Because I banked on Malachi getting me out of here when the time came, as Sofie promised. Now I’m wondering if that was foolish. “I guess I assumed you’d do the honorable thing. You know, being the decent person you are.”
He smirks.
But his question sparks a thought: What if there is no way back?
If what Wendeline told me of the Fate of Fire is true, he is not averse to using his subjects for his own ambitions. Do I even want to retrieve this stone for him? And will I be able to open this door? What makes him think I can, where the powerful key caster Farren could not? And what if Zander’s big plan to out Princess Romeria’s accomplice works, and we find them before Hudem? There won’t be a wedding—not between us, anyway. Will I be able to find another way into the nymphaeum? I still don’t know where it is.
“There it is again … that swirl of worry around you.” He cocks his head. “What troubles you so?”
I hate that he can do that.
“Those children today, the ones in the sparring court, you were good with them,” I say, changing topics.
He takes the bait. “You are surprised?”
“Yes.”
His lips curl at the corners, hinting at the dimples that emerge with his rare smiles. “Teaching weaponry has always been enjoyable to me, especially to the young ones. Sometimes I wish I could leave this and play soldier all day long. I envy my brother for that.” He reaches over his head to grip the back of the chair in a leisurely stretch.
I try to ignore the pull of material across his chest. “Seeing you with them made me think you aren’t awful,” I admit. Every day I spend a little more time with him, I remember less of the intimidating king in his suit of armor who was seconds from driving a dagger through my heart. Zander is quickly becoming like any other guy I might know, one who’s overwhelmed by his lot in life at the moment.
Except with fangs, I remind myself.
But it’s surprisingly easy to forget that, too, especially as we sit across from each other and talk like equals, rather than king and captive.
“Don’t worry. There’s still time to change your mind back,” he murmurs. “You were intrigued by Abarrane’s lesson.”
“You knew I was watching?” He hadn’t looked up once while he was with them.
He smirks. “You’re always watching. Standing outside as if these walls might suffocate you.” His eyes roam the gilded casting along the ceiling, the sharp jut of his throat protruding. “You watch the fighters on the court all day and the lovers in the grounds all night.”
“Is that what we’re calling them?” The guards down below must be reporting in to him. Does he ask for daily accounts from them too?
“And what would you call them?”
“I don’t know, but they’re feeding and fucking, and they’re not exactly discreet about it.”
Amusement gleams in his eyes, but I don’t miss the flash of heat as well. “Islorians aren’t known for our discretion.”
You are, I want to say, but bringing up his late-night visitor yet again would definitely send the wrong message. “It’s amazing, the way the fighters move in the sparring court. I’ve never seen—I mean, I can’t remember watching anyone fight like that. I wish I knew how.”
Maybe Tony wouldn’t have so easily wrestled my knife from my grip. But then what? Would I have stabbed him? Do I have it in me to stab a person? I’ve always prided myself on not getting lured down the path of violence and drugs that so many other kids on the street travelled down.
“You were semicapable with a blade before.”
“I also knew how to ride a horse, didn’t I?” I found an outfit of breeches, a tunic, and leather boots tucked in my closet, suggesting Princess Romeria sometimes donned something other than silk and lace.
“You were proficient at riding.” A secretive smile makes me wonder if his thoughts are somewhere far less wholesome. “And now apparently you are an artist.” He nods toward Sofie’s face. “It’s almost like you’re a different person.”
I take a deep, calming breath, struggling to steady my heart rate as I meet his penetrating stare, my panic threatening. “I am a different person than the Romeria you used to know. She’s gone.” At least for now. What will happen to her when Malachi pulls me out of Islor? Will this body crumble like an empty shell, or will the sadistic, evil version return? I hope not the latter, for everyone’s sake.
“Yes, that is becoming more apparent with each day that passes,” he says quietly. “But, as talented an artist as you may be, it won’t protect you. You should join the children for their staff lesson next time.” Humor laces his voice.
“With Abarrane? She’s almost scarier than the daaknar.”
He chuckles. “Perhaps with a different teacher, then?”
“And who would that be? You?”