In the light, I notice Jude is holding his arm. The overcoat he must have traded his cloak for at some point is torn at the bicep, confirming something sharp ripped into fabric and flesh alike. He’s favoring his right leg, but I can’t tell what’s wrong with the other one.
Dorian put up one hell of a fight, I guess.
A different question is rising into my throat, though.Why?I trail after him in the snow, my boots sinking into Jude’s larger footprints.Why did you come back?
The forest is unforgivably quiet, save for the crunch of ice beneath our feet and a biting wind that seems determined to get under every layer I’m wearing.
Doesn’t he feel remorse?Something?There’s not much to read from the set of his shoulders, long legs moving through the woods with the sort of inhuman grace reserved for elk.
“That was…” My words shatter the long-standing silence. Jude doesn’t flinch. But someone needs to acknowledge the last few hours out loud. I still can’t banish the stench of smoke and burning flesh from my nose, the raw screams from my ears. “That was awful.”
Jude stops cold in his tracks. Around us, tall, dark trunks with gnarled branches seem to listen in, the only witnesses to the grisly scene we left behind.
“Yes,” he agrees. “And anything less would have painted a bright, vulnerable target on both your back and mine for the next group.” He aims a meaningful glare at me over his shoulder, a crown of frost gathering in his hair. “Do you feel justified now? Is it nice to have all your suspicions confirmed, to have watched me be the monster you so desperately believe we are? Or is it possible,Alistaire”—he points behind us, the way we came, voice rising—“that the North is harboring its very own monsters?”
I can’t help but think of that conversation with Cassia. No.No.The North isgood—
I grit my teeth, unable to break my gaze from his hands, stained rust red, his rings tarnished. “You didn’t have to—”
He whirls on me, hair whipping against his forehead in the wind. “You’re right, Ishouldn’thave had to. That was embarrassing of you to need rescuing.”
I stop short, offended. “They took my weapons.Boundme with chains; they were going topoisonme—”
“Yes, sounds terrible. I can’t imagine what that was like,” Jude deadpans, but the sarcasm doesn’t reach his eyes, which are blazing gold with Craft after whatever unspeakable power he invoked back in the cabin. “ExceptIbroke free, didn’t I?” A startling, angry edge cuts into his voice. “Iwas poisoned, wasn’t I?”
Guilt shrouds my mind, and I recoil, but after what I witnessed a few hours ago, it chills me to think what Jude could have donewithouta dampener on his Craft.
Regaining confidence, I stomp after him. “That isn’t fair.”
“Itis! It’s fair to expect you to do what you’re perfectly capable of. Whydidn’tyou break free? You could have killed all of—” He shakes his head, takes a steadying breath. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were ready to letthem poison you.”
“Because Iwasn’t capable—”
You are notcapableof taking care of yourself.
Galen’s accusation comes back to me with startling clarity. I’ve been told my entire life that I can’t. That I’m helpless. We quarreled over it so much at home; maybe I started to believe it at some point.
Jude looks to the sky in disbelief, a hoarse cackle escaping his throat. “You snuck into the Playhouse.Marked.I watched you run at Mattia with adagger. Somehow, you smuggled a lethal weapon out of Marigold’s mitts and lived to tell the tale. And then you used it to harassme.” He points a finger in my direction. “You’re going to try and convince me you’re defenseless? You scare the livingdaylightsout of me, Alistaire! So yes, I’m angry. Because the only way that back there got as far as it did is becauseyoulet it.”
My face flushes. “Why shouldyoucare—”
“Becauseyoushould care!” he roars, turning back around, closing the space between us in two strides. His hands clamp onto my shoulders, heat bleeding through the cold. “You should beburningwith rage that someone tried to hurt you.”
I should pull away, but the warmth that seeps from his grip holds me in place. His eyes search mine, flickering back and forth like he’s awaiting some signal there that only he would recognize.
That anger will be the death of you,Galen’s voice reminds me. I shove it away.
Jude is right. Iamangry. I’vealwaysbeen angry.
I huff a breath. “That isn’t how we handle things in the North. Death isn’t always the way.”
“The North!” His tone slips off its hinges, incredulous. “Of course. TheNorth.”He throws his arms wide, gesturing back the way we came. “That’swho you’re defending?” He winces at the movement, from whatever’s happened to his arm. “Are they as charming as whoever drove you so helpless that you walked into the Playhouse?”
“You don’t know anything about the life I come from,” I defend, but doubt creeps into my mind as the scratch on my shoulder burns where the Eleutheraen chain dug into it. The North did this to me. And I’m one of them.Aren’t I?
“I think I’ve gathered enough.” His tone calms, irritatingly more unnerving that way. “Tell me, do they fear you more or less now that you have Craft beating in your heart? Or was it only when they assumed you did.”
That strikes a nerve. I clench my teeth, cornered and desperate to change the subject. “How’d you find me?” I ask, but I already know. I can feel it still, a golden thread humming between us. A wiser woman would have severed it before leaving the Playhouse.
