Atrius could be monstrous, perhaps. But he was not Tarkan. He was not Aaves. He certainly was not the Pythora King.
Now it was my turn to expose him, to force him to let me see what he would prefer to hide. I touched his chin and tilted it toward me. When his eyes flicked to me, they remained there—like he could see right through my blindfold, to the broken eyes beneath it.
I murmured, “I don’t believe you. I want the truth.”
This was what I had been sent here for. Truth.
I told myself all of this, far in the back of my mind, as if there was not a part of me that wanted his truth for more complicated reasons.
He flinched, the faintest twitch of muscles across his face.
“I can’t give you that.”
“Because your people need a new home.”
A pained hint of a smile. “If only it was that simple.”
My palm was still pressed to his chest, over the loose cotton fabric of his shirt. Slowly, I slid my hand up, inside his shirt—finding bare skin.
He stiffened, but didn’t stop me. Nor did he move. He barely breathed.
Deep inside him, the curse burned and ached.
“The past is devouring you.”
He let out an almost-laugh. “So bold of you, to talk to me that way.” Rough, scarred fingertips touched my face, the contrast between his skin and the touch so stark it made my heart stutter. His gaze lowered, lingering on my mouth.
“Do you think I don’t see,” he said, voice low, “that the past is devouring you, too?”
I knew that a wounded soul craved another to mirror theirs.
That was all this was.
But my soul was hurting, too. And perhaps I, too, craved someone who understood that.
I didn’t move my hand from Atrius’s bare chest. Nor did I move when his hand slowly flattened against my cheek, fingers tangling in my hair, cradling my face.
And when he came closer, closer until his breath mingled with mine, I let him.
Even when the space between us disappeared entirely.
His mouth was soft. Almost shy, at first. And when my lips parted against his, a little ragged breath escaping, he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue, soft and damp, sliding against mine, releasing his own shuddering exhale.
Gods.
He was alive, and broken, and familiar, and mysterious, and dangerous, and safe. And for one terrible moment, I wanted so fiercely, I forgot everything else. My hand slid against the topography of muscles in his bare chest, running down over his abdomen and settling at his side. His grip tightened in my hair, pulling me, and gods, I let him—let him urge me closer, let his tongue roll deeper into my mouth, let myself open up to him. My other hand found his cheek, his hair, running through the smooth tendrils and resisting the overpowering urge to grab it and pull him closer.
He broke the kiss but I chased it, tilting my head for another angle. Every time we came together again it was fiercer, like waves crashing in a storm. Our bodies were now entwined, my breasts against his chest.
And I couldn’t pretend anymore this kiss was his alone.
Because Weaver, I wanted more of him. Wanted to embrace the darker, forbidden sides of the desire that sleeping beside him every night had stirred. The kind of desire I was only allowed to explore by myself at night, my hands between my legs, or occasionally with another Arachessen willing to bend the rules with me up to wherever we decided the line of our vows had been drawn.
He wanted me. I knew it now, by the rigid length of him pressing through his pants. I had known it for weeks, every time we lay down together and woke up in an embrace.
My palm against his bare skin kept moving, sliding along the muscles of his torso—sliding down. When the tip of my little finger brushed against the waistband of his trousers, he abruptly jerked away.
That was enough to make me snap back to awareness.
My face was hot. My heart pounded wildly. For a moment, Atrius and I just stared at each other, his eyes wide.
What had I just done?
The realization of what more I almost did—what more I wanted to do—hit me like a bucket of cold water.
His nostrils flared, and I realized that he was taken aback by his own desires, too—perhaps even more than I was.
He rasped out clumsily, “Not tonight.”
I slipped my hand from his shirt and extracted myself from his lap as gracefully as I could manage. I was determined not to show that I was shaken. Yet I was so aware of the way his throat bobbed when his gaze ran up my body, and the way he tensed when I stepped away from him.
Not tonight. I wasn’t sure what that meant. Did that mean, Another night?
I had taken a chastity vow. Yes, I had seduced men—and women—many times in the course of my missions. It never made it as far as sex. But for some Sisters, I knew it had. Everyone knew. Even the Sightmother. Even, of course, Acaeja. We accepted it as a sacrifice for the greater good and looked the other way.
I couldn’t think about that.
I gave him a smile that tried to be charming, but probably looked weaker than I intended. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s gotten late—”
I started to turn away, but Atrius caught my wrist.
A long moment of silence stretched out between us. He stared at me with those eyes that seemed to skewer right through me.
And just when I thought he didn’t have anything to say at all, he spoke. Four words in Obitraen.
“What did that mean?” I asked.
He just shook his head and let me go. “Take care of your brother,” he murmured, and turned to the fire.
27
Naro did not improve over the next several days. Instead, his condition deteriorated. This went far beyond injuries from the battle. Pythoraseed addiction was a greedy beast. Withdrawal set in fast, and once it had you, it would keep devouring until there was nothing left but a shell. It was almost always deadly.
Soon, Naro was delirious. He was rarely awake. When he was, he was unaware of the world, spitting out slurred collections of words that didn’t qualify as sentences. I remained by his side, and no one bothered me, even though there was plenty of work to be done before the army moved north again.
I knew that Atrius had ordered that I was not to be disturbed. But I tried not to think too much about Atrius—about the kiss—when I was at Naro’s side.
I had hoped that Naro might be one of the lucky ones who would be able to get through withdrawal. I didn’t know why I bothered dreaming of this. I wasn’t one to let myself drown in silly, baseless hopes. And it was silly—even those early in their addiction usually died in withdrawal, and I had no reason to think that Naro, someone who had apparently been at the Thorn King’s side for a decade now, had any chance at all.