“Please.” He lifts a hand. “It’s not your fault. It’s none of my business, honestly. I’m just being a sorry sap, is all. It’s bad enough I missed the social event of the season. And for what? To stitch a gown for a woman who is bat-shit insane? And I thoughtIhad high expectations!” He abandons the mirror to slump into the chair opposite mine. The tray of cookies catches his eye. He grabs two and shoves both into his mouth. “Look at what she’s turned me into. At this rate, I’ll be up four trouser sizes by next month!”
I nestle deeper into the cushions. Gray steeps beyond the window—a rare fog blew in overnight. It hangs in filmy strips over the labyrinth. I’m certain something shifts behind the thickened mass, but when I stare at it for too long, my head throbs, and I feel compelled to look elsewhere.
After a time, Roshar settles. “Can I ask you something?”
“No, you can’t borrow my lip rouge.”
He huffs a laugh. “Different complexions, dear. Scarlet looks terrible on me.” Then he sobers. “Why Notus? Your union with Prince Balior would have granted you more security than one with a god who has no ties to the realm. I thought you hated the South Wind.” He searches my gaze. “Do you have feelings for him?”
The more apt question is, what feelings do I not experience when in the South Wind’s presence? They are vast as Ammara is vast, full of unexplored depths. It terrifies me that I might be forced to dig deeper and face whatever pain still lingers.
“What I feel for Notus is… complicated.”
“You know you can always come to me, Sarai. I’m here to listen.”
“I would have come to you,” I say, “had I not spent the last few days hiding in my room avoiding Father.”
Daily, King Halim sends me messages in a near-illegible scrawl, demanding I attend dinner, apologize to Prince Balior, rescind my engagement to Notus, present a public apology. What is worse, todaywould have likely been my wedding day, had Prince Balior and I both committed to the engagement.
But that is neither here nor there. I’ve slept poorly since the night of the ball. Twice, I have awoken standing at my bedroom window, peering down at the labyrinth below, though I have no recollection of slipping from bed. I have even begun to sleep with my lamp lit, for at times I am certain the shadows move. When I ask Notus if he’s encountered any further darkwalker activity, however, he denies it.
“You know what?” Roshar waves a hand. “It doesn’t matter. Yes, you should have told me, but I’m over it. Really. Now, on to more important matters.” His smile stretches, cheek to cheek. “How was the kiss?”
Despite my best attempts at appearing unaffected, the blush rages red across my face. Last night, I fell asleep to phantom hands across my breasts, between my legs.
Calmly, I reach for my cookie, only to realize I have consumed it entirely. I draw the platter onto my lap. “It was fine.”
“Oh, Sarai,no! Unacceptable.” He snatches the plate of cookies from my grip. I squawk in protest.
Slipping a finger beneath my chin, Roshar draws my face toward him, eyebrows wiggling. “I see it all, my dear. Look at those lips. Pouty and swollen.” To my horrified amusement, he sniffs my neck. “What is that woodsy scent you’re wearing? Did he kiss you here?”
I shove him away. “You’re ridiculous.” When I reach for the plate, he holds it out of reach.
“Ah ah!” He holds up a finger. “Not until you tell me the truth.”
Cookies, or my sanity? Today, I am weak. “All right, it was remarkable. Earth-shattering.” As I knew it would be. That is, until I pushed him away. Days later, I regret it. He wounds me. I wound him. When will the cycle end?
Roshar takes pity on me, offering the dish of desserts. But my appetite has fled.
“I feared telling you,” I admit, “because of your loose tongue. No offense.”
He huffs. “Do you imply I would have spilled your secret? I would never!”
I level him with a long, pointed stare.
His fingertips tap the chair arm in a quickening tempo, rings winking with reflected light. “What evidence do you have of this?” he demands.
“Age fourteen, late summer. You told Jem I had a crush on him.”
He crosses his arms. “A simple misunderstanding. I thought for sure he felt the same. I was just trying to help.”
“Age sixteen, you informed Father I had abandoned the spring ball to practice for my upcoming recital.” That had been a particularly nasty fight between me and Father.
“King Halim demanded to know your whereabouts. I could not lie to him—”
“Age seventeen, you told one of the noblewomen that I thought her nose looked like a warty squash.”
He grows flustered. “Tell me you don’t hold that against me. I mean, really, what was I supposed to do?”
