I’m just tired, that’s all. Tired, and frightened, and on edge.
My skin prickles, as if icy tendrils are trailing across my skin. My breath hitches, but I force myself to continue my walk to the barracks … even as I continually peer over my shoulder.
“Arvelle.”
My hand flies to my dagger as my heart leaps into my throat. Tiernon leans against the wall outside the gladian quarters.
“Where have you been?” His gaze drifts to Leon’s cloak. But no, there are no specks or droplets of blood. Tiernon is wondering if I’ve been out with another man. The thought is almost laughable.
“Did you enjoy dancing with Rorrik?”
I stare at him. After the night I’ve just had, his question is absurd.
But maybe it isn’t.
Memory after memory slams into me. Rorrik and Tiernon, staring at each other with malice. Their strange standoffs, their barely concealed disdain, their sharp jabs with tension-filled undertones.
Rorrik giving me that look, the familiarity I felt in his presence tonight. The way his loathing for me has felt strangelypersonal.
“You’re his brother.” The words come out hoarse, blood pounding like a drum in my ears. “Which means you’re the emperor’s other son.”
A muscle jumps in Tiernon’s jaw, but he doesn’t deny it.
“I don’t understand.” Flashes of the past leap into my mind. Tiernon, refusing to talk about his father. Tiernon, lost and sad and lonely. Tiernon, disappearing with no warning. A lump has formed in my throat, and it leaks bitterness across my tongue. “I thought his other son was at the front.”
“I was. My father ordered me to return.”
His father. The emperor. “Why does no one talk about it?”
With a sigh, he leans against the wall. “I ordered everyone who knows to use my title as Primus. Most believe the emperor’s unruly younger son is still at the front, terrorizing any who chose not to bow to his father.”
My mouth is so dry it takes me a moment to reply. “And your father?”
“He’s the one who insisted I become Primus. He sees my refusal to use my true title as a younger son’s misplaced rebellion.”
I turn and pace, putting the pieces together. Of course he never wanted to talk about his family when he was younger. If anyone in theThorn learned who he was, they would have handed him over to rebels as a hostage.
It also explains why Rorrik has taken an interest in me. Because hisbrotherdid first.
My gaze drifts back to Tiernon, who is watching me with narrowed eyes, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
I don’t want to hear his excuses. I no longer want to hear any more of his lies.
“I can’t trust you at all.”
His eyes glitter. “You know that’s not true.”
“Then why?”
He stalks closer, until my back is pressed up against the stone wall. “You hate the emperor and his family, Arvelle. You always have. Ever since my father made the Sands compulsory. He’s the reason your mother’s sister died, and the reason your mother became an addict.”
“Stop.”
“He’s the reason Kassia is dead. She never would have walked into that arena otherwise.”
“I said stop.”
“Neither would you. You wanted to be a healer. Youloathethat you have a unique talent with your sword. After the way I left you, you hated me enough without knowing who my father is.”
