“I could have,” he agrees.
“So why didn’t you?” I ask.
He lifts his hands and looks down at them. They’re covered in blood. I get up and cross to the drawers so I can fill the basin with clean water from the pitcher. There’s bloody handprints on handle and I leave more of them on the basin as I carry it to him.
“Thank you.” He washes his hands, and the water turns deep red.
After I put the bowl back on the drawers, I rinse my hands, then return to his bed and sit. “Can you tell me what that was? What happened? Why does your magic harm you?”
“Because the emperor doesn’t want me to use it.”
My brow furrows. “I don’t understand.”
“Before we get our gift, we go through a binding ceremony with the emperor.” He touches his chest, and I notice a thick raised scar. “There’s a relic right here.”
I reach for him without realizing, and just before I graze his skin, I pull my hand back. My cheeks heat.
“You can touch it,” he says.
Curiosity beats reason, and I brush my fingertips over the scar. Something hard rests under the skin. Something that shouldn’t be there. “Why?”
“The king has a matching relic.”
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“He uses the magic from a relic to create a bond. Part of the relic goes to us, the other goes to him. It gives him power over us. And I suspect we give part of our power to him.”
I’m quiet for a moment, then I touch the relic again. I move my fingers around the edges. Whatever it is, it feels sharp. “So he prevents you from using your magic?”
“He made it so there are consequences for using it. So I can if I have to, but for every life I take, their deaths show up on my flesh.”
“The cuts on your back.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you do it tonight then? You didn’t answer that.”
“Because I saw what those men had planned for you, and I couldn’t risk them reaching you,” he says.
“You can read minds?” Terror makes my throat tight.
“Not all minds. And not always their exact thoughts. Sometimes it’s images of what they’re thinking about. Or a feeling about their intentions.”
“In the dungeon, you said I was telling the truth.”
“Yes,” he says.
“You can read my mind?” No wonder he’s been following me around. He knows who I am.
“No, not yours. In the cells, I saw an image of that man stabbing you in the chest. I don’t know if you were telling the truth, but I saw what he wanted to do to you.”
My blood runs cold. Why would someone who worked for the king of Iskvaland want to kill the princess?
“I suppose you’ve saved my life twice, then,” I say. “Thank you.”
“It’s my job to protect you.” He says the words like they’re rehearsed, completely devoid of emotion. But I swear there’s more behind them. Or maybe I’m imagining things.
I blink a few times and send that thought away. I’m imagining things. Life and death situations heighten emotions. Make us feel things that aren’t real.
