I feel her watching me as she picks at berries and nuts.
“I found a small lagoon,” I say, “behind the statue. I used it to clean myself and my shirt. I think it’s dry now. You can use it.”
I don’t know why I’m rushing. When the sound of her chewing fades, the silence is deafening. My shirt is dry, so I face her but remain on this side of the smoldering campfire.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Like a herd of frost giants trampled me. But I’m okay. I’ll live.”
“Giving me that much blood was reckless,” I chide.
She shrugs. “It’s not like I do it every day.”
I think about how long she’s been locked in the Pen. “Does anyone else know?”
“Only Demaya, another Vesper.” She hugs herself. “The High Priestess probably has an inkling.”
I stride over and offer her my shirt. “Put this on.”
She takes it but drops it on the leaves beside her. “Are we going to talk about the drei in the room?”
“That you should have told someone about your gift?” I throw my hands up, exasperated. “I heard nothing of your power. Most gossip from the Pen about the Queen Bride centered on whether the rose growing from your blood was fake. If they knew what you truly are, you could have bargained for your release. Demanded it. At the very least, healed in exchange for freedom.”
“My blood does more than heal, Dray.”
“What do you mean?”
“It kills too. Can you imagine if that power gets into the wrong hands?”
I swallow hard, frowning. “You’ll be used as a weapon.”
Her brows raise. “And people will die. Innocent people.”
“Of course,” I grumble. “That too.”
But I don’t care about other people. I’m already thinking of ways to keep her secret safe, at least until she’s in a position to make demands.
“That’s why,” she continues, “the moment I learned what I could do, I stopped trying to escape from the Pen. Besides, there’s only so much blood I can use before I’m dead.”
My pulse skyrockets. “Exactly how many people know about this?”
“I told you. Demaya. Maybe the High Priestess.” She hesitates. “Probably the Baron.”
Shit.
I crouch, head dropping to my hands. “I’ll need to kill them. It’s the only way to keep you safe.”
“Fuck you.”
“Pardon?” I look up, and she’s giving me the death stare.
“You don’t get to pretend you’re dead for a decade and then kill off my friends willy-nilly.”
“The Baron is your friend?”
“No!” She releases a frustrated growl at the broken ceiling. “The others are. You know what I mean.” She stomps to where the smiling mask lies discarded beside my weapons and kicks it. “You haven’t told me anything.”
“I don’t know how you removed it. It’s not supposed to come off.”
