My cheeks burn as I step back. I feel… scolded. Dirty, somehow. He says nothing when I return silently to the basin, scrubbing once more before pulling on the dress.
When I’m dressed, he finally drops his gaze. “Knew you’d get there eventually.”
“Have you always been a sanctimonious prick, or does it come with age?”
He pauses, assessing. “You’re not much younger than me.”
In truth, I’m nine months younger almost to the day of his birth, although he would have no way of knowing. “It’s considered rude to ask a lady her age.”
“I see no ladies here.” He almost looks amused as he steps inside, reaching for my hand. I let him unwrap the bandage, yanking the carefully tucked end free until it unravels. He sucks in a breath, and I feel his eyes on my face. “Does it hurt?”
I have to force myself to look. The wound looks a little scabbed, but still violently fresh. Enough that my stomach churns at the reminder that I might not be able to cast. “My palms, yes. But I can’t feel much in my fingers.”
My palms itch in that aggravating way that tells me they’re healing, even if it’s slower without one of my own healers here to assist. But my fingers… “I might lose them.”
“Eres is an excellent healer.”
“But not a Lightbringer healer.”
Whatever he can do with his erevas, it may be limited. Limited enough that if nothing changes within the next day or two, I will lose them.
“No,” Duskbane says finally. His fingers are careful as he wraps my right palm back up, tying off the end in a surprisingly neat knot before he gestures for my left. “But Eres will do everything he can before it comes to… that.”
He sounds so certain that for a moment, I almost feel reassured. Almost. “Are you going to tell me anything about this Binding? What do I need to do?”
He drops my hand and gestures pointedly at my hair, waiting until I’ve loosened the braid to speak. “It will take place at the river. Eres will arrive first. When we get there, approach him, and he’ll guide you.”
I eye him, waiting for more, but his mouth presses into a thin line instead. “You are simply a fountain of information. I feel so well informed.”
Any neutrality in his face wipes away. He takes a step toward me, and then another.
The shadows do not creep from his hands. Theyerupt, an endless dark mist that sweeps around me, pinning me in place. My arm is pinned against my neck, my hair still in my hands, but it holds me so fully that I can’t move even an inch as Duskbane crowds me, pushing his face close to mine.
“A Binding is a gift,” he hisses. “And you do not deserve one, but he has offered it to you anyway. I will be watching you, witch. If you do anything to put him at risk—if you breathe wrong or even look in the wrong direction—I will kill you myself before allowing any harm to come to him.”
I would answer, but the tendril of shadow wrapped around my neck prevents it. Only a faint wheeze makes its way from my throat as I attempt to struggle, to push him back. His eyes look more black than silver, as if the erevas he wields fills him from his boots to the top of his head. My eyes trace the jagged marks that spread over his cheek, down his neck.
“Look at me,” he snarls. I raise my eyes, attempting to convey that I can’t fucking breathe, although I doubt he would care. “Tell me you understand.”
The smothering sensation around my mouth ebbs enough for me to suck in a lungful of air before I choke out the words. “I’ve done nothing to you, wielder.”
If anything, he swells further. I can’t see anything but him as he looms over me, so close that our breathing mingles. Duskbane drags his gaze over my face, his own creasing in disgust. “You stole my father, witch. My uncles, my friends. My fucking people. You have taken everything and left us with ghosts and broken souls, but you will not havehim.”
“And what of you?” I counter in a rasp before he can pull back. “How many of mine have you slaughtered? Two brothers, a sister, all dead before they could truly live. They tell tales of you in Solvandyr, you know. They say that you are feral, that you slaughter without mercy. Hundreds, if not thousands, dead by your hand, yet you judgeme?”
“Then let it be a warning.” Not a flicker of reaction. He could be made of stone. Beautiful, but socold. “Do not cross me.”
I stare at him, my breathing ragged. “I lost my entire life to you, andyou were not worth it.”
He leans in further, lips almost brushing mine. “Tell me something. If you are indeed the orphan you claim to be, abandoned at the temple, how do you have brothers and sisters, witch?”
My mouth opens as I stare at him, blinking. Once. Twice. And he smiles, as if he has won some kind of victory between us. “Liar.”
Fuck.Fuck. I swallow. “Siblings are more than blood.”
One side of his mouth lifts, even as the rest of his face remains unearthly still. “Common enough here. But not in Solvandyr. To claim a sibling without a true familial connection would cause great offense to the bloodline.”
Damn him. I drop my eyes. “I have never been a very good Lightbringer.”
