feel different now, but it did. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“It doesn’t feel right.” He leaned back against the ledge, his voice cold. “So it’s fine for you to play around in my head as long as I don’t know about it, is that how it works? What else have you been doing in there all these years?”
“Gavin,” she said, exasperated.
“Can you make me do things? Pull my strings like a little puppet?”
“Our lives would be a hell of a lot easier if I could,” she snapped. The anger she felt in him was petulant, manipulative and—unlike the despair—entirely for show. “Oh, for gods’ sake. You impossible, whining child. Sit down, give me your stupid hands. I’ll show you.”
She sat on the ledge next to him and took his hands. The petulance, as she’d expected, vanished instantly now that he had what he wanted; his fingers curled eagerly around hers, his face interested and expectant. For a moment, through all of her exasperation with him, she felt a twinge of pleasure, of comfort. He needed her. So much had changed, but this one thing hadn’t.
She thought about water. Not the aquifer; the crypts were cold and the despair in him was cold, too, frustrated and impotent. So she gave him the baths. At evening, the best time, when the light was soft and the bathing rooms quiet. The smells of herbs and wet wood. The water itself, steaming and fragrant, surrounding cold toes, legs, everything, soothing away the chill like an embrace. The gentle motion of the ripples from the pumps that kept the water clean, the soft laps like kisses at the edges of the pool. Movements slow and languid. Gentle resistance on fingers. She had done this so many times. She could do it without trying.
Slowly, she became aware that something was different: a sense of unfamiliarity that swelled into unease, and then ripened into fear. Something new was happening. The water was the same, and the sense of being doubled, herself and not-herself. But there was also...something... She felt like she was slipping away. Being drained. He was reaching into her, she realized; reaching into her and taking.
She yanked her hands back. Curled them protectively against her. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?” His voice was thick, his words almost slurred. In the dim light from the lantern he gave her a dazed, delighted grin. “Judah,” he said, and put his hands on her knees. “That was amazing. You’ve been doing that for me? All this time?”
Not like that, she wanted to say.
“It’s wonderful.” For the first time since the coup he seemed quick and lively and full of happiness. “How did I not know? No wonder the world’s felt so bleak lately.” Before she could speak he grabbed her head in his hands and kissed her on the forehead. “Oh, Judah, I love you. You beautiful, devious sorceress, you. I love you more than anything. You’re my life, you know that? You’re my entire life.”
And because his hands were still on her, because he was pressing his forehead to hers, she could feel that it was true. His love for her was as strong as his depression had been, warmer than the water in her imagination, softer and more fragrant. The last time she’d felt so unequivocally, comfortably loved, she had been lying in a sunny field with Darid as he unlaced her boots and peeled down her leggings. But she’d had to judge Darid by his words and aspect; Gavin, she could feel.
“Do it again,” he said. “Gods, let’s never stop.”
“Just—easy, okay?” Feeling like she needed to say something, not sure what words she should use. “Be patient. Just let me do it.”
“I will let you do whatever you want,” he said, and took her hands again.
Oh, Gavin. Her Gavin. He was dying inside, and she was the only one who could help him. She steeled herself, because she knew that he would not be patient; steeled herself, and thought of water.
* * *
After, he held her hand all the way upstairs. It no longer seemed to matter. He felt placid and smooth, all his thorns pulled. If something still flowed through their clasped hands, she was numb to it. She was more exhausted than she had ever been. She could not have pointed to the place where she hurt but she felt scraped raw. If he dropped her hand she knew her arm would fall like a dead thing, and in fact there was a good