“Well, I don’t want to marry your dad either, Leland.”
“All right,” he agreed, and counted out another reason. “How about . . . I’m not available to you?”
“I’mnot available toyou,” I clarified, though I didn’t even know what we were arguing about at that point.
He shrugged, still so playful about this. “If we get married, you won’t be Ember Stray. I’ll be Leland Blackburn.”
“Not if we get married in the human realm,” I countered, which made no sense, because why would I ever marry Leland in the human realm?
“Right, well. When we get married in the human realm, I think I’ll let you keep your name.”
I scowled because he was right. I wouldn’t have to change my name in the human realm, and I’d made a stupid point to begin with.
Spying a gold portstop in the grass, I veered off in its direction. I was about to step on it when his hand closed around my wrist. I slapped his hand away and barreled on ahead, determined to get away from him. Then his other hand took my hip, firm enough that I felt the warm press of his fingers through my shirt, and he succeeded in dragging me back to him.
There was a brief moment where my ears popped with an influx of noise, but then Leland must have regained control of his Privacy, because my ears popped a second time, and all fell silent again. All I heard was our clothes rustling together as he maneuvered me backward.
“Don’t. Touch me,” I breathed as burning pain exploded through my veins.
Leland let go. “That one’s an ingress for witches teleporting in. You could’ve gotten hurt.”
“I can’t,” I panted. “When you touch me. It makes it worse. It makes it a thousand times worse.” In desperate need of moonale, I plunked down in the grass and flicked open the flask.
“I thought it helped,” he said, crouching next to me, trying tounderstand. “When we were in the prison — I thought it was helping.”
I hung my head over my knees, not wanting to admit it to him. I’d been looking for signs since the moment he’d said he was the Truth-Teller, because of what Charley Starvos had written inThe Allwitch Affliction. Since the Blessing, I burned. I burned for a touch that was never enough, and I burned the most for Leland. It was always uncomfortable — my blood’s new normal a simmer beneath my skin. But when Leland let go . . .
The only thing worse than him touching me was when it didn’t last, and the pain that followed when I realized it might never happen again.
I suspected I knew why my blood wantedhim, though I didn’t think he did. I probably needed to tell him what I suspected, but I didn’t know the protocol. Ash had always been clear that witches’ gifts were supposed to be secrets.
“If it wasn’t helpful,” Leland said, “when I was like that with you in the prison — if it wasn’t helpful, I want to know. I don’t want to do that to you again if . . .”
I’d meant it when I said it had made things worse. After that one small taste of what it was like to be close to him, my blood was hungrier for more. But in the moment? It helped. I’d been on the verge of crying out, and he’d quieted that in me.
“Ember,did ithelp?”
I ran my fingers through the soft grass, weighing my options. I could be honest with him, or I could . . . try to test something out? In the book, the Counterparts discovered their relationship when their gifts hadn’t worked, because Counterparts’ gifts canceled each other’s out. What would his reaction be if I lied to him? Would he know? I stopped moving my hand through the grass and looked up.
“It helped,” I sighed, deciding to tell the truth. Even if sharing your giftwasunwise, figuring out if we were Counterparts rightnow wasn’t worth the lie. If I had to play games to be certain, then I didn’t want to know.
We fell silent, sitting side-by-side on the hill for a minute. I stared out at the large, tiered fountain that delineated the lawn we rested on from the hollow’s busy shopping area.
Leland looked at me first, his eyes thoughtful. “Would you like to know the real reason I’m not worried about what Jaxan said?”
I nodded, drinking.
“I. . .” He eyed the flask as I pulled it away from my lips. “Can I have some of that?”
“Go for it,” I said, and passed it to him.
“I don’t have a relationship with my mom either.” He took a sip, giving me a small smile of thanks before continuing. “She died. Killed, actually, along with my dad, who I know nothing about. I was raised . . .” He took another sip before saying, “by the Echelon Jaxan D’Oron. My godfather. I can’t take my mother’s name because of who she was, a priestess, who shouldn’t have been able to conceive but miraculously did. That’s — don’t repeat that. In Everden,Strayis the name for witches without a matriarchal line, or ones who reject their given one. There are plenty of Strays you might marry. Or you might stop going by Blackburn just because you want to.”
A sad light in his eyes made my heart hurt. I got lost there for a second, gently tugging at soft blades of grass, careful not to uproot any as I stared at the dark-navy outlines ringed around his hazel irises. Leland didn’t have to tell me about his parents. I’d known Gray eight years, and he never did. Not really.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I didn’t know.” I stopped picking the grass, deciding. “Leland? I have to tell you something about my gift.”
“Please don’t.”
