to dance with.
But I know, Iknowthat’s all impossible.
What am I doing here? Running around playing noble while the daimon are bringing the ceiling down on our heads?
My heart’s getting tangled up with men who see me as a vessel for the woman they really cared about at best… And who’ll consider me a monster as vile as the ones we’re tracking down at worst, if they find out the truth.
Fragments of images from the ball flicker up from my memory. The shrieks, the blood, the milling bodies…
