“That’s ludicrous. You’ve never shown an ounce of interest in me. Or kindness, for that matter.”
“I hunted and killed the dile that stung you.”
Okay . . . I dragged his hand off my mouth, because his caresses were distracting, then folded my arms. “That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been a first-class bagwa to me. You told the entire school a drop of my blood would kill them if it got on their skin!”
“I was jealous. Guys were starting to notice you. They were starting to talk about you and your ridiculously gorgeous mouth and eyes, and it was the only way I found to efficiently detract them from buzzing around you. I’m sorry, but I didn’t know how to deal with my attraction.”
My eyes turned as round as the shell rafts that bobbed atop the Glades. “You destroyed my reputation because you liked me?”
“Yes.” He linked his fingers together and cupped the back of his head, drawing his elbows close as though this were the most painful conversation he’d ever had. “Skies, Amara, I’m so fucking sorry. If I could go back in time and not act like a world-class, insecure jackass, I would. In a heartbeat, I would.”
“Here I thought I was just loathed by the entire kingdom.”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
A beat passed, its silence awkward and loud. “Is it also the reason my personal guards rotate so often and aren’t allowed to speak to me?”
“No.” His lids reeled up. “That’s so they pay attention. I don’t want them distracted. Distractions costs lives. And your life, it’s . . .” His Adam’s apple was so jagged it seemed about ready to cleave through his neck. “It’s important.”
“No more than anyone else’s.”
His emerald gaze grabbed me, held me. “One of the scenes I saw in the elevator back in the second cell was your mother crying.”
“That’s a . . . rare occurrence.” I wasn’t even sure I’d ever seen her cry.
He disconnected his fingers from the back of his skull and let his arms fall back to his sides. “She’d just had another miscarriage.”
I bit my lip. People survived insurmountable grief. As long as my parents had each other—
“I wouldn’t either,” he murmured.
“That’s just your guilt over tossing me off the cupola rearing up.”
His pupils pulsed.
I made the spear gun reappear, then held it out in front of him. “Here. You’re surely better at shooting things than I am.”
“Amara . . .”
When he cupped my cheek, I took a step back. I needed to get my head straight. In a rush of folly brought on by getting a second chance at life, I’d kissed him, but unless I was certain I wanted to do it again, I was keeping my lips to myself. “I’d really like to get home, Remo.”
Lips thinning, he took the proffered weapon, then lifted it and shut one of his eyes. After a steadying breath, his finger flexed on the trigger, and the arrow soared, arcing through the cottony air, piercing the portal in its very heart before drifting past it and plummeting back into the squishy mud like a fallen star.
“It’s an optical illusion,” I murmured. “There’s no way out of here.”
“No, I think it’s real, but I think we may need salt to turn it solid.”
My eyes widened. “We left the bag in Frontier Land! We need to get back there. We’ll just ride the train, without getting off until—”
“Even if we had salt, I doubt that’d be enough to unlock the door from the inside.”
Despair crawled over my disappointment. I wanted to cry and scream. Both. I wanted to do both but did neither. “So we’re trapped.”
He handed me the spear gun. “Just for a little while longer.”
His optimism did nothing to improve my morale.
As I liquefied our tool, I started to shake so violently that my teeth chattered. “What if no one comes for us?”
He loosed another deep breath before raising a paltry smile, one I didn’t think he was feeling. “I’m the grandson of the asshole who built this place. He’s bound to figure out where I ended up.” Remo, to my knowledge, had never insulted his grandfather. “I’ll admit, I’m surprised he hasn’t yet.”
Still, I trembled. I was sick of Gregor’s horrific playground and missed my parents and cousins. My grandparents and Nana Vee. I missed flying, swimming, fire. I missed getting dressed at the press of a button.