He broke the kiss but I chased it, tilting my head for another angle. Every time we came together again it was fiercer, like waves crashing in a storm. Our bodies were now entwined, my breasts against his chest.
And I couldn’t pretend anymore this kiss was his alone.
Because Weaver, I wanted more of him. Wanted to embrace the darker, forbidden sides of the desire that sleeping beside him every night had stirred. The kind of desire I was only allowed to explore by myself at night, my hands between my legs, or occasionally with another Arachessen willing to bend the rules with me up to wherever we decided the line of our vows had been drawn.
He wanted me. I knew it now, by the rigid length of him pressing through his pants. I had known it for weeks, every time we lay down together and woke up in an embrace.
My palm against his bare skin kept moving, sliding along the muscles of his torso—sliding down. When the tip of my little finger brushed against the waistband of his trousers, he abruptly jerked away.
That was enough to make me snap back to awareness.
My face was hot. My heart pounded wildly. For a moment, Atrius and I just stared at each other, his eyes wide.
What had I just done?
The realization of what more I almost did—what more I wanted to do—hit me like a bucket of cold water.
His nostrils flared, and I realized that he was taken aback by his own desires, too—perhaps even more than I was.
He rasped out clumsily, “Not tonight.”
I slipped my hand from his shirt and extracted myself from his lap as gracefully as I could manage. I was determined not to show that I was shaken. Yet I was so aware of the way his throat bobbed when his gaze ran up my body, and the way he tensed when I stepped away from him.
Not tonight. I wasn’t sure what that meant. Did that mean, Another night?
I had taken a chastity vow. Yes, I had seduced men—and women—many times in the course of my missions. It never made it as far as sex. But for some Sisters, I knew it had. Everyone knew. Even the Sightmother. Even, of course, Acaeja. We accepted it as a sacrifice for the greater good and looked the other way.
I couldn’t think about that.
I gave him a smile that tried to be charming, but probably looked weaker than I intended. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s gotten late—”
I started to turn away, but Atrius caught my wrist.
A long moment of silence stretched out between us. He stared at me with those eyes that seemed to skewer right through me.
And just when I thought he didn’t have anything to say at all, he spoke. Four words in Obitraen.
“What did that mean?” I asked.
He just shook his head and let me go. “Take care of your brother,” he murmured, and turned to the fire.
27
Naro did not improve over the next several days. Instead, his condition deteriorated. This went far beyond injuries from the battle. Pythoraseed addiction was a greedy beast. Withdrawal set in fast, and once it had you, it would keep devouring until there was nothing left but a shell. It was almost always deadly.
Soon, Naro was delirious. He was rarely awake. When he was, he was unaware of the world, spitting out slurred collections of words that didn’t qualify as sentences. I remained by his side, and no one bothered me, even though there was plenty of work to be done before the army moved north again.
I knew that Atrius had ordered that I was not to be disturbed. But I tried not to think too much about Atrius—about the kiss—when I was at Naro’s side.
I had hoped that Naro might be one of the lucky ones who would be able to get through withdrawal. I didn’t know why I bothered dreaming of this. I wasn’t one to let myself drown in silly, baseless hopes. And it was silly—even those early in their addiction usually died in withdrawal, and I had no reason to think that Naro, someone who had apparently been at the Thorn King’s side for a decade now, had any chance at all.
Before long, Naro was never conscious and struggled to breathe, constantly drenched in sweat, his skin clammy and gray-tinged. His fingertips had grown dark, mottled red. His body no longer knew how to function without Pythoraseed.
I hated myself for the decision I made then. In the middle of the day—one of our last days in Vasai—I rose from Naro’s bedside and wandered through the palace halls. The place had been gutted, Atrius’s men having spent the last weeks rummaging through all the rooms, stripping them of supplies and weapons stores.
Tarkan had controlled his entire army through Pythoraseed. I knew there had to be some here. Probably a lot. Yet as I raided room after room, my frustration grew. Threads were superior to eyesight in almost every way—but in this situation, my lack of eyesight didn’t help me. Drugs had no soul. No threads. The only way I could find them would be by searching like anyone else. And so I searched, and searched, and searched. Hours passed. I found nothing. When I reached the final door on the second floor and opened it to an empty room, I let out a frustrated sigh that ended in a sob.