Real water?
I lifted the glass and sniffed. Slightly metallic. How had he come by it? Had he imported it? Just the single glass was worth thousands of v, and he was giving it to me? I set it down and pushed it across the table toward him. “I’ll pass.”
If I had offended him, he didn’t show it. If anything, he appeared amused. “There’s no debt.”
“Still, I don’t think I want anything of yours.”
“You obviously do. You’re dehydrated—”
“What do you want? What is all this?” I waved a hand at the empty packets. “Am I a prisoner or a guest? If I’m a guest, I’d appreciate it if you removed this.” I tugged the collar forward, digging it into the back of my neck.
He watched, so calm, so measured. “It is just a glass of water.”
But it wasn’t. Real water was rarer than gold, rarer than wood. This gift didn’t make any sense. If he was going to send me home, then why hadn’t he? If he was going to kill me, then why waste time with this charade?
“Do you miss the rain?” he asked.
I stared at him. Did I miss the fucking rain?
And then it clicked. I hadn’t been back to Faerie in five years. But he had been away from his home much longer. As fae, he needed the earth beneath his feet like I needed air to breathe. He needed that grounding, living, breathing presence that flooded every single inch of Faerie. In comparison, Calicto, with all its tek and manufactured domes, might as well have been a barren desert. He was starved of home.
A chip of compassion broke from my hate. Oh, I still despised him, but I understood why he stared the way he did, why he had watched me eat, why his gaze lingered as though he were hungry.
I lifted my chin. “Take off this collar and I’ll tell you.”
The corner of his lips ticked. Nothing like a smile, just an acknowledgment that he knew what I was thinking and he wouldn’t barter with me.
“What’s your name?” I asked again. “Your human one doesn’t suit you.”
He closed the distance between us in a few strides, picked up the glass, raised it to his lips and drank long, deep and hard. I watched the smooth line of his neck gently undulate and imagined the cool liquid passing over my tongue. A small drop escaped the corner of his lips and dribbled down his chin. What might it be like to lick that droplet off? What might it be like to taste him? I recognized the tight flutter of anticipation coiling low inside for the lust it was and let it happen. Some things were too good to resist, even if they were wrong. Too quickly, the show was over. He lowered the glass and used his thumb to wipe the drop from his chin. He smiled that same knowing, smug-ass smile as when he’d stolen Sota from me. Bastard. When I smiled back, my lips cracked.
“What’s your name, Kesh Lasota?” he asked.
“You know it.” Wraithmaker. Because I’d killed so many, turning their lives to dust, their spirits to ghosts. And in the end, I’d killed the one they had all loved above any other.
“No.” He set the glass down, spread his hands on the tabletop and leaned in so close I could almost count each delicate eyelash framing his brilliant fae eyes. “Your real name. Your slave name. That is what you are. Risen out of the slums to serve my people. Trained in the art of slaughter for our entertainment.”
I licked a drop of blood from my split lip, relishing the coppery taste. I’d tasted fae blood like his, and I would taste it again soon. “I’ve never told a single fae soul. What makes you think I’ll tell you?”
He laughed softly. “I should give you up,” he whispered as though this was our little secret. “But I think I’ll keep you for my personal entertainment. After the sacrifices I’ve made, it’s only fair.”
It took every ounce of restraint I had not to grab him by his long braided hair and smack his face into the table. He wanted me to. That was the only reason he’d moved in so close. He wanted me to react, to make him retaliate twice as hard. But this was not the place to fight. I had no way out. Attacking now would only free me for a few moments, like a bird fluttering inside its cage. No, I needed a plan, an exit, before I made my move.
A moment passed between us, one of mutual understanding. I was his bird, caught in his cage, my wings clipped for his entertainment. But this bird had talons, and I wouldn’t hesitate to use them.
With a throwaway laugh, he left the room. I listened to his light footfalls fade into silence and waited for the sound of a door closing. It eventually came, sounding a long distance away. The curved steel corridors had likely bent the sound. I would find the right door, and I would escape him.
I scooped up his glass and clenched it in a fist, ready to throw it against the nearest wall and watch it shatter into a million pieces. But a few drops had gathered at the bottom. Condensation, probably. I touched the glass to my lips, tasted his sweetness, and threw my head back. Real wetness, real water moistened my tongue, and with it came the intoxicating taste of fae. I swallowed the dregs, drank the taste of him down. He had known I couldn’t resist for long.
Chapter 13
Put these on.” Larsen threw a bundle of clothes at my feet and dangled my coat in front of him like a lure. “And this.”
I stood from the cot—one I’d found in one of the other rooms—and approached. It had been a few days since he had caught me. He had returned with food and synthesized liquid. No water. I’d blown my chance at getting more. And no conversation either. But he liked to linger. To watch. All fae liked to watch.
I took the coat and turned my back on him to shrug the robe off my shoulders.
“I took the liberty of emptying the pockets,” he said. “All of them.”
Some pockets could only be found with the magic at my fingertips, but with the collar on, they were shut away anyway. As I dressed, his gaze warmed my marks, stirring them to life with a not unpleasant tingling. Did I have more than him? The more marks I had, the higher my status among the fae. As the queen’s guard, few outranked me.
I caught him looking. His eyes lifted, questions burning there. Had he ever seen me fight? Most fae had. Some had been lucky enough to watch the spectacular performance live at the arena.
“An interesting garment,” he commented, nodding at the coat.
He would think so. The coat was fae-made. I fastened it closed, something I almost never did, and wore the collar high to hide the iron one resting on my collarbone.
“Can I can get my whip back?”
He merely smiled.
“Afraid I might strangle you with it?”
“You are the least frightening thing in this forsaken system.” And with a gesture for me to follow, he turned and strode off, assuming I’d trail behind him.