“I’ll teach you to use that dagger to protect yourself so that when we do part ways, I’ll know that you won’t be forced to do anything you do not choose. I will have you safe, Mirren.”
Why do I believe him? And why does my name sound so wonderful in his mouth, resonant in that lilting accent of his? Like a breath of Dark World air, clear and sweet. “And what if I choose to use this dagger against you? What ifyou’rewhat makes me feel unsafe?”
Shaw grins so wickedly that blood rushes all the way to my toes. His eyes rake down my body and back up again, lingering overlong on my mouth. I jam it shut quickly. “Feel free to use it against me anytime you like, Lemming.”
ChapterNineteen
Shaw
Wouldn’t.The word reverberates through me, bringing with it a wave of awe and relief. And underneath it all, a flash of anger. Mirren said wouldn’t, notcouldn’t.It wasn’t a result of her Similian conditioning or some misguided sense of altruism ingrained in her since birth; it was herchoiceto throw herself back into danger. And for what? To save the life of the man who brutally abducted her? What kind of personchoosesthat? I still can’t decide if it was the height of honor or stupidity.
Mirren peers at me through narrowed eyes. Perhaps it’s the blood loss, but I feel lightheaded as I meet her gaze, like my feet aren’t quite settled on the ground and my stomach is floating somewhere near my throat. I’ve already waited far too long to stitch up my shoulder, but bleeding out suddenly doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying as Mirren refusing my help.
Let her go.
I should. A decent man would, but I’ve never had any claim to decency. I want to grip her to me, the way a child selfishly clutches a blanket until it disintegrates. I want to push her away so that she’s safe from people like Shivhai and the Praeceptor; from people likeme.But what I want doesn’t even matter, because the fact remains that if I let her leave, Denver will die and all we have worked for will die with him. Nadjaa will fall to the Praeceptor or to Yen Girene and Ferusa’s only free city will be no more.
“Why would you help me?”
I lick my lips. They are bone dry.
The iron that’s been clamped around my heart since Mirren’s scream echoed through the camp has yet to fully lift, even as she stands before me. Alive. Relatively unharmed. Well, unharmed enough to stab me anyway. “I owe you a life debt,” I tell her again.
My shoulder has gone numb. It’s only a matter of time before the wounds at my chest, stomach and side follow suit. Soon, the shock will set in completely and the shaking will be so bad I won’t be able to hold a needle. But I’m alive and that’s more than I expected. And it’s thanks to the girl standing in front of me, eyes burning with a fire that feels familiar. That feels like home.
She nibbles on her bottom lip, eyeing me doubtfully. I can almost see the wheels turning in her mind, trying to uncover whatever trick I’ve spun. Something like pride wends through me, that she finally,finally,knows I am not to be trusted.
“I can’t let you go into the Darkness owing you a life debt.”
“You owe me nothing,” she says again, her voice brutal.
But I do. More than she knows. After a lifetime of inundation, of scraping and crawling, I almost gave up. I was seconds away from surrendering what little resolve remained and yielding to the Darkness once and for all. The relief I was denied still aches within me, but now, it’s accompanied by a deep wave of shame. I almost gave up knowing that Denver is still in the grips of the Achijj, probably being tortured as we speak; almost gave up knowing that Max and Calloway would then be the ones to risk their souls to save him. I was so close to foisting my burden on to them, my friends who have loved me when I’ve done nothing to deserve it. The selfishness would have been unforgivable. And Mirren—she kept me from it. She ran in, hair streaming behind her like some sort of avenging angel and kept that mistake from being added to a list too long to remember. If not for my life, I owe her for that.
“You owe me nothing but my freedom and I demand no less.”
She straightens, my cloak billowing around her in the soft cave breeze, my dagger still clutched in her fingers. It’s the knife Denver gifted me after I took my vow and I’ve never been parted from it. The feel of it is as familiar as my own limbs, an extension of myself. I think of the soft velvet of Mirren’s hands as I wrapped her fingers around it and feel comforted knowing that a part of me, at least, can keep her from danger.
“You’re right. I do owe you freedom.”
Her brows lift in a surprise that mirrors my own. Until the words spilled unbidden from my mouth, I still had every intention of taking her to Yen Girene and using her to free Denver, even though I know I would never be able to live with myself after. Maybe this is a different sort of survival instinct, one that strives to protect not only my life, but the pieces of my shattered soul.
“Help me and I will give everything I have to help you in return.”
Her eyes spark, wild and hopeful. They are likehome.
I shake my head. I have no home.
I turn to the far wall of the cave, cradling my left arm gingerly. I run my fingers along the wall, until they scrape across a familiar dip, and then I yank. I grimace in pain as the rock tumbles away, revealing a large hole. This cave was my escape for so many years and I was pleased to discover it hasn’t been disturbed. That Cullen never found it.
I stumbled upon it when I was seven by pure chance, injured and desperate for somewhere to hide. Somewhere to nurse my wounds privately. It seemed like the mountain itself opened to me, led me to its heart and from then on, I always kept it stocked for whenever I needed the safety of its womb once more. I haven’t been here in nearly seven years, but there are still a few supplies covered in a thick layer of dust. An old pile of bandages and a few jars of herbs. A spare bandolier and a few weapons. A couple canteens.
I reach for the bandages and herbs. For a moment, I am seven once more. On the brink of bleeding out and refusing to give in. I ignore the black that scrapes at the edges of my vision, the cold that descends over my limbs and focus only on the task at hand. I fastidiously grind the herbs into a paste, feeling the weight of Mirren’s eyes as I work. The questions in them rub against the back of my neck.
I motion for her to sit and with a haughty glower that makes me bite my lip to keep from laughing, she settles onto the cave floor. I sit facing her, crossing my legs so that we’re close enough to touch but aren’t. I cradle the pestle gently in the crook of my bad arm. The icy numbness has spread from my fingertips and moves toward my chest. I’m running out of time.
I take a scoop of the herbs onto the tips of my fingers and hold them out to her. A question and an offering. Will she accept my help? I’ve taken away her agency since the moment we met, and while nothing I do will ever fix that, I no longer have a desire to make any moves toward her without her permission. The decision lays with her now and it makes me feel lighter than I have in weeks. Like I am finally doing something Denver would approve of.
Mirren watches me for another moment in that peculiar way of hers. Curiously observant, mildly angry, but never scared. Even now, when I betrayed her andshotat her, there is still something soft in her face when she looks at me. She nods her assent and extends her hands toward me.
