“Get away from me!” I struggled against him, but he locked my arms to my sides. “I’ll hurt you too,” I whispered, shaking uncontrollably. “I’ll corrupt you.”
He shook his head, refusing to let me go. “I’m safe from you,” he said, with complete conviction.
He lifted me in his arms, carrying me back into his tent. I tried to sit up on his pallet but my journey to the spirit realm had left me exhausted beyond reason. Had the bandits’ ambush only been today?
I had lost control of myself because I’d overused my lixia, back in the Zoigen Marsh. It was a parasitic relationship, I realized, with power inextricably tied to madness. How foolish I’d been to believe I could be the exception. No one was immune to power’s inevitable corruption—not even the most powerful man in the world.
“I’m so tired,” I whispered, my voice wobbling. “I’m so tired but I can’t rest. If I fall asleep”—I swallowed—“I may lose myself again.”
His eyes bored into mine. “I won’t let that happen,” he said, and he spoke with such certainty I felt the lure of trusting him.
“How can you be so sure?” I asked. “What if the dragon tries to corrupt you? What if I hurt you—” My voice broke at the possibility, at the helplessness I felt over my own body and spirit.
He came over to me then, drawing me into his arms. My body was ice-cold, but his was warm as a low fire.
“If you must know,” he said, his chest rumbling beneath mine, “I lack a spirit disposition.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, struggling to stay awake against his soothing warmth.
He adjusted me so that my head rested on his shoulder. It was so comfortable I could hardly keep my eyes open.
“It means I cannot perceive or possess lixia in any capacity,” he said, his voice like the crackling of a hearth. “As for you”—I could hear the smile in his voice—“I think I have some sway over you.”
I relaxed, nestling closer against him. In my sleep-deprived state, I did not fully understand what he meant, but I trusted hisjudgment, and moreover, I trusted his ability to think a step ahead of me.
Then I recalled his recent bout of illness. “Is this okay?” I asked, lifting my head to peer at his face. “Am I too heavy? Does it hurt anywhere—”
He laughed softly, pushing me back down. “Sleep, Meilin. I prefer you here, like this.” He brushed a tendril of hair from my face. “With me.”
Perhaps he did hold some sway over me, because his voice was like compulsion. Unable to resist the intoxicating sense of safety, I succumbed to dreamless sleep in his arms.
Twenty-Seven
Although spirits cannot directly harm their vessels, the peril of inaction should not be underestimated. Indeed, many powerful summoners have met their demises at the hands of their own spirit masters, who simply neglected to offer a word of warning when it was most needed.
—Lost Journals of an 8th-Century Lixia Scholar, date unknown
Sunlight streamed in through thethin tent canvas, but the warmth it offered was meager in the crisp morning air. I snuggled closer to my source of heat, before registering that it was Lei’s bare chest.
I had fallen asleep in the Ximing prince’s arms? Only a month ago, I would have laughed at the sheer impossibility. Studying his sleeping face now, I tried to make sense of how I felt about him.
I had not truly forgiven him for the atrocities he had committed against me during the war. Perhaps his goals had always been the same as mine, and perhaps the ends justified the means, and yet my personal grudges had nothing to do with logic and reasoning. At times I still flinched when I caught his attention on me, as if conditioned to expect punishment to follow.
And yet, despite all his flaws, despite my lingering trauma, somehow, I trusted him. His brush with death had revealed something undeniable: I cared for him. More than I ever knew.
He stirred, his arms tightening reflexively around me. Considering me with half-lidded eyes, he somehow managed to appearboth cavalier and possessive. “See?” he said, his voice husky from sleep. “Nothing happened last night.” When I bit my lip, he unhooked it with his thumb and forefinger.
“You’re very pleasant when you sleep,” he remarked. “Much less disagreeable.”
I scowled at him, but at his teasing eyes, I felt my face soften. With his lips this close to mine, I couldn’t help but recall the last time we’d kissed—right before I’d pulled a knife on him. He had tasted like sin, and I had only wanted more.
My lips parted, and his gaze darkened in response. Did I want him to kiss me? No. Yes. I was a tangle of desire and disgust, loathing and want. Confused, I pushed against him, and he released me, watching me silently as I got to my feet and dressed.
Though I knew I owed Sky nothing, I couldn’t shake the deep-rooted guilt that crept in whenever I thought of him. He had expected me to fall for Lei, and perhaps in some twisted instinct for defiance, I wanted to prove him wrong. But was that enough to keep me away? I wanted Lei; that much was evident. But did I love him? Or was I incapable of love now—in any capacity, for any person?
Outside, the camp felt tense, like a drawn bowstring. I sensed the rebels glancing furtively in my direction but avoiding my gaze. And yet I heard laughter and applause coming from the center of the camp, followed by Kuro’s distinctive booming voice.
Near the firepit, Jinya was smirking with her hands on her hips. “Can you do the same?” she asked, the challenge clear in her tone.
