“Want?” he asked roughly. “Not need?”
“I don’t need anyone.” That self-critical smile touched his lips again, and she quickly added, “Want is better than need. It implies a choice is involved.”
“Youchooseme?” He stared at her, his expression more closed off than ever even though his questions demanded an openness from her she’d never offered anyone in her life.
“I choose to keep my partner. I don’t want to rule alone. Only bad people want to rule alone so there’s no one to hold them accountable. I don’t want to become my brother—a mass-murdering maniac. Or my father.” He’d actually been the lesser of those two evils, so maybe Mommy Dearesthadbeen good for something besides using her fire magic to show Bellanca exactlywhat terrible things Bellanca could do to others and then calling in a Magoi healer to “fix her darling daughter.”
And…
Heat snapped inside her. Her pulse leaped, self-awareness an unfortunate attribute she seemed to be gaining lately. It complicated everything.
Her breathing shallowed. What if she couldn’t imagine life without Carver?
He watched her from under lowered brows, his eyes dark and his big, shadowy frame towering over her. She wasn’t small. He wastall. And smart and strong and reliable. Unbearably handsome.
She stood there, stiff and awkward, unsure of herself, and confused. She didn’t know what to do with the fervent, solemn way he was looking at her. She needed flames and fighting, provocation and competitions. She could handle those. She knewhowto.
One more step brought Carver right in front of her, nearly toe to toe. He slowly reached out and touched a red curl that glowed from within, gently bringing it toward him. Lifting his eyes from that lock of hair to her face, he caught her gaze in his. His voice a husky, fathoms-deep rumble, he murmured, “What if it doesn’t have to be fake anymore?”
The hottest whoosh Bellanca had ever felt blazed through her. Her lips parted, and she inhaled sharply as she struggled to subdue her magic, old and new. Carver gazed down at her as if not doubting for a second that she could control her magic even though she’d essentially set him on fire just hours ago. She held stock-still, her pulse pounding.
The back of his hand grazed her jaw, her hair slipping from his fingers. The light touch vibrated through her like the aftershocks of an earth tremor. So this was what it was like? For herskin to shiver in anticipation of another barely there caress and her body to ache for more contact, instead of shrinking away from it?
Desire stirred in her belly, low down and deep inside. She swallowed. Just yesterday, she’d thought she lived in perfect clarity. Today, she saw she didn’t. “I don’t know what you mean,” she rasped.
Carver leaned forward so slowly she was able to tame the sparks in her hair and hold back the fire rushing in her veins. His lips brushed her cheek, and her whole body trembled. In her ear, he whispered, “Yes…you do…”
Her abdomen tightened, and a needy ache spread through her, tangling with her magic in a way that made the ache even more potent and pressing. She didn’t move, waiting. Her lips heated, seeming to throb for a kiss—the kiss she’d missed out on at the beach. It would’ve been her first. The one she’d never believed she’d want and now couldn’t stop thinking about. Damn him.
Carver abruptly stepped back, leaving her swaying toward him. He lifted her hands between them and inspected her wrists. “Looks dry.” Turning, he tugged her toward the table. “It’s time for the honey and bandages.”
Bellanca’s jaw dropped as she stared at the back of his head. He was all efficiency again, that throaty gravel gone from his voice. She stumbled after him, her abruptly contracting chest clamping down on her heart like a fist. She snapped her mouth shut and regained her balance before he turned back around.
Slowly, she exhaled, trying to force all the new sensations coursing through her body out along with her breath. She must’ve momentarily forgotten that Carver was just lonely here. Lonely and confused. He didn’t want her. He’d always wanted someone else. And even if she decided to try a different kind of relationship with him, there was no competing with a ghost.
Chapter 11
Carver walked the perimeter of the throne room with Dex and Silas. They were all on the quiet side today, which suited him. He had a lot to think about. Besides, conversation wasn’t as easy in the throne room as elsewhere on the castle grounds or around the city. They’d been promoted thanks to a lucky break—or an act of Zeus?—but now they had to watch Eryx hold court with his fawning nobles and take out his frustrations on an increasingly confused and terrified Cleito.
Seeing the king abuse his oracle made Carver sick. Not doing anything about it made him even sicker. Every passing minute got him more thoroughly on board with Bel’s plan to steal the Chaos Wizard. Cleito would be a lot better off with them than with Eryx, even if their motivations weren’t exactly selfless.
Carver already knew the castle inside and out except for the mostly unused upstairs rooms where Eryx slept and kept Cleito. He’d described the layout to Bel, and they’d agreed that going into some rooms blind was better than risking a daytime raid on the castle. Their chances of success and continued anonymity were already high thanks to Bel’s fire magic and those hideous harpy helmets, but the fewer people that got in their way, the fewer potential casualties. They weren’t here to kill Atlantians, and the only one he really wanted dead was Eryx.
Dex nudged Carver as he glanced over at Eryx and Cleito. “What kind of ceremony do you think he’s trying to get out of her? He’s been tormenting her for hours.”
Carver followed Dex’s troubled gaze across the cavernous room. He barely swallowed a rage-filled growl, his muscles coiling with the need to race over there and gut Eryx. It was a nice daydream, but he wouldn’t survive it. He might be good with a sword, but he couldn’t defeat an entire castle garrison on his own without magic. Carver’s whole unit was in here or else nearby at the ground-floor entryways, with Silas in charge due to his seniority and experience. Another unit was just outside on the castle’s inner grounds and at the gate, that one led by a man named Pavlos. Carver had crossed paths with him several times and knew he had a quick mind and a strong sword arm. Another unit would be patrolling the sprawling, terraced gardens. That was a lot of soldiers within shouting distance.
“Something about reversing Punishment,” Carver answered stiffly. “What else?”
Three of Eryx’s usual advisors and a few noblemen from around Atlantapol stood near the oracle as well, all pointing and prodding and offering suggestions. Her head down, Cleito shrank away from them, hunching her shoulders and picking at the frayed pleats of her gown. Lank hair hung in her face, a shield that wouldn’t protect her. Carver saw a flash of golden eyes through the orange-red curtain before she shrank further in on herself, ducking away from her abusers.
“Seems pointless.” On Carver’s other side, Silas shrugged his broad shoulders, a frown pulling at his mouth. He might be one of the oldest men in their guard unit but only a fool would mistake his graying hair for weakness. Muscle rolled under his copper-brown skin, and his tawny eyes flicked everywhere with their usual attentiveness. “It’s been generations since the lastpeople who actually knew—orhad—magic died and went to the Underworld. We do fine without it.”
“If your family had been Magoi, you’d probably be more interested,” Dex said a little sourly.
Silas conceded Dex’s point with a wry nod. “Interested, yes. Ready to torture a confused young woman, no.” They all glanced at Cleito again. They couldn’t seem to stop. “Your family were healers, weren’t they?” he asked Dex a moment later. “Before Punishment?”
Dex nodded. “Healing magic ran strong in the family for centuries. My father died of a tooth infection, and he cursed the gods on his deathbed for taking magic from the island.”
