of servants at your beck and call?”
“Are you making fun of me?”
His smile collapsed, and he scratched a spot behind his ear. “No, Amara. I really am curious.”
His edginess, combined with the use of my first name, made me relent. “It’s overwhelming. Everyone’s always judging you, evaluating your needs, jumping to attention when you enter a room. Not to mention the carousel of guards doesn’t give me much time to build relationships with any of them.”
His brows dipped. “Guards are appointed to protect you, not to chat with you.”
“I got that.”
After a beat, he ventured, “It can’t be all bad, though.”
“No. But it’s not . . . it’s not always easy to set the right example. To be the right example. I spent most of my childhood dreaming I didn’t have so many powers, because power gets you attention, and sometimes”—I peered up at him—“denigrating nicknames.”
An octagonal metal stop sign groaned and bowed under his boots. “Sometimes nicknames are born of jealousy.”
“You’re jealous of me?”
He peered down at me through his dark auburn lashes. “Who isn’t? You have everything. You’re even pretty. You could’ve at least been born with some facial warts or a weak chin.”
I blinked at him. “You think I’m pretty?”
His forehead crinkled as though my question were causing him physical pain. “On the outside.”
If both my hands hadn’t been immobilized, I would’ve smacked him. “You’re such an ass.”
His eyes blazed greener. “I’m more than just a great body part.”
I shook my head as we trampled over the station sign, the one printed with the town’s name. It felt like we’d arrived here a week ago, and yet it couldn’t have been more than a day since we got sucked through the portal. Maybe even less than a day.
“What does my grandfather have on your father?” Remo asked suddenly.
His question brought me to a stop, which in turn brought him to a stop. I released his hand, and he didn’t protest because we’d reached the platform where my risk of nosediving was minimal. “What do you mean?”
“There’s no way your father would’ve agreed to marry his only child off to the grandson of a man he barely tolerates if he has nothing to gain from the union.”
I slid my bottom lip between my teeth. “I can’t discuss it.”
His stance shifted, his feet settling farther apart and his knees locking, and then he crossed his arms. “Why?”
“Because . . .” Ugh. How was I supposed to tell someone who’d saved my behind more than once that I didn’t fully trust him?
“Because?”
I looked into the mossy depths of his eyes. “If I tell you, and we get out of here, and you use this against me—”
“I won’t.”
“How do I know you won’t?”
“Because I give you my word.”
“And I’m just supposed to trust your word?”
He drew his shoulders back. “You still don’t trust me.”
I was beginning to, but did I trust him enough? I fingered my sling, the weight of his attention making me extraordinarily uncomfortable. I steeled my spine and stopped twitching. “Do you trust me?”
His mouth flattened. “You’re right. We haven’t gotten there, have we?”
Would we ever get there, though? I scanned the crater filled with debris ringed with steep mountains. How many cells and how many days would it take to repair generations of distrust? Could it even be repaired? As the firm knot of his arms slackened, and he pivoted toward the train, I realized that Remo and I, we had nothing to repair because we’d never had anything to break in the first place. What we did have was the power to build something new.
Sighing, I decided to lay the groundwork. “Iba’s convinced Gregor’s harboring Kingston and grooming him for a second coup.”
Remo’s eyebrows almost kissed. “Kingston was executed four years ago.”
The pressure on my heart eased. Even though I hadn’t said this to test Remo’s knowledge or affiliation, I was glad to find him perplexed by the news. If he hadn’t been . . . Skies, I didn’t want to think about the alternative. It was one thing to be related to a monster; it was another to be cavorting with one.
“Apparently, he wasn’t executed.”
“It was public.”
“It was televised,” I corrected.
“Are you saying it was staged?”
I waited for the information to settle.
“So, what? Your father thought that binding our essences would make my grandfather confess to some nefarious plan?”
“No. He thought it would keep him happy and forget about his nefarious plan.” The episode of Gregor and Remo standing by my crib sprinted into my