Her cheeks flush as she realizes I’m not going to continue, rejection flitting across her face and settling heavy on her shoulders.
Darkness knows, you really make a mess of everything.
She turns toward her bedroom, embarrassed, and the desperate need to keep her close for even a moment longer has me blurting out, “Books!”
Mirren eyes me over her shoulder, tossing her hair over her back. “What?” I think I imagine the hope that tinges the word.
“I said I’d give you books when we got here. Do you want some?”
“Now?” she asks, bewildered.
Why is it that I can laugh when outnumbered by enemies, but one small girl sends me spiraling into speechlessness?
I clear my throat. “I can never fall asleep. Do you want to come read with me for a while?”
Her eyes light and a smile spreads across her face once more. Her curiosity sparks and it occurs to me how beautiful she is. It was pure folly that I didn’t notice it when we tangled outside the Boundary, testament to the way desperation blinded me.
She places her hand in mine, an offering, and an agreement. “I’d love to read with you.”
ChapterThirty-Two
Shaw
The assassin’s door is unlocked, a sign of confidence or futility, though I suppose even things like doors are no match for the power Mirren wields. I slip in soundlessly. The candles remain unlit, their wicks still white, the only light emanating from Nadjaa’s moon filtering through the window. The bed is crisply made, the smell of fresh linen still lingering in the air. Assassin or orphan, Rhonwen practices the same level of hospitality.
Avedis peels himself off the far wall, as if melting from the darkness itself. “I wondered when you’d come see me, friend.”
His leathers are now clean, his face freshly scrubbed of dirt and blood. His dark eyes gleam with something like satisfaction as he studies me. “Which statement of mine tugged your curiosity?”
I nod toward the bed, emotionless. “I thought you said you needed a night’s rest.”
Avedis shrugs, settling himself in an old armchair and crossing one long leg over the other. “I’m sure you need one as much as I do. That does not mean it comes easily.”
I don’t need to ask what he means. Nightmares drive me from sleep on a nightly basis, the dark filled with countless faces of horror and the sounds of dying breaths. The names of every soul who has taken a piece of mine.
“What’s your name?”
He tilts his head. “I do believe I already told the lady that.”
“Yourrealname,” I growl, resenting Mirren’s presence on his lips, even tangentially.
Avedis laughs, the sound oddly sincere. “And I suppose you’ll give me your true name in return?” He chuckles again as if I’ve made a hilarious joke. “What is it they call you here? Oh yes.Shaw.”
I take a step toward him, digging my fingers into my palms. They are restless, longing to pull my blades from their sheaths and extract answers with a brutal slice of flesh. Only the thought of Mirren keeps me from it; I left her curled in my bed, her long lashes swept down over her cheekbones and her breaths deep with sleep. She’s seen fit to let the man live, and I won’t question her judgement.
Avedis eyes my hands, and a grin pulls across his face. “You can relax. I’ve had my fill of fighting for the week. Ask me what you wish to know.”
I grit my teeth, annoyance surging that he insists I voice my questions even though he seems to know what they are. “How do you know me?”
Avedis mulls this over, as if deciding how much to say. I don’t blame him. It would be foolish to give over all your information to an enemy, which is why I’m confident there’s more to his knowledge of Yen Girene. And me. “I don’t know you. I knowofyou,” Avedis clarifies.
Before I can huff in irritation, he continues, “You are correct in your recollection of never having seen me before. I was not trained in your camp, nor have I ever stepped foot there. Probably why I still remain intact.”
Unbidden, my eyes go to the thick scar that runs from his eyebrow to his ear. A punishment for seeing something he wasn’t meant to. Avedis shrugs. “Mostly intact,” he amends, motioning to the scar absently, like it’s old news, “a gift from my old master. Not yours.”
My breathing quickens and my muscles tense, as if my body prepares to break free from the word itself. Master. Only a word and yet also an iron chain that strangles the air from my lungs the same way it did when I was a child. I force myself to focus. “Then how do you know who I am?”
“There have always been rumors of the boy who stabbed the great warlord. The weapon who turned on its maker,” his eyes linger on the scar my father gifted me, now hidden beneath a layer of cotton and a bandolier of daggers. “Rumor also has it that the boy did not escape unscathed,” Avedis sighs dramatically, “alas! Tis life!”
