Ice couldn’t feel pain like this. Like her heart was trying to fold in on itself.
To disappear.
A great silence descended between them—a yawning ravine no sane man would ever attempt to breach.
But still, Aldric tried to breach it. “And what about the witchblade?” he rasped, keeping his voice soft as if to contrast her own.
Her throat burned. She refused to let it show. She refused to letanythingshow.
The Crow continued, “Possession of a witchblade on Elmorian soil is punishable by death—”
“I know the laws of my own kingdom,” she seethed, cutting him off mid-sentence. “A life for a life, Aldric. You saved me from the assassin that night. I will save you from your own stupidity now.”
Again, she pointed toward the door. “Go. I am finished with you. You are dismissed. I want youout of my sight.”
Slowly, the Crow eased from his chair. But he did not yet leave. He lingered. “You never asked me why,” he whispered, his voice growing raw.
She didn’t care about that either. “I do not need to know yourwhy—”
“He was going to kill Reyla,” Aldric bit out anyway, even though she didn’t wish to know. Even though she didn’t need to know.
For the smallest, most treacherous moment, her heart faltered. A flicker of understanding tried to catch spark.
She extinguished it.
No.That was no excuse. He still could have told her.
They could have found a solution together.
His one good eye settled on her with all of its usual intensity, as if trying to bore a hole straight through her. As if trying to get her to feel something.
But she felt nothing anymore. Not for him. Not for anything.
“Edmund was going to kill Reyla,” he repeated on his way to the door. She watched him go, merely to ensure he actually left. But just as his hand finally rested on the doorknob, he paused and glanced back her way, something broken shining in the depths of his gaze for all of a moment.
On a rasp, he asked, “What would you have done?”
Her breath threatened to catch, to betray her. Again, she forced it steady. Again, she forced herself still. She could not afford to feel—not here. Not in front of him. Not anymore.
She swallowed hard, refusing to answer.
And without another word, the Crow left.
Without another word, she let him go.
Chapter forty-four
Aldric
The day dawned cold and gray—cold enough to seep through his armor, gray enough to swallow the horizon whole.
Aldric barely noticed any of it.
His hands moved without thought—strapping on gauntlets, checking buckles, tightening straps. He had done this a hundred times before. A thousand. Preparing for battle was muscle memory by now.
Good. Today, muscle memory was all he had left.
The courtyard bustled with activity. Soldiers making ready. Horses stamping and frosting the air with visible puffs of breath. With the Count of Wellane’s forces now bolstering theirs, everything seemed a little busier than last time. A little louder.
