I stare up at him, and I shift to sit against the bed. My heart is still skipping along, unsure whether it’s time to settle. I don’t understand how he can be so dangerous and so alluring all at the same time. I’m still shirtless, and there’s a part of me that feels the need to run, but there’s another part that wants to swing a fist, just so he’d have a reason to throw me to the ground again.
I have to scrub my hands over my face.
“Why were you shooting at me?” he demands.
I jerk my hands down in disbelief. “Why were you breaking into my house?”
“I knocked,” he says. “No one answered.”
I wonder if that’s what woke me up. “So you broke in?” I give him an irritated once-over. “I believe you said you didn’tlikecommon soldiering, my lord.”
His gaze seems to darken, but he sheathes the sword, then extends a hand to help me up.
I smack his hand away, then get my foot underneath me on my own. “What would’ve happened if I didn’t wake up?” I touch a finger to my neck, and it comes away wet. I wince at the spark of pain. “Would you have cut my throat in my sleep?”
He reaches out a hand as if to touch my throat, and he sighs. “No. Jax—”
I plant my hands on his armor and shove him square in the chest. “Keep your magic.”
His eyes light with surprise, but he shoves me right back.
I don’t have the leverage to stay upright. I sit down hard on the bed.
I can’t tell if I’m overjoyed that he’s not treating me like a “crippled blacksmith”—or if I’m furious. Probably both. I get back on my foot and shove him harder, throwing some real strength into it, and I’m gratified to hear him grunt and take a step back.
Something about this is terrifying—but also exhilarating, especially when he steps forward and knocks me back down.
“You want to fight?” he says. “I can do this all night.”
I’m flushed and angry and stirred up and a whole cadre of emotions I can barely identify. I force myself to standing again. “Promise?”
“Try me.”
My heart skips. It’s definitely not fear.
A spark lights in his eye, and I wonder if he feels exactly the same way.
But then my thoughts settle on the first thing he said, when he pinned me to the floor. It steals some of my intensity. “Why …” My voice is husky, and I have to clear my throat. “Why did you ask if I’m your enemy?”
He blinks, then frowns and draws back. “Lord Jacob found seals in your workshop. Sketches. They bore the mark of the Truthbringers.” He pauses. “My intent was toaskyou about them, but then you started shooting at me—”
“Because youbroke in—”
“I know.” He pauses. “But that doesn’t change what he found.”
I take a breath and look away.
Tycho catches my chin and drags my gaze back. “And I would like the truth.”
If he were rough, I’d shove him away again. But his fingers are gentle against my jaw, and his eyes are intent on mine.
After a moment, I touch my fingers to his and nod. “Come. Sit. I’llfetch a lantern.” I hold his eye. “Would you care for tea, my lord? Perhaps one cup before you drag me off to the stone prison?”
I’m partially teasing, partially not, but the edge of his lip quirks up. “Sure.”
I light a fire in the stove and fill the kettle, then join Tycho at the small table in the corner. I’ve only ever sat here with my father or Callyn, and I’m acutely aware of the chairs held together with rusted nails, or the cups with chips in the porcelain. I found a linen tunic in the corner of my bedroom, then loosely tied my hair into a knot, small tasks that took me less than thirty seconds, and gave me absolutely no time to stall before confessing my sins to him.
I wish I could dim the light from the stove and the lantern, because the flickering warms his features and spins gold in his hair, reminding me of the first night we met. I want to reverse time by a matter of minutes, when my pulse was pounding and he saidTry me.
