Fin swivels around to see who the man is speaking to, and as soon as his eyes focus in on me, his countenance falls. “You don’t want him to sit,” he drawls. “Not a people person, I’m afraid.”
The group lets out a chuckle, and a few of them tug at the collars of their shirts as the temperature in the inn rises.
I hold my breath, then back away, returning to our room.
It’s nearly morning by the time Fin bursts into our room, vomiting all over the floor before he collapses onto it.
My back aches from a sleepless night spent on this shabby excuse for a cot, but I make myself rise anyway, helping Fin sit up by propping him against the bed as I assist him in taking off his boots.
“Don’t touch me,” he says, though he can hardly get the words out.
I sigh, dropping his still-booted foot to the ground.
“Fine,” I say, lifting my hands and getting back into bed.
“You…you destroy everything you touch,” he says, though he’s clearly having to fight to keep his head up.
I grit my teeth. “We should have this discussion when you’re sober.”
Fin stands, though he stumbles and has to catch himself on the cot behind him.
I only have to wait a few moments before he falls backward on it and drifts off to sleep.
The alcohol in my brother’s blood must metabolize quickly, because he’s ready to disembark at the appointed time the next morning. I was prepared to pay for another night, figuring he’d have to sleep away the hangover today, especially given the ale he was drinking last night smelled faerie-made. But if my brother suffers from any lingering side effects of his drinking bout, he doesn’t show it.
He doesn’t speak a word to me for several hours.
“I don’t remember what I said to you last night,” Fin finally says, speaking up past the sound of the crickets.
We’ve set up camp at the edge of the woods tonight, the flame I conjured in the middle of the site providing relief from the chill of the Avelean night.
“Doesn’t matter. You were drunk. People say things they don’t mean when they’re drunk.”
Fin looks at me, crinkling his brow. “Have you ever been drunk? Because in my experience, people say exactly what they mean when they’re drunk.”
I toss a crumbling stick into the fire and watch it burn. It’s easier to watch than my brother.
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing you haven’t expressed before,” I say, and Fin goes quiet.
Several minutes pass before I find the courage to speak again. “I’m sorry, Fin. Truly sorry for what I did to Ophelia. For taking her away from you. I was just…” I take a breath, expelling the excuse. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Her life wasn’t mine to take.”
“You think it was mine, then?”
“That’s not what I said.”
Silence swarms us for another long minute, when I finally collect my thoughts. “You know, I wish you would tell me. Exactly what you think of me, I mean. You hide it behind jokes and caustic comments, but I wish you would just come out and say it.”
Fin huffs. “Say what? That I hate you? That I think I probably always will? Does that make you feel better, Kiran?” His voice is rising now, and he jumps to his feet. “Does it give you the closure you need if I tell you I wish Gwenyth’s plan had worked? That I wish she’d succeeded?”
“If she’d succeeded, you would be dead,” I say. My late wife had intended for both of us to die by the end of all her scheming.
“But Ophelia would be alive.” Fin emphasizes his words by flexing his hands. “Or do you not understand that? Is your heart so hard that you can’t imagine wanting to die for your wife? For Asha even?”
Irritation flares within me, but I keep it in check. “Ophelia betrayed you.”
“Yes, for her brother. Because the life of her family was being threatened. Just like Asha was going to betray you when it came down to choosing between Dinah’s life and yours.”
His words strike me like a spear to the chest.
“It’s the same,” he says, his chest heaving. “It’s the same, except you spared Asha, and you killed Ophelia. For the same crime.”
My head spins, but I have nothing to say as Fin walks away, hands clasped behind his head. He doesn’t come back until morning.
CHAPTER 31
NOX
Scales the color of a fresh bruise glimmer in the sunlight as the scorpion stares me down. Two pincers acting as a mouth clink covetously, as if it’s smacking its lips. Its tail curves upward, spanning the height of the pit.
My stomach churns.
If this were a bear, I’d try to remain still, but this is not a bear, and never in any of Gunter’s books have I read what to do if I were to find myself trapped in the pit of a giant scorpion.
So I do the only thing my inadequately prepped mind can think to do, and I lunge for it.
It snaps its pincers eagerly, probably delighted to have caught a prey stupid enough to actually come closer, but when I jump over its reaching pincers and land on its flat head, it rears back and shrieks again.
The force of its rearing sends me flying, but I’m ready for it. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around its tail when my torso slams against its firm scales, stealing the breath from my lungs. I have to dig my fingers into its underside to hold on as it flicks its tail, but at least I don’t fall.
