…
The sky is black when Xaden slides into bed shirtless, the movement waking me from a fitful attempt at sleep. Enough moonlight comes through the window to see the harsh, beautiful lines of his face as he turns toward me, both of us lying on our sides. Enough moonlight to see a silver scar across his heart I somehow missed in the fighting pits. Was he wounded at Resson?
“You’re awake.” He leans onto his elbow, propping his head on his hand.
“I don’t sleep well anymore.” I tug the summer-weight blanket up over my shoulder as if he hasn’t seen me in less than the slip of a nightgown I’m wearing. “And I don’t have it in me to fight tonight.”
“Then we won’t fight.”
“Because it’s that simple.” Even my sarcasm is exhausted.
“It is if that’s what we decide.” His gaze wanders over my face, softening with every second.
“What time is it?”
“A little after midnight. I wanted to talk to you earlier, but there was an incident—”
“Mira.” I jolt upright, fear stabbing deep.
“She’s fine. Everything’s fine. Just some civilians trying to cross the border and the infantry…wasn’t pleased.”
“They weren’t pleased?”
“They killed them,” he admits softly. “Happens all the time out here, just doesn’t get briefed at Basgiath. Lie back down.” The suggestion is gentle. “Mira’s perfectly fine.”
We kill civilians? That information goes straight to the box.
“I almost told her today.” I whisper the confession as my head hits the pillow, even knowing no one can hear us in here. “For all my anger, you’re right not to trust me, because I almost told her. I even hinted, hoping she’d catch on.” A bitter laugh slips free. “I want her to know. I want her to see Brennan. I want her to be on our side. I just…” My throat threatens to close.
Xaden reaches out and cups my cheek. There’s no reproach in his gaze, or even judgment, though I’ve just given him reason to shut me out for the rest of our lives. His silence, the quiet acceptance in his eyes, keeps me talking.
“I just feel…heavy,” I admit. “I don’t have anyone who knows who I really am anymore. The guy I considered my best friend nearly got us killed. I’m keeping secrets from Rhiannon, from my sister, from…you. There’s not a single person in this world I’m entirely truthful with.”
“I haven’t exactly made it easy for you to trust me,” he says, stroking his thumb over my cheek. “I’m still not making it easy. But you and I are not easy people. What we build together has to be strong enough to withstand a storm. Or a war. Easy isn’t going to give that to us.”
What we build together. The words make my reckless heart clench.
“I should have told you I was reading into the wards.” I rest my hand on the warm skin of his arm. “I knew you’d tell me not to, and I’d probably do it anyway, but mostly I didn’t tell you because…” I can’t even say it.
“Because I don’t tell you everything, either.” His thumb strokes across my cheek again. “You put it between us on purpose. Gave yourself a secret because I wouldn’t share all of mine.”
I nod.
“You’re allowed to have secrets. That’s the point. I’d prefer they not risk everything I’ve worked toward for the last few years—or your life. And yes, I’m still not happy about the scribe, but we’re not fighting tonight. I just need to know the important things. I won’t withhold information that could change how you make decisions, and I ask the same of you.” His thumb continues the same soothing, lazy pattern.
I don’t want us to have secrets, but he’s already made it clear that’s not changing. So maybe it’s time to try another tactic. “How long will you hold on to the weapons for?”
A corner of his mouth tugs upward. “I won’t meet up with a drift for another couple of weeks.”
Holy shit, it worked. “You answered.”
“I did.” He smiles, and an ache wakes in my chest. “How did it go with Varrish?”
“Tairn nearly ripped out Solas’s throat, which worked for getting Andarna out of maneuvers but may end up causing me bigger problems in the future.” A small smile spreads across my face. Look at us: having a conversation without fighting.
“We’ll keep an eye on the situation. I’m slightly worried I’ll kill Varrish if he pushes you to burnout again.” There’s no teasing in his voice, and I know he’ll do it.
“What’s with the weaving book you left me after graduation?” I change the subject with a small, confused shake of my head. “And the strips of fabric? Do you think I’m suddenly going to start crafting?”
“Just thought you might like to keep your hands busy.” He shrugs with one shoulder, but the devious glint in his eyes says it’s something more than that.
“So I keep them off other cadets?”
“I just thought you might like to explore an aspect of Tyrrish culture. I can weave every knot in that book.” He flashes a smile. “It’ll be fun to see if you can keep up with me.”
“In fabric knots?” Has he fallen off Sgaeyl recently?
“Culture, Violence.” His hand slides to the base of my neck, and his gaze turns serious. “Do you have nightmares about Resson? Is that why you can’t sleep?”
I nod. “I dream of a million different ways we could have lost. Sometimes I dream it’s Imogen who dies, or Garrick…or you.” Those are the ones that make it impossible to sleep afterward, the ones where their Sage takes him from me.
“Come here.” He wraps his arm around my waist and tugs, rolling me toward him.
My back settles against his chest as he tucks me in close. Gods, he hasn’t held me like this since the night we destroyed my room. Warmth infuses every inch of my exposed skin, pushing the cold from my bones. The ache in my chest expands.
“Tell me something real.” It comes out as a plea, just like it did last year.
He sighs and curls around me. “I know who you really are, Violet. Even when you keep things from me, I know you,” he promises.
