“A chance, just as there’s a chance they’ll grow too strong to ever stop,” I repeat. “And besides, we don’t have years.”
I don’t meet his gaze as I start spreading ointment over his arms. The muscles there have softened in his three weeks in the dungeon.
“Do you pity her?” he asks me quietly.
If anyone else asked me that question, I would deny it. Of course I don’t pity her. She has committed more atrocities than I can possibly count. She’s ruined lives. She even tried to take mine. I know who my enemies are.
But it isn’t just anyone asking. It’s Søren, and Søren has always understood the darkest, most conflicted parts of me.
“Yes, I pity her,” I admit. “And I hate her and I love her, too. I don’t know how all of those things can be true at once, but they are. It doesn’t matter, though, because soon the time will come, and this time I won’t hesitate to destroy her. I can’t.”
He absorbs my words, nodding slowly. “And I’ll be right there, at your side,” he says solemnly.
His eyes meet mine, and I realize how much I missed those eyes. I forgot how bright a blue they are, bluer than the sea itself. They aren’t his father’s eyes anymore, not in my mind. They are all Søren. I touch his right cheek, the just-healed wound pressing into my palm.
“I know you will be,” I say softly. “I missed you, Søren. So very much.”
He leans into my touch and closes his eyes.
“I missed you too,” he says.
I softly brush my lips over his, aware of how fragile he is, though it seems laughable to think of him that way. But he is—I can feel it in his sharp intake of breath before he kisses me back, his hand resting on the nape of my neck, anchoring me to him. It feels like a revelation, like waking up after a long sleep. It feels like we’re making up for what we’ve lost.
I want to keep kissing him for hours, to celebrate the fact that we are here and we are alive and we are together even though neither of us thought we would be again. I want to lose myself to his touch and forget about everything else. But that isn’t what he needs right now—he needs rest and food and water. And we need to figure out where we go from here, where we strike next.
Besides, we have time.
So I break the kiss and instead I just hold him and he holds me and we try to convince ourselves that we’re real and here and together until we begin to actually believe it.
I LEAVE SØREN SO HE CAN get some rest. I barely make it to the tent’s entrance before his snoring begins, and I know he’ll likely sleep for some time. He needs to, after all he’s been through—and I’m sure he didn’t tell me everything. I only hope that Cress doesn’t plague his sleeping mind the way she plagued mine, even before whatever connection between us was forged.
It’s nearly midnight by the time I get back to the camp, and I would like nothing more than to fall into a bed of my own. After today, every muscle in my body yearns for sleep, but I know my mind won’t let me find that kind of peace. There is still one more thing left to do.
So instead I ask after Blaise, and a kind warrior I dimly recognize as one of Maile’s men points me toward the northern edge of the camp, just outside the gates.
There’s a chill in the air, and as soon as I step through the gates, it gets even colder. I pull my linen shawl tighter around my shoulders and look around for Blaise. In the dark, he should be difficult to find, but instead he is impossible to miss.
He stands alone on the lake’s shore, the moon shining down on him, illuminating his tawny skin and making it look like brown topaz. He moves like there’s no one watching, sword in hand. He slices the blade through the air one way, then another, never stopping even to breathe.
Blaise is not a great swordsman, though I don’t think I ever realized that until this moment. He could likely defend himself if he needed to, could possibly even hold his own in battle for a time, but Artemisia would defeat him in an instant and so would many others. It isn’t a skill that comes naturally to him, and I don’t think he’s put enough practice in to truly excel at it.
He also doesn’t know how to pace himself, and within minutes he is out of breath, his sword arm falling and the blade dropping unceremoniously into the rough sand in a way that would make Artemisia scowl.
It’s then that he sees me, his eyes widening for an instant. He stands a little straighter, dropping the sword altogether.
“How long have you been there?” he asks me.
“Only a minute,” I say, stepping closer now that he’s no longer waving his sword through the air. “I wanted to see how you were. After earlier.”
For a second, he doesn’t say anything. He looks to be at war with himself, but the battle only lasts the span of a breath. “After I tried to attack you in a fit of desperation, or after you had Heron knock me unconscious to keep it from happening again?” he asks.
I take a step back and ready myself for the fight I knew was inevitable. It seems like all we ever do is fight these days, and I am so tired of it.
“Both, I suppose,” I say, keeping my voice level. “And if you’re looking for an apology for keeping you out of the mirage plot, you won’t get one. Tensions were already high, and I couldn’t risk you becoming volatile again and ruining the entire plan. You’re unpredictable, and today you weren’t worth the risk.”
He stares at me for a moment, expression unreadable, before he shakes his head. “I’m not looking for an apology from you, Theo,” he says with a sigh. “I don’t expect one and I don’t deserve one. You made the right choice and I’m glad it all went smoothly. I can’t say with any certainty that it would have if I had been there.”
“Oh,” I say, taken aback. I’ve gotten so used to Blaise being hotheaded and reckless, I forgot how it used to feel when we were on the same side of an argument. “Good, then. And I hope you know that I’ll keep doing it, so long as you pose a threat.”
“You won’t have to,” he says. “It won’t happen again.”
I laugh, but there is no mirth in the sound. “Of course it will, Blaise. And I think we’re done pretending otherwise,” I say.
“No,” he says quickly. “I mean that I won’t be losing control again because I won’t be using my gift again. At all. Not in battle, not casually, not even when it’s begging to be unleashed.”
Whatever I expected Blaise to say, it wasn’t that. I expected anger, I expected a fight—I always do now, whenever we speak. I came with battle armor on, sword at the ready, and here he is waving a white flag, and I don’t know how to respond.