“If you wanted to fight, you should have shown up in armor. Shall I have some brought?”
I make a frustrated sound and throw the buttered roll at him. “Don’t you understand that’s exactly the problem?”
He’s too agile, and he snatches the bread out of the air, but not before it splatters a streak of butter across the front of his jacket. Alek sets the roll on a plate, then wipes his hands on a napkin. When he looks down at his clothes, he sighs and stands.
As he begins unbuttoning the jacket, he says, “If you want me to undress, there are more intriguing ways to achieve it.”
I flushimmediately. “We will not be doing . . . ?that.”
His jacket has about a million buttons, and he’s only halfway down his chest, revealing a cream-colored shirt. “Explain what you meant aboutthe problem.”
I hate that I can’t stop looking at his hands, the way his nimble fingers are working the buttons. It’s reminding me of the way those fingers felt againstme.
I wish I could turn my brain off.
I frown at my teacup. “You said you could call for armor if we wanted to fight.”
“I can. Shall we?”
“Would you stop? Don’t you understand that most people can’t just . . .callfor things?”
“Yes.” He’s three quarters of the way down his chest now. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It means that I resent you for what you did, Alek! You saw who we were, and you saw how we lived, and you took advantage.”
I throw the words like a weapon, and I expect them to cause pain when they land, but he doesn’t react. Eventually he reaches the last button of his jacket, and he shrugs free to lay it over the back of a chair. His servants have been so efficient that I’m shocked when no one appears to whisk it away. But Alek turns back his shirtsleeves, then eases into his chair once more.
“On the other side of the mountain,” he says, “they believe in fate.”
Clouds above, he isinfuriating. I clench my fists. “So you’re not even going to respond to my—”
“Iam,” he says. “Be patient.”
I snap my mouth shut.
“I’ve always found it a bit fascinating,” he says. “This idea that . . . ?that somethingelseis in control. If you ask me, that belief lends itself a little too neatly to political scheming. If someone believes that fate saw fit to reward one person with power and riches, it would stand to reason that fate saw fit to punish others with loss or sickness or poverty. The people in Emberfall believe fate granted their king the throne. What do they believe about the man he took it from?” He pauses. “What do they believe about the people who suffered in their cursed country for years? Was fate punishing them? Does the king feel more righteous about his magic—magic that can cause so muchharm? When you believe in something like fate, you could easily start to assume that your own goodfortune isearned, and someone else’s bad fortune isdeserved.” He pauses. “But really, Callyn, sometimes it’s all just . . . ?happenstance.”
I’m frowning, studying him, because I have no idea what this has to do with my question tohim.
He picks up another roll and breaks it in two, then begins to butter it. “You’re right. I did see how you and Nora lived—or were you referring to you and Jax? Either way, it doesn’t matter. You keep accusing me of taking advantage, but as you may recall, I did my best to improve your situation. I sent customers to your bakery. I brought you and your sister new clothes. I repaired your barn. Because Idon’tbelieve in fate. I’m no more to blame for my birthright than you are. I was bornhere. You were bornthere. Neither of us had anything to do with either outcome.” He sets the buttered roll on a plate and slides it in front of me. “Here. You didn’t get to eat your bread.”
I have no idea what to say. I hate how he twists up all my thoughts and makes me doubt myself.
But I remember the scars on Jax’s neck, the way he was afraid of Alek.
“You hurtJax,” I say. “Don’t even try to deny it. You can’t paint yourself as some kind of benevolent figure.”
“That’s your complaint? Your proof?” His eyes flash. “I would have beenjustas generous with Jax if he hadn’t schemed and manipulated from the very instant Lady Karyl approached him. I would’ve been more trusting if he weren’t spending hours with the King’s Courier after we paid for his silence. I’ve told you before: if Jax doesn’t like dangerous games, he shouldn’t play.”
“We were desperate!” I cry, and to my horror, my voice breaks. “Don’t you understand? We were going to lose ourhomes!”
“We werealsodesperate!” he snaps. He slams a hand on the table and I jump. “It’s life or death for us, too, Callyn! Just what do you think the punishment for treason is?”
I’m frozen in place, staring at him. I’ve never seen his anger like this,but there’s something very . . . veryhonestabout it. Very true. His blue eyes are like icy fire, and I don’t know what to say.
“It’sdifferent,” I finally rasp out.
“No. It’s not. Why is your desperation worth more? Why is it all right for Jax to demand fifty silvers for holding a note for three days—fifty!—all while reminding me that the King’s Courier had been in Briarlock,threateningus with discovery—”
