“Is that … guilt?” she asks. “Why do you feel guilty?” When I fail to answer, her expression turns cold. “I get it, this is new and really fucking weird, but you agreed to not keep shit from me.”
As terrified as I am of losing her, my word is stronger than my axe, and I do not intend to break it. I will do the hard thing and be honest.
23
CHOOSE
AMARA
REPEATED SURGES OF intense guilt flow from Vexar into our connection. I don’t know where the guilt is coming from, but I’ll be damned if I let him brush me off.
He sits up and pulls a leg towards his chest, wrapping his elbow around his knee before scrubbing a hand over his face. “I am sorry?—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I don’t need a fucking apology, I need honesty. You’re hiding something, and I…” I let out a grunt of frustration. “Fuck, Vexar!” I can handle a lot of things, but his cagey guilt isnotone of them. Especially right now. “If you want me to trust you at all, you need to open your fucking mouth and talk.”
His eyes stay fixed on mine, nervous but surprisingly steady. “I knew,” he says slowly. “I knew about the slave-ships.”
A stillness hangs between us for what feels like an eternity as my brain repeats his words over and over. But no matter how many times I hear them, the meaning doesn’t change.He knew about the slave-ships.
“Well, fuck,” I whisper, rubbing my hands over my eyes. “That’s, ugh… Wow.” He knew about the slave-ships. A heavy pain climbs up my spine and settles behind my heart as the implications of this settle in. “Did you know I was a slave when you met me?”
“No,” he says quickly. He’s watching me carefully, trying to gauge my response, but even I don’t know how I feel right now. Then there’s a tickle at the back of my mind. Like he’s trying to poke around in there. Trying to figure me out. It feels like a violation, and a fresh rush of anger boils through me.
“No,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “You don’t get to dig around in my head.” After I say it, I realize I have no idea how to shut him out, or if it’s even possible. I try anyway, focusing on that strange sensation at the back of my mind as I imagine closing a door. And then … silence.
He opens his mouth like he might say something, but closes it again.
I think it worked.
Clutching my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking, I say, “Explain.”
“There were rumors about the ships,” he says slowly. “At first, I did not believe them. But when they continued, I realized there might be some truth there. Marius and I launched an investigation into the rumors. We had some preliminary findings—nothing firm—but that was as far as we were allowed to take it.”
Allowed.That sinking feeling grips my spine again as a cold clarity takes root.
“Who’s Marius?” I ask. The name’s familiar, but my mind is so scattered I can’t recall why.
“My advisor and oldest friend.”
Right. He mentioned him earlier when I asked about his home. “The guy who helped raise you, right?”
He nods.
Instead of pushing forward and barking out questions, I take my time and think. He wasn’t “allowed” to continue his investigation. He also doesn’t believe his mother was here, while I’m fairly certain she was.
“Amara, I?—”
“What do you mean by ‘investigate’?” I interrupt.
His gaze drops. “We searched financial records, ship-design specifications, transaction logs, everything we could, but we found very little evidence to prove the rumors were true. When I asked to send an inquisitor to confirm our findings, the Senate and my mother denied the request. I was told the rumors had already been proven false.”
As much as I want to rage at what feels like an excuse for doing nothing, something far more important has taken over my thoughts.His mother denied the request…
The rest of my lingering frustration melts away, and all I’m left with is a hollow pit in my stomach.
With a heavy heart, I ask the question I really don’t want the answer to. “You didn’t believe the rumors were false, did you?”
“I…” He trails off, and his eyes drop to his hands. His answer is clear, but he doesn’t want to say it, and that makes it hurt so much more.
