It was about the statement, about pretense.
Or so I thought.
I’m not so sure anymore.
He must notice my apprehension, because he adjusts on the bed to face me, this time reaching across my lap, taking both of my hands in his. “Asha, I won’t pressure you into anything you’re not ready for. I know you still suffer…spells. That the magic Kiran wrought on you hasn’t fled entirely. I don’t want…” He takes a breath, steadying himself. “I told you over a year ago that I had things I needed to work through.”
I can’t help but notice he isn’t looking at your face right now, hisses my magic.
Indeed, Az stares at our hands, at the tattoo that swirls up my arm, binding me to Kiran. Quietly, Az takes my sleeve and pulls it further down my arm, covering the rest of the tattoo with his hand.
He breathes a sigh of relief at not having to look at it any longer. Then he peers into my face. “I just wanted you to know that I’ve worked through them now. Entirely. I’m yours, Asha, through and through. Always have been. I only wish I hadn’t been too dull to realize it sooner. But you know what? I can’t even bring myself to regret it. Because look where it’s led us, Asha. You and I? We were born to shape the world. And we’re supposed to do it together.”
I want to remind Az he’s married, but again, he seems to have forgotten that much. The only marriage he seems to honor is the fake one he’s forced me into.
“So when you’re ready, I’m ready.”
There’s a dull aching in my heart. One that reminds me, almost dryly, how thrilled this confession might have made a previous me.
That version of me didn’t possess enough respect for herself.
The self-respecting Asha might be withering away, but at least there’s still some iron underneath the ashes.
I let out a shuddering sigh and allow my eye to shimmer with tears. It isn’t difficult. It comes too easily these days.
And then I nod.
Az’s face bursts into one of the most brilliant smiles I’ve ever seen.
So deceptive, that beauty of his. Has it always masked the evil lurking within, or had it contributed to it? Did that smile allow him to get away with too much as a child, rotting him slowly over the years, through trial after trial of always getting his way?
Az has always gotten what he wanted.
Always.
Well, he can’t have me.
“I want it to be perfect when it happens,” I say, and his smile falters a bit, but only out of disappointment. Not anger. “I don’t want him lurking in the back of my mind, ruining it for us.”
I swallow, emphasizing my discomfort.
Az just smiles understandingly.
And then he kisses me.
It’s meant to be a reassuring, gentle sort of kiss, but I realize that too late.
Because I cringe with such disgust, there’s no disguising it from Az.
When he pulls away, recognition of the truth darkens his gaze, and he shakes his head, incredulous.
“It’s unbelievable—the hold he has on you.”
Az jolts from the bed, leaving in a flurry of rage.
I’m not allowed to see Nagivv for three days after that.
CHAPTER 65
ZORA
It’s taking less time than I expected for my wounds to heal. This has me wondering whether Farin has some secret healing ability he isn’t telling me about. Or maybe all the physicians are right about the salty ocean air being beneficial to one’s health.
Either way, the faster I heal, the less time I have to figure out a plan for thwarting Farin’s trip back to Alondria.
The other problem is, the more time my wound takes to heal, the more time Farin and I have to sit and ponder and talk. And, in a limited quantity which I monitor religiously, laugh.
That’s going to be problematic.
Okay, it’s already problematic, but I’m only willing to admit that to myself on certain occasions.
Now, as Farin is redressing my wound, is one of those occasions.
He does it twice a day, using the saltwater from the ocean and the few strips that are left of his outer tunic. I tell myself that I dread the occurrence. If I were to say as much aloud as a fae in Alondria, I’d likely be struck dead like Farin once was.
I have a tendency to avoid male kind. At least the ones I find attractive. It happens every time I reach the realization that there’s something off about me. That I’m not meant to be a part of whatever world I’m in. That the dreams I had as a child weren’t actually dreams, but memories.
It makes it difficult to attach yourself to someone, knowing you’re going to have to move on without them for lives on end.
