My breath lets out in a whoosh of chuckles, and it hits me how much I crave him near me, setting me at ease. Just like I crave the way my hand feels in his, my skin with his, even if it’s just his job of calming me.
His fingers keep mine as he watches me laugh, until his lips part and his expression opens, as if he’s allowing me a glimpse into his soul. To show me something beautiful. Merciful. Incomprehensible.
Because it’s the recognition that he craves being near me.
My internal lid begins sliding so quickly, I’m grasping for something, anything—anger, annoyance, frustration—everything I make a habit of feeling toward him—to spout out and use to cover the chasm so he won’t know the depth of my brokenness.
But my heart expands inside its cage anyway.
His breathing shallows.
I swallow.
“Nym, I need to speak to you.” Adora’s voice makes me jump.
Abruptly, Eogan drops my hand. I watch his openness collapse into a wall and a frown slip over his face. I search for one of Colin’s fissures to crawl into.
I clear my expression as Adora’s peacock fronds waggle into view behind my trainer’s gray-suited shoulder. She slides a hand beneath one of Eogan’s arms and across his chest. His pupils tighten.
“Eogan, how rare to see you at one of my galas.” Her gaze consumes him like a slab of venison. “And so dressed the part.”
His jaw shifts. “Thank you, m’lady.”
“Perhaps we could get you to come more often.”
“Your Ladyship honors me with the invitation.” He slides from the woman’s hungry grasp. He tips his head to her and snaps his eyes my direction, but they’re dim. Cold. “If you ladies will excuse me, I’ll check on Colin.”
Then he’s gone. And I’m left standing, wondering who keeps emptying this blasted room of air.
My owner stares after him until he’s drifted into the crowd, then turns to raise a perfect, purple eyebrow at me. “I assume Breck chose your dress?”
“I thought you had.”
“Me? Absolutely not. I’ve given her a selection to go from, but in the future I expect you to speak up regarding colors. That thing practically trumpets what you are.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
She slides a hand along my low collar and eases her tone. “Poor thing. You all but scream ‘woman with loose morals.’ No wonder the men have been chatting you up.”
If she’d slapped me across the face, it would’ve stung less. The shock reverberates all the way down to my stomach. Is that why Eogan wanted to be near me? And Colin? And the man from Poorland Arch . . . ?
She scans the dining room. Sniffs. “Not that any of the men here would be seriously interested, but it’s best not to give the impression you’re desperate. Or available. In the future, you’ll remember your place when allowing a blind servant to dress you.”
I imagine the floor swallowing both of us.
“As far as Eogan goes . . .” Her purple-lined eyes narrow on mine. “I’m wondering if I should be concerned at your growing level of attachment to him. You’ve hardly been here nine days and yet already seem too familiar with him. Therefore, outside of training hours, you’re not to go near him. During training, you’ll limit yourself to as little contact as necessary and only so far as it furthers your usefulness. I will not have a slave humiliating herself by imagining she can seduce my trainer. Am I clear?”
Breck’s warning on my second day here flits through my mind. The one about the death of the kitchen maid who’d had a thing for Eogan. I nod even as my gaze grows stiff, unyielding. I can feel the siren in me rising.
She drops her voice and leans in, that insane smile emerging. “Good. Now let me be even clearer. If you so much as bat an eyelash at that man, I will carve your face up, one pretty cheekbone at a time, and then cut your tongue out. You don’t need either of those to win a war. But first? I’ll carve out Colin’s tongue as well.”
And I have no doubt whatsoever that she means it.
CHAPTER 16
A lightning strike, and the terrible heat is burning my insides. I scramble through the fire and snow, whimpering, panting, flailing like a dancer following a bloody trail of terror.
I can’t remember why I’m here. I can’t remember anything but the unquenchable fear as Mum and Dad scream and the house explodes.
My dream morphs and suddenly it’s not them screaming anymore. It’s Colin and Eogan. Holding up swords and fire sticks, warning off their attackers. I refuse to look back as I rush to join them. “Don’t let it get me,” I try to yell. But my throat doesn’t work.
Not until I reach for them does it occur to me that they’re not looking behind me. They’re staring in horror at my hair, my Elemental eyes, my face where my grief-filled tears have frozen to fury. They’re staring at my fists as my explosions pelt around us and a thousand voices cry out—my curse tearing the kingdom apart in the midst of my guilt. My hatred. Because deep down, I am the real monster. I murder the innocent.
I murdered my parents.
And I could murder these—my friends.