Vale didn’t directly spell out that he thought Simon Vasarus was responsible. But I knew what my suspicions were. Figured, we’d deal with Oraya’s spurned would-be Heir and then have to go deal with mine.
“So.”
One word, and I already was dreading what Mische was going to say next.
“What was that?” she asked, very casually.
“What?” I said, even though I knew what.
“What I walked in on.”
I had a headache. I didn’t want to think about what that had been, mostly because I myself didn’t know. I didn’t want to think about Oraya’s moans, or her skin, or that brief moment of vulnerability. Or the hurt in her eyes.
“Nothing,” I grumbled.
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
“It was a mistake.”
All of it.
You made me do what you couldn’t, she’d said—with actual tears in her eyes, an expression so raw and open. She had no idea, I was certain, how transparent she was, all that pain floating right to the surface.
I felt so stupid. So unimaginably stupid.
Until this moment, I hadn’t realized what I’d done. Here I was thinking that I’d made this great noble sacrifice. Thinking that I had saved her—or tried to, even if my plan had gone… differently than I’d hoped.
I hadn’t. I’d just given her something else to have nightmares about.
“I’m going to leave tomorrow,” I said. “At sundown.”
I didn’t look up from the letter—an attempted signal of I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it to Mische—but of course, it went ignored. I could still feel her disapproving stare.
“Raihn—”
“Nothing to say, Mish.”
“Bullshit.” Then again, for emphasis, “Bull. Shit.”
“You’ve got a way with words. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Look at me.” She snatched the letter from my hands, stepping in front of me. Her eyes were so big that I could practically see fire reflected in them, sometimes, when she was really pissed.
“So what’s your plan?” she said. “What’s the next step?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I thrust a palm at the letter. “Go behead all of my enemies and see if there’s a kingdom left when I’m done, I suppose.”
“First of all, you aren’t going to be able to do anything with all of this power until you stop resenting it.”
I made a choking sound that was almost a laugh. It took every shred of my self-control to keep my mouth fucking shut because nothing good was about to come out of it.
Stop resenting it.
I loved Mische—loved her deeply—but the fact that she could even say that with a straight face infuriated me. Of course I resented it. I’d been forced into this position—forced into it partially by her.
“And second,” she went on, her face and voice softening, “you can’t just run away from her. She needs you.”
I scoffed again at that. This time, the sound was more pained than angry.
“She needs someone, Raihn,” Mische said. “She’s… she’s really alone.”
That part… that was true. Oraya did need someone.
I sighed. “I know. But—”
But that person should not be me.
It felt silly to voice that. I couldn’t bring myself to, not in those words, even though it now seemed clearer than ever.
“Don’t abandon her,” Mische said. “She isn’t Nessanyn. It’s not going to end the same. She’s stronger than that.”
I shot Mische a warning look. Strange how even after hundreds of years, the mere mention of Nessanyn’s name was like a finger against a crossbow trigger, sending a bolt of regret through my chest.
“No. Oraya isn’t like Nessanyn.”
“And you aren’t Neculai.”
“Damn right I’m not,” I muttered, though I sounded less convinced than I’d like. I wasn’t like him. So why did I feel him shadowing my every move these last few months?
“Let her in, Raihn,” Mische said, softly.
I rubbed my temple. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. Yes you do.”
I caught my snappish response in my teeth—isn’t that a little hypocritical coming from you, the girl who locks up every time anyone tries to ask you anything fucking real?
But that was a childish response. None of this was about Mische.
Maybe it wasn’t even about Oraya.