They think the attacks stopped because of something I’ve done, not something I have yet to do.”
Give herself up. Become Archeron’s weapon.
The words hung heavy and cold between them until Bell gripped her sleeve, jerking her to a halt. “Stop. You have to let yourself enjoy their happiness.”
She bristled at his touch, barely suppressing the urge to rip from his grasp and flee. “It just makes everything harder, Bell. I can’t watch them rebuild knowing he’s just going to shatter their hope all over again.”
Which, of course, was exactly why Archeron had given them a short reprieve in the first place. Show them how wonderful life could be without her. Show her the price of her resistance.
This was the price, and it was only a small fraction of what would be taken from Shadoria, from her if she didn’t return to him.
“We have to,” he answered softly. “Our survival depends on being able to dream a future different from the dreadful one Archeron provides, even if it never comes to pass. Even if . . .” His jaw flexed. “Even if daring to imagine such a world leaves our hearts unprotected and vulnerable.”
For a heartbeat, she looked at her friend. He had to know more than anyone what this felt like. To envision an impossible future so bright, so wonderful that it physically hurt to imagine it.
Jaw clenched, she tugged free, gliding inside the shadow of the building in hopes of anonymity as she strode toward the end of the alley.
No such luck. A man hawking a paltry little bucket of fruit recognized her. His eyes lit up as he waggled a bright green apple at her.
“I couldn’t possibly,” she said, patting her stomach to show she was full. A lie—she hadn’t been able to stomach breakfast this morning, and lunch had been a few bites of a bread loaf and a sliver of white cheese. But the thought of eating now repulsed her.
Bell didn’t have that problem. After insisting he pay for the apple—offering twice what the fruit was worth—he polished the fruit on his seafoam tunic and took a loud bite.
“You eat louder than our old tutor,” she groaned as they passed through a crumbling gate and the stretch of black sea came into view. In the ethereal, purple-tinged afternoon light, she could see the water wasn’t actually black but a dark, rich green.
“Shadeling’s Shadow, I forgot about that.” Bell chewed, making an effort not to be so noisy. “He was constantly munching on pecans and other fruit he stole from the garden, remember?”
“How could I forget? When Cressida discovered he’d been pilfering royal property, she tried to have him hung.”
At Bell’s insistence, he was only fired, not executed for his infraction. They discovered later he had seven children at home—three adopted—and could barely afford to feed them all on the pittance of a salary the king paid him.
Thinking about all those years ago made her chest ache tighter for some reason. Perhaps because things had been so much simpler then. Her only worries were keeping Bell safe, finding her parents, and not getting caught when she broke the rules—which was practically all the time.
Knowing now how many people had been suffering around them as a direct cause of King Boteler’s rule was startling—and shameful. Especially considering how selfishly oblivious she and Bell had been, caught up in their own bubble of wants and needs.
They found Xandrian waiting for Bell near a small cove. The shallow water glittered like one giant emerald, the edges dark blue and rippling with silver fish.
Xandrian’s lips lifted as he saw Bell, only to reverse course into a frown when his gaze slid to Haven.
“What have you learned?” she called by way of greeting, picking up one of the rapiers on a tan blanket and testing its weight.
Xandrian raked a hand through his shoulder-length golden hair, and a small part of her ached at the resemblance to Archeron. Once she looked past the spun-gold hair, jewel-toned eyes, and sun-bronzed skin, they looked completely different.
But it always took a painfully long breath to realize he wasn’t Archeron. His beauty more refined. Body lither. Whereas Archeron commanded any space he occupied, Xandrian had learned to move like water through a crowd. Only noticeable when he needed to be.
Xandrian’s shirt was unbuttoned, the runemarks that mapped his chest a dark metallic pewter in the twilight. He’d tossed away his boots and was ankle deep in the ocean, a rapier held low and loose at his side.