But then she thought of what Bastian said. I don’t think you can compete with a god.
She was already asking Gabe to keep secrets from Anton. It wasn’t wise to push her luck.
So she shifted on the floor, knit her fingers together in her lap, and prepared to lie. “I think it has to do with the Mortem inside the corpse. With me being the necromancer that raised him.”
It was as good an explanation as any.
Gabe shook his head. “Say you’re right, and the bodies from the villages have been kept. Surely that means August and Anton have a good reason—”
“They lied to us.” She turned completely around, now, facing him fully. “They lied to us about what was happening with the corpses. They said that they’re disposed of after being checked over for clues. Between that and their insistence that Bastian is an informant when we know he isn’t—”
“And it all comes back to trusting Bastian,” Gabe sneered under his breath.
“I’m not asking you to trust Bastian.” It was a struggle not to say it through her teeth. “I’m asking you to trust me.”
“No, technically, you’re asking me to trust Mortem. The power of death that has corrupted our city and had implications for the entire continent. The power that made people afraid of being buried underground, flowing from the corpse of a manipulative goddess.” He stood, then, his shadow eclipsing her, stretched long on the floor. “Forgive me, Lore, but the Mortem told me isn’t the most convincing argument.”
Her face flushed hot, and she stood to match him, glaring up into his one blue eye. “What about Anton doesn’t care about you beyond what you can do for him or August is a liar who wants to kill his own son? Are those convincing enough?”
His lip lifted. “Back to Bastian, again.”
“At least Bastian isn’t so far up someone else’s ass that he can only see out of their eyes.”
“No, he’s too far up his own, and he’s not doing anything but trying to get you in his bed.”
“Even if that were true, why would you care?”
“Because I thought you were too smart to fall for a handsome face that tells you what you want to hear. Because I thought you made decisions with your mind instead of your—”
Her teeth ground, almost audibly, and her hands moved before her brain told them to. Lore shoved at Gabe’s shoulders, forcing him back toward the couch—his knees hit the cushion and folded, making him sit down hard, cutting off what was sure to be something inappropriate for a monk.
Lore planted her hands on either side of Gabe’s head, gripping the back of the couch. It put them almost at eye level, but the Mort didn’t lean back. He kept his head steady, his almost-snarling mouth only inches from hers.
“His face has nothing to do with it.” It was a whisper, hissing into the scant air between them. “It has everything to do with being used by the King, the Priest Exalted, the Presque Mort. I came here through manipulation and it’s all I’ve known since. It’s all Bastian has known, and it’s all you’ve known, too. But at least the Sun Prince and I are smart enough to admit it.”
Are you so accustomed to being used that you don’t realize when it’s happening, as long as it’s done kindly? Bastian’s words echoed in her skull. Gabe hadn’t been used kindly, but he didn’t think he deserved kindness. Maybe that was the root of it. All he accepted was constant penance for a crime he’d never committed.
When Gabe breathed, she felt it. And he was so close. So close, and all of him so warm, and there was a cold deep in Lore she was always trying to thaw.
“That’s the thing about the manipulated,” Gabe said softly. “They become the best manipulators. There’s no teacher like experience.”
They stayed there, too close and too heated, anger and something else crackling between them. And even as Lore wanted to lean forward, kiss him, wrap all of this up in something she understood, it strengthened her resolve.
Gabe couldn’t know the truth about her.
He wanted her to kiss him. She could see it reflected in his one visible eye, almost a plea. Want was a palpable thing, vibrating in the air, but Gabriel was one of the Presque Mort through and through, and even in the haze of it, he couldn’t be the one to lean forward and break his vow.
Slowly, deliberately, Lore released the back of the couch. Slowly, deliberately, she stood up, staring down at the monk as he gazed up at her like he was fire and she was fuel.