Before I can even process it, he’s gone. His mouth tears from mine, he releases the whistle, and, with a laugh of pure bitterness, he turns away. My pulse is ragged as I watch him stride five paces forward. I try to breathe, but I can’t seem to fill my lungs with enough oxygen. Every inhale is shaky and shallow. My emotions are a tangled lump, lodged firmly in my throat, as contradictory as they are confusing. Regret and relief. Unfulfilled desire and undeniable disappointment.
I would giveanythingnot to care.
That makes two of us, then.
I think he’s going to disappear—to walk into the forest, leaving me alone in the dark. But he stops. He, too, appears to bebreathing heavily, each exhale rattling the broad expanse of his back. I count his labored breaths—one, two, three—before he gets himself back under control, locking down the rare breach of emotions with the same self-possession he uses to swing his blade and steer his horse.
For a moment, we are both utterly quiet. Only the faint screech of an owl swooping overhead shatters the silent night. When I finally feel able to speak again, I ask a question that’s been nagging at me since we departed the Acrine Hold.
“Why didn’t you tell me you are a Remnant? That you are…like me?”
He does not turn to face me, speaking to the shadows. “Would it have made any difference? Would you have trusted me any more than you do now?”
“Maybe.”
“I doubt that.”
“Trust has to start somewhere. But you have given me nothing to go on. I learned more in one hour with your so-called enemy than I have from you in weeks.”
The silence that descends is so icy, I am surprised I cannot see my breath. “So you trust Soren more than me, is that it?”
“I didn’t say that—”
He spins around, pinning me with a glare. “Did he sway you to his side with an expensive dress and a few honeyed compliments? Did he win you over so easily with his practiced manners and fine wines? I thought you wiser than that.”
“He did not win me; I am not a prize.”
“But you put more faith in his empty words than in my actions.” He scoffs. “Perhaps I should’ve taken the time to coddle you as we fled north, barely escaping Efnysien’s men with our hides intact. Perhaps I should’ve been gentler as I ferried your half-dead corpse across plainlands and ice fields. Then youmight afford me the same benefit of the doubt you’ve extended blindly to Soren.”
I jerk my chin higher. “I don’t put any faith in him, blind or otherwise. I know he is dangerous.”
“You know nothing.”
“I’ve heard the battle stories—”
“Those stories are but a fraction of his crimes.” His tone is brittle. “You have no idea who he is. What he has done. The blood he has spilled. The lives he has ruined. Whatever whispers make their way to the Midlands are a weak, diluted measure of his true nature. Only sycophants and simpletons give their allegiance to such a man. Do you count yourself among those ranks?”
“No!”
“Then where does your allegiance lie?”
“With myself!” My voice rises sharply. “You say I would be a fool to trust Soren. What would I be to trustyou, when you have given me absolutely no reason to?”
“Keeping you alive all this time counts for nothing, I suppose.”
“Not when you fail to share your reasons for doing so. And do not paint yourself as some gentle savior. You may have kept me alive, but you did so with palpable reluctance.”
“Gentle savior.” He laughs bitterly. “Is that what Soren seems? Of course he would, safe behind his borders. Never risking his neck for anything that does not benefit him exclusively.” His voice drops to a snarl. “It is easy to be a gentleman sitting inside a castle. I certainly did not have the benefit of suchgentlenesswhen I was undercover in Eld’s army. I did not have the luxury of maintaining my court manners while knee-deep in corpses on the battlefield.”
I flinch.
He sees it, and his eyes lose some of their burning wrath. Taking a deep breath, he manages to rein in some of his anger. “What is it you require? An apology?”
“No,” I declare, even though there is a part of me that would appreciate one. “Your past actions do not concern me half so much as your future ones.” I narrow my eyes at him. His face is half-turned from me, one hand braced against the trunk of a tree. “What are your plans for me in Dyved?”
“You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
“Am I to be a prisoner?”