Of course, the ashes of ruins were inthe Ruins. What in this world could be more ruined than a barren piece of land, haunted by souls from the Wasted War? But hadn’t Dominic said he was unsure if it meant ashes fromanyruins or the ruins of something personal?
“You said the ashes of ruins were a sacrifice,” Adara thought aloud. “A price to pay for such a powerful weapon. How do you know it isn’t more personal? What if it’s asking us to burn something we love to ash rather than just any ashes from the ruins of an old kingdom?”
“I just do,” he stated.
She expected him to slam a hand on his desk and shout at her to get out for her insolent tone, but his expression remained impassive.
His voice was calm, and that seemed more lethal to Adara than his anger. “Why the Hel else would anyone be crazy enough to venture into the Ruins?”
Adara leaned against the wall, a hand resting on Infinova’s hilt at her hip, as if she could siphon strength from it. “What lies out west that’s so terrible to steer people away?” All she knew about the Ruins was that after the Wasted War, nothing out west was left. People migrated east and rebuilt their lives while the land to the west was left to rot. No one returned because there was nothing to go back to.
But Dominic made it seem like there was something much more dangerous than deserted land out there. He had this sense of calm horror in his words. It made her hackles rise to think about what dangers even the King of Keys would fear.
“I’ll explain later,” he answered.
Adara shot him a scowl that said she might strangle him if he kept giving cryptic answers.
He returned her glare with wary eyes. “Wouldn’t want to scare you into backing out, now would I?”
She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I do recall saving your ass from the Whisperer.”
“Because you told me to open my bloody eyes!” he shot back, laughing a bit as he leaned back in his chair.
Gods, they were deranged for these perilous journeys they both insisted on accomplishing. But they both had a knack for escaping death, and they were the two most feared people on the continents. If anyone could successfully retrieve the ashes, it would be them.
Ithadto be them. Adara had no other options if this plan failed. If she couldn’t get Dominic’s key or the Realm Fracturer . . .
“Do you have a cloak I can borrow?” she asked, suddenly too aware of the royal blue cloak hanging over her shoulders. Its edges were lined with gold and the dragon embroidered on the back would be a beacon in the night, practically begging the queen’s guards to capture her.
He raised a brow. “Yes?” he said, dragging out the word in question.
“And I’m going to need something to hide this,” she continued, gesturing to the red streaks in her hair and the flame tattoo on her chest, visible from the neckline of her tunic and vest. Normally, she’d be proud to wear clothing that showed off her mark from the gods, but not in a kingdom where allPherrawere outlawed.
Dominic arched a brow, a teasing smirk painted on his face. “Hiding from someone?”
“I’d rather not end up in the queen’s dungeons,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Right,” he said.
Adara got the sense that he didn’t believe her. It was true she was trying to avoid the queen’s clutches as she had told him, but not simply for beingPherra. There were far worse crimes she’d committed in Lykrios that the queen would have her head for.
Dominic rifled through the clothes folded in the chest at the foot of his bed. He pulled free a forest green cloak and handed it to her. Gratefully taking it from him, she muttered a “thanks” as she discarded her old one, laying it neatly in the chest, and tied Dominic’s around her. The moment his cloak wrapped around her shoulders, Dominic’s scent of pine and the sea enveloped her. She breathed it in, subtly enough to keep him from noticing as he sifted through drawers in his desk.
He pulled out a vial with orange, shimmering liquid in it and offered it to her. “It will make everything unnatural about you look natural,” he explained.
Hesitantly, she took it from his hand. “How do I know this isn’t poison?” She popped the cork off, then took a whiff. It didn’tsmelllike poison, but who knew what sort of concoctions Dominic had mastered and left unknown to the world.
He simply held up his right hand, wiggling his fingers in the air, displaying the faint scar from their blood oath. “If I were to kill you,” Dominic said, tracing a finger along her jaw.
She despised the way he grazed her, his hands teasing but gentle, as if afraid he’d break her. Despite the bite of his icy touch, heat flared in his finger’s wake, her magic coming to life at his contact. She didn’t know whether it was because she wanted to scorch him before he could get the chance to hurt her or because she was simply drawn to the feel of his skin against hers.
His words, his touch, they were intoxicating, slowly weakening her. Their game of love, of pretty lies and deceptive physical contact, was addicting. Adrenaline coursed through her veins in his presence, always uncertain of his next move.
Would his fingers continue to trail along her jaw, softly grazing her cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear to better admire her beauty before pressing his lips to hers? Or would his hand find its way to her throat, fist clenching around her neck until she begged for mercy?
Her pulse quickened as his eyes landed on hers. He smirked, knowing he’d captured her interest, ensnared her with nothing but the fleeting graze of his fingers that fell away too soon.
“I’d prefer to watch you suffer a little more than mere poison,” he drawled.
