Though he was freezing from the draft, Keris first availed himself of both warm water and soap to scrub away the worst of the grime. He desperately needed a shave, but with no mirror and his body consumed with shivers, he’d likely cut off half his face in the process. Pulling his shirt and coat back on, he went to the window and dumped the basin of soiled water into the alley below.
“I’ll turn around,” he told her, taking a seat and rooting his gaze firmly on the wall.
But not watching only heightened his other senses. The whisper of fabric as she disrobed, the splash of water, then the scrub of a cloth against naked skin. Keris bit the insides of his cheeks and squeezed his eyes shut, memory supplying that of which his eyes were deprived.
Were there changes since he’d last looked upon her? New marks and scars from her ordeal to match the wounds inflicted on her heart and mind? He wanted to ask but instead bit his tongue.
“I’m done,” she said, going to the window to pour out the basin of water. “You should get some rest.”
“Likewise.”
She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “Later.”
Was she afraid of lowering her guard around him? Afraid he’d take advantage?
Grabbing his bag, Keris pulled out a brown bottle full of liquid. Icy fear pooled in his hands, because he remembered the dreams that had come the last time Lara had given him this. Dreams he’d been powerless to wake from and that had left him vulnerable to the world.
He took a deep breath, then measured five drops onto his tongue. “You’ll have to wake me if there is trouble,” he said, then lay on the floor, pulling his cloak over himself against the chill.
Zarrah didn’t answer.
With each heartbeat, his pain lessened even as his fear rose, because Keris knew what was coming for him. But blackness descended, and though he clung to the light, it took his consciousness down with it.
YOU THINK ANY of them can replace you?
The admission that had slipped from her lips kept repeating inside her head, louder each
time, her embarrassment rising with each repetition until she felt like she’d need to claw it out of her skull to silence it.
Why had she said it?
Because it’s the truth, her aunt’s voice whispered. I warned you.
Be silent, she snarled, well aware that arguing with her aunt’s spectre might well make her as insane as the woman herself. Though insanity was too kind an excuse for her behavior tonight.
Childish. Petty. Insecure. Manipulative.
Zarrah hurled the words at herself, cheeks burning because they were deserved. She’d demanded their relationship be limited to a political alliance, but the moment they were alone, she was the one erasing the lines she’d drawn. Burning hot then cold, tempting him half because she wanted proof that he’d hold to his word and half because she hoped that he wouldn’t.
You claim a woman’s experience with men but speak of intimacy like a girl.
“Shut up,” she snapped, then bit her lip, waiting for Keris to react. To move. But other than the rise and fall of the blanket from his breathing, Keris didn’t stir. “Keris?” He didn’t respond.
Unease filled her, and retrieving the bottle of narcotic he’d taken, she held it up to the light. 5 drops before sleep was written in wax on the side, and that had been the amount she’d watched him take.
Opening the stopper, she sniffed the contents and made a face as she recognized the scent. He’d be nearly impossible to awaken for at least a few hours.
Trusting her to watch his back.
She had betrayed him. Had hurt him. Had threatened his life. If there was anyone Keris should be guarded around, it was her. Instead he seemed hell-bent on protecting her from herself.
Kneeling next to him, she held a hand in front of his lips to feel his breath, her chest tightening at his pallor. Assuming infection didn’t take hold, he’d recover, yet when she’d unwrapped the bandage, the sight had nearly doubled her over. So close. She’d been so close to losing him.
Though Zarrah knew she should not, her fingers brushed his hair out of his face. It was longer than it had been before, the texture like silk against her skin. Not for the first time, she was struck by the nearly ethereal quality of his face, it seeming as though every angle had been sculpted by a higher power with the purpose of showing the world true beauty. That the mind behind the face was equally as rare in quality made her half wonder if perhaps darker powers were behind his creation, for no man should be possessed of such advantage.
Sighing, she withdrew her hand and did a pass through the small space to ensure the ladder had the trapdoor held securely, that the window was latched, and that all was well before retrieving her cloak. Wind howled through the cracks in the walls and from around the window, the chill sinking deep into her bones. Shivering, Zarrah wrapped the cloak around her body, wishing she had a blanket, though there was no chill deep enough to make her retrieve the prior occupant’s filthy quilt from the corner.
Keris stirred, muttering something unintelligible, his distress palpable.
Nightmare.
Without thinking, she went to him and shook his shoulder, hoping to rouse him enough to slip the dream. But he only thrashed violently, shouting something about not meaning it and nearly knocking over the lamp. “Keris,” she hissed, moving the lamp before shaking him again. “Wake up.”
“I’m sorry,” he pleaded, eyes pinched shut as if in agony. “I’m sorry.”
Her own breath came in rapid pants because she didn’t know how to help him. Didn’t know what to do to pull him from the depths of whatever horror consumed him because the cursed drug had him in its hold. Desperate, she gripped him tightly, her mouth pressed against his ear. “Keris, all is well.
I’m here.”
He stiffened, then whispered, “Valcotta,” before falling still.
Heart still pounding, Zarrah stayed unmoving, arms braced against the floor and her lips against his ear. Valcotta. The name of her empire and all she held dear, but from his lips, it reverberated through to her core in ways Zarrah couldn’t explain.
The wind howled, so violent now that bits of snow crept around the window frame and through the cracks, gusting across the floor. Keris’s skin was ice beneath her lips, his body shivering, and her stomach tightened. He’s tougher than he looks, Aren had said. The ability to survive the worst was in his veins, but there were still limits. All it would take was illness striking, taking advantage of injury erasing the lines she’d drawn. Burning hot then cold, tempting him half because she wanted proof that and cold, and she could lose him.
He’s not yours.
“Shut up,” she snapped, then bit her lip, waiting for Keris to react. To move. But other than the rise Zarrah’s eyes burned as she warred with herself, but as the lamp burned low, the oil exhausted, she found herself pulling her cloak over both of them, then curling around Keris’s back. Fitting herself 5 drops against him as best she could, then reaching around his waist to find his icy fingers.
What is to stop you from making the same mistake again? What is to stop you from being lured back into his bed with sweet words and promises of pleasure?
Zarrah pressed her face to Keris’s spine. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she was going to have regrets.