In the Veins of the Drowning(54)

Theodore leaned forward to check my hands. “Still in the dirt?”

I nodded.

“Good.” He leaned back and looked at me with his head tilted to the side as he went on. “Naturally, because this Siren thought nothing of my father, he fell head over heels. Eventually, thank the Gods I don’t know the details of how, they became lovers. And they were for years and years. He had a new ship commissioned and immortalized her in that stained-glass window. But my father was the son of a Great God and as his father’s strength waned and his time to take the crown grew closer, he was expected to marry a noble wife. To have an heir. And he did. He married my mother, had children before me that didn’t survive. But he also kept his lover as his mistress. He flaunted her, brought her with him to balls and dinners. Lavished her with gifts that he didn’t give to my mother. My mother loathed her. And my father too, I expect, though she was wise enough to never let on. His Siren disappeared one day, likely a nekgya attack. I was born a year or so later.”

A moaning breeze filled the quiet between us. I rolled the soil between my fingers. “That’s heartbreaking. For your mother, of course, being treated so terribly. But for your father and this Siren too. They loved each other and they weren’t allowed to be together the way they wanted to be.”

“I don’t see them as the victims of that story.” Theodore looked away, deep in thought. “When the blood of the Great Gods runs through your veins, you don’t get to have what you want.”

“Who told you that? Certainly not your father.”

“No. He believed the opposite.” Theodore cleared his throat, sat quiet for a long moment. “He thought his divinity guaranteed him his every desire. And that made him callous and indulgent. It made him hurt others.”

“I see.” Theodore took my wrist again, almost absently. “And so, you have tried to shape yourself into his opposite.”

His thumb swiped over my skin. “According to you, doing so has made me into his very image.”

My lips parted. “You seem far better than your father.” I searched his face in the silver light, hungry for any emotion he might offer up. Suddenly certain that knowing him better would make me feel fed. “But I can understand now why I put you so ill at ease.”

“I wouldn’t say you put me ill at ease, Imogen.” He released me and leaned back onto his hands. “Quite the opposite. Unfortunately.”

“Oh.” My voice was dangerously breathy when I finally asked, “How much longer do I need to sit with my hands in the dirt?”

He gave me a piercing look. “A week.”

I froze. A mischievous grin spread slowly across his face.

“You’re despicable.” I threw a clod of dirt at him. “How long were you going to make me sit here?”

His laugh rumbled around me. I threw more chunks of earth.

“All right.” He held up surrendering hands. “All right. I’m sorry. Stand up.” His laughter rang through the night as he helped me to stand. A warm arm wrapped around my waist, and the solid heat of his body pressed against my back. The calloused fingers of his other hand took my wrist, and he extended my arm out toward a curling vine—not too close.

He pressed his cheek to mine as he asked, “What does your power feel like?”

Gooseflesh cascaded down my body. The bond flared like a lit candle. I had to swallow hard before I could muster any thought at all. “It starts like a hum,” I finally managed.

“Where?”

“Here.” His other hand rested firmly over my solar plexus, and I placed my own over it. “But it builds and climbs up to my throat.”

“Mine is the same,” he said. “But instead of building to my throat, it moves toward my hands.” He gave my wrist a squeeze. “Tell the vine to curl around your finger.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You haven’t tried.”

My nerves jolted at the thought of being incapable. At the thought of him watching me fail. I pulled a breath deep into my chest.

“Breathe out,” he said, soft as mist. He pressed his hand against my stomach, the gesture both commanding and supportive at once. “Focus. Try.”

Focusing would be a feat with his body pressed against mine. He was solid, unflinching, and I flexed my sore muscles so as to keep myself from pressing into him. I’d staved off the exhaustion of the last few days as best as I could, but now, surrounded by the night and Theodore’s body, all I wanted to do was give in.

His hand on my stomach flared with his warm power, and the hum in my stomach started. I couldn’t tell if he’d coaxed it forth, or if he’d simply helped me focus my distracted attention.

Once I felt it, I had to fight to keep my hold on it. My heart sped as I focused my gaze on the thread-thin vine. Teeth clamped, I beckoned it toward me with a clear and singular thought. It didn’t move. Theodore held me tighter. Again, I sent a command, a plea. Again and again, and Theodore remained a steady, quiet support at my back as I tried. Finally, as my emotion began to swell, my arm tingled, my palm turned hot, and the little green coil stretched, agonizingly slowly toward my finger.

It tickled as it slithered around me like a tiny serpent.

I pulled in a stunned breath.

“Look at you,” Theodore crooned.