“Think they’ll come in swords blazing?”
“To take down that guy? Surely.”
I cringed. He wouldn’t put up a fight—I knew he wouldn’t.
A sword was no match for shadows made of steel.
I silently prayed that he would be gone before they arrived.
The turmoil nearly tore me in two. Selfishly, I wanted Shade to stay.
We had a rough start, but somehow, I had grown to actually…likehim. To care for him. My heart squeezed at the thought of never seeing him again.
The other part of me, the part with the brain, wanted him to run. To save himself.
My fingers cramped as I scrubbed the table even harder.
CHAPTER 43
Ginger
The days before the King’s men arrived passed in an uncomfortable blur.
Restlessness simmered in my bones.
To my delight and dismay, Shade lingered. He was more visible than ever, really. Everywhere I went, everywhere I looked, everywhere I turned, he was there.
And I was always achingly aware of his presence.
He haunted me, my shadow.
Other folk seemed to be noticing him, too.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t the only folk feeling conflicted. The turmoil was widespread. Did we turn the god over to the King’s men, as we were supposed to? That didn’t feel right, condemning him to possible death. Did we help him run? Did we come up with some other plan?
Would that end in the rest of us being punished in his stead? sentenced to death?
It felt hopeless. Like he was a cornered mouse just waiting to be captured.
But he was no mouse—he was the biggest monster of us all, he just refused to bare his teeth.
He sat at his usual corner table, darkening the pub in the subtle way he always did.
A glass of cider sat between his idle hands.
And, as always, he tracked me with his gaze as I moved.
His voice cracked through the silence when I neared his corner. “They will be here tomorrow,” he said flatly.
I froze. My throat dried up. “Who?” I asked, even though I knew exactly who he was talking about.
“The King’s men. Measly knights, I’m sure. Puny mortals.”
I met his gaze. His expression was oddly blank. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
His nose scrunched for a moment. “And what do you have to be sorry for? This is not your fault, Ginger.”
Oddly, I was disappointed not to hear the wordwifefrom his lips. I had grown to like the possessiveness of it, even if it wasn’t necessarily true.
