I snorted, watching him hobble to the bathroom with garbage pail in hand. “Thanks.”
“It means we’re linked, Mila,” he said. “More deeply than I thought possible. It would seem, what is dangerous for one, is deadly to the other.”
You cannot kill him without also killing yourself…
Realization flooded through my veins. Sluggish and befuddled, but stark in the knowledge that I’d heard this warning before—from the lips of the Head Priestess herself.
Asher’s death would mean my own.
“Of course it does,” I murmured when he closed the door. Letting the water run where I couldn’t see.
And without much intention, I dragged myself upright. Fighting to remain standing, I clung to the edge of his desk and swayed. Dizzy. Sweating and cold. Breasts all but spilling free where my borrowed shirt sagged open, my heart strained to work. Pulse throbbing wildly beneath my jaw.
The glimmer of gold caught my attention, and I hooked the manacle with my forefinger, pulling it toward me in a bid to distract from the way my pulse thrashed beneath my jaw. A piece of an unused set.
Tritan chains.
It was a simple circlet of gold. Nothing remarkable, except for the way it glittered in the gloom. Except for what it meant for the women left scared in the empire’s never-ending fight for dominance.
Because it always came back to the chains, didn’t it? They couldn’t control us without them, couldn’t fight each other without first climbing through the ranks of the powerful and privileged.
I didn’t react when the captain returned, breath heavy with the scent of mint.
Didn’t flinch when he said, “He’s wanted a second priestess since the moment he claimed his first.” And with a ginger touch, he took the golden manacle with a frown and caught my eye. “He made a move, didn’t he? Tried to claim you.”
Instead of answering, a question blurted over my lips. “What’s the program?”
Jaw bunching at the corners, his eyes narrowed, but he said, “You already know.”
Acid bubbled in my throat. “He wanted to know if I’m the exception to the rule,” I whispered. “If there was more than a barren desert b-between my legs. If I… If I might be”—I choked on a sob, humiliated, but unable to stop the confession—“if I might bred. For the g-good of the empire.”
The captain offered no comfort. Didn’t reach out and press me to his chest or dare to murmur sweetness against my temple.
He listened.
Held his silence and let me speak.
“He meant to set a claim on me,” I babbled. Gaze falling to the floor, hands twisting in the billowing fabric hanging loose around my fingertips. “A second claim to supersede the first, so he could try to… try…” I hiccuped. “To breed me. That’s what the program is, isn’t it?” I asked, and met his eye. Vision too blurry to make out his reaction—too drained to taste his energy and know what lurked beneath the surface. “A program for Tritans. The citizens whoaren’tcursed with priestess blood.”
He sighed, set the manacle down with a clatter of metal on wood, then claimed his seat behind the desk. “The birth of a priestess is as rare as that of an elite.” He reached for me, then. Pulled me into his lap, and draped my thighs across his. Feet left to dangle above the ground. “Why do you think I was so thrilled to find you? An unbound priestess—anadult.”
“They’ll be children,” I whispered, and let him tuck me beneath his chin. “Born into slavery.”
He nodded, but that was it.
What else might be said?
We were quiet for a time. Recovering. Not thinking too hard or bothering to fight, I simply sat and absorbed his heat. Wiping at the occasional stray tear that wasn’t soaked up by his shirt.
And then, “Sasha told me to pray.” I inhaled, deep as I could. My lungs filled with the raw scent of him. Hitching only a little.
He chuckled, minty breath ruffling my hair. “Clever woman. We’ll need all the divine intervention we can get if we’re going to survive any retaliation attempt.”
“Aren’t you related?”
At this, he laughed outright. “Being his cousin has never helped me before. Why start today? And after my warrior priestess made an attempt on his life?” Reaching around me, he reclaimed the decanter and took one final, long draught. Corked the bottle, then asked, “You did the same thing to him? Affected his heart?”
Avoiding his eye, I nodded. “Sasha means to fix it. To save him, instead of letting me finish it.”
