His fingers clench further, sinking into the cushioned chairback.
“So you see,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken, “that is why I cannot trust my brother, why I could not trust you completely. From the beginning, I feared he would turn you against me. It seems I was right.”
His attention drifts to the fire before shifting back to me. The chill in his gaze is depleted. There is only heat and the fiery core of yearning. “Tell me what would have happened if you had gone through with your plan.”
The truth swells, clotting my throat. But it must be said. “I would have added the tonic to your tea kettle.”
Boreas nods. After all, he already knows what would have occurred. “Go on.”
“Look, we don’t have to do this—”
“Go on.” A demand of unbreakable iron, a focused blow to the gut.
In a hoarse whisper, I manage, “After, I would have returned to the party.”
“We would have danced.”
Yes, I suppose we would have. I would have stepped on his toes, and he on mine, and we might have shared a moment of laughter between us. “Afterward, you would retire to your rooms and make yourself a cup of tea. Once the tonic took effect, I would sneak in through your window.” I’d have to, considering the guards posted outside his rooms.
“I would be asleep,” Boreas offers, moving toward me. “Unaware.”
“Yes.” I swallow. His nearness, his heat, clouds my head. Pulling away grants me space, allows me time to gather every stray thread and weave them into something resembling a whole and unbroken thought. “I would take your dagger,” I whisper, turning to peer out the window.
“Then what?”
This land, though cold, is beautiful. I have learned this too late. “Then I would—” Pain tears into my insides at the thought of what comes next. “S-stab you in the heart.”
There is a long moment of silence.
“I see.”
I have failed him. I have ruined this green, growing thing between us. My eyes shine as abject terror courses through me.
“And when I lay dead?” Boreas murmurs. “What then?”
Obviously, I would not be able to stay here. Once the guards discovered their king dead, I’d have to run. “Then I would return to Edgewood.” My chin lifts a notch. It’s all bluster, considering I never found the door leading from the Deadlands, and stopped looking long ago. “Return to my life.”
“Because that was always your intention,” he says with a close study of me.
The air feels fragile—too fragile. “It was, yes.”
This pause is significantly more torturous. A single unending stretch derived from lack of sound. “That is what you want? To return to Edgewood?”
“That was my intention.”
“You did not answer the question. Is returning to Edgewood what you want?” Without giving me a chance to respond, he stepsaround me, pushing aside a heavy tapestry hanging from the wall to reveal a plain wooden door. I blink in surprise.
“I know you’ve been searching for a way out of the Deadlands.” Though the king does not look at me, I sense the weight of his sadness. “This door is my prize. You may travel to any realm you seek with but a thought. It will deposit you on the other side of the Shade, a few miles west of your home.” He turns the handle, opens the door to reveal a snow-laden field. “Go.”
I stare at that field. White, sparkling, pristine. I inhale the gust of frosty air that breezes through the door, glimpse the frozen brook nestled in the hills. But I don’t move.
“This is what you want, right?” he growls. “Your freedom?”
He’s letting me go? “Just like that?”
A curt nod. “I won’t go after you.”
Instead of moving toward the door, I stride toward the window. “I don’t know what I want,” I whisper, palm pressed to the icy glass. My skin sears at the contact, but it helps clear my head, helps ground me in the here and now. This is where I’ve somehow managed to build a life I’m proud of. The Deadlands, against all odds, has become my home.
