Cupolas were famous for scrambling—”
He raised one hand to my cheek, grazing my mended skin. “You’re really real.”
I let his fingers roam over my hair and collarbone before spiraling down my neck, hoping the feel of me would reassure him that he hadn’t murdered his princess. “I’m really real.” My voice took on a strange, coarsened quality, as though goose bumps had risen inside my throat. Was that possible?
“I thought—” He swallowed and then he shuddered.
I knew what he thought. Been there; thought that. Sensing the weight of his guilt, I said, “You can stop imagining all the ways my father and mother will torture you for killing off their only daughter. I’m alive and well. Very well. No more broken bones or shredded skin. You, on the other hand, don’t look too hot.”
Shadows gathered over his blood-streaked face. “I watched you turn to smoke, Amara.”
“And it didn’t rate among the best moments of your life?”
“No!” His word was as violent as the look in his eyes, as brutal as the fingers gripping the back of my neck. “How can you even think that?” He shuddered, his lids falling over his eyes, his lashes shivering against his cheek. For a long moment, he stayed like that, with his eyes closed, his nostrils flaring, his jaw clenched.
My lips settled into a grim line, and I pressed my palms against his chest, right over where his heart banged like a Gottwa war drum. “I had a front row seat to your disintegration, so trust me, I know how horrifying it is, but look at me. I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.”
His lids finally lifted. “I’ve never been more petrified in my entire life.”
I shot him a sympathetic smile. “I can just imagine. I heard cupolas were quite the torture chamber.”
His stare firmed and narrowed. “I wasn’t talking about the effect of the cage, Amara. I was talking about the effect of watching you die. About causing your death.”
“You weren’t in your right mind.”
His grip on my neck slackened and then his hand fell away from my body. “How can you be so forgiving with someone who’s spent their entire life making yours hell?”
His admission stunned me into silence. Apparently, cupolas weren’t only useful at causing nightmares; they were also useful for soul-searching.
Letting my hands slip off his torso, I sighed. “Don’t give yourself that much credit. You didn’t make my life easy, but you also didn’t make it hell. Your grandfather, on the other hand . . .” I gestured to the land around us.
He craned his neck and glowered at the portal. “Let’s not talk about my grandfather right now.”
I dropped the subject of Gregor. “So, what tool should I make? A rope?” I pulled my dust out of my hand, the golden filaments gleaming like stretched gum.
“A spear gun.”
“Wouldn’t an arrow damage the portal?”
He returned his gaze to mine. “I planted a sword in one once. It suctioned the blade. Pulling it out was . . . challenging.”
“Even for a big strong man like you?” I winked at him.
My teasing released some of the tightness between his eyes. “Did you snort some mud, prinsisa? You sound a lot like your grandmother.”
He didn’t have to clarify which one; only Addison existed in a constant mallow-haze.
A smile cracked across my lips. “I think I might be high.” I shut my eyes and tipped my face to the white sky. “High on life.” When I opened my eyes and leveled them back on Remo, I found him watching me, brows hugging. “What?”
His jaw flushed. “Nothing.”
Instead of drawing out his discomfort, which was totally something Amara 1.0 would’ve done, I let him off the hook and concentrated on creating our ticket out of the Scourge. As I shaped my dust, I asked, “What’s the first thing you’re going to do once you get home?”
He didn’t hesitate long. “Eat. And you?”
“Hmm . . . I’m going to fly and float around Neverra for hours.” After I found Gregor and Joshua and made them both pay for what they’d done. Retaliation first, then indolence. “I really miss flying. Falling is much less fun.” My reminder sparked a grimace on Remo’s face. Before he started self-flagellating himself for sending me hurtling to the ground, I said, “You’re welcome to accompany me on my excursion.”
He froze.
His reaction made the spear gun feel as though it weighed a hundred pounds. We didn’t need to be the best of friends, but we also didn’t need to be sworn enemies.
“We’ll be