He frowned.
“You’ve fed, you’ve feasted, you’ve been surrounded by the best tech and tutors and high-society nobles and parties,” I said softly. I’d been too, but I was always on the outskirts of those things, pretending that I belonged. “And now you’re presented with something you want but cannot have.”
I felt the exact moment Kythel bristled. He straightened from the wall.
“You know nothing about me.”
I swallowed, darting a quick look over at him, brow furrowing.
“I’m sure I don’t,” I murmured, smoothly. “I apologize,Kyzaire, if I offended you. It’s just…I’ve known people like you my whole life. Iunderstand. Just like I understand that there are unfathomable pressures and experiences you’ve hadbecauseof your upbringing. Your life isn’t easier because of who you are. If anything, you’re more shackled than all of us. But in matters like this, simple matters with simple solutions,” I started, gesturing to myself, “like wanting to feed from a specific person at adyaan, I understand whythisfrustrates you.”
Silence dropped between us, heavy like a stone.
I cleared my throat. Thinking of Lesana’s words about desperation.
“My answer, however, still remains unchanged,” I added.
“I didn’t ask, did I?” he replied, his tone clipped. Grumpy.
My lips lifted. My gaze turned to Stellara, highly aware that his eyes were fastened to me.
“No,” I said quietly, swallowing the lump in my throat. “No, you didn’t.”
“Where did you come from?” he asked. “Before Krynn? Have you lived here before?”
His questions held an edge of demand, but I took my time answering.
“We came to Krynn five months ago. It’s the first time I’ve been here. We’d just come from Drovos. Before that we lived on Qapot’a for a few seasons.”
“Drovos? Is that why you knew about the wine?” he questioned.
My brows furrowed. “The wine?”
“Never mind.” He shook his head. “We? Just you and your father? The culinarian?”
“Yes.”
“Where is your father now?”
My chest twisted, my heart a tangled, mangled thing.
“Dead.”
I’d never said it. Not out loud. Such a simple, common word. Yet it felt like a blade, scraping my insides.
Kythel’s lips tightened, briefly. Still as a statue, he stood tall in the darkness, staring down at me with that faceted gaze. Like broken glass. “So you’re alone here.”
His words struck a nerve I hadn’t thought would sting as much as it did. Likely because no one had ever said it to me in that way.
“No,” I argued. “I—I have…I have RaanaDyaan. Lesana. Grace. Draan.”
“Of course,” Kythel said, his tone smoothing. Diplomatic, even, and that irritated me, though I ignored it. “But you don’t truly have anyone to depend on. Because most people are selfish and only loyal to themselves.”
My breath wheezed out from my lungs. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re terrible at comforting people?” I asked, keeping my tone light. “You were supposed to say, ‘I’m sorry, Millie. I’m sorry that your father is dead. How terrible.’”
“You don’t want that,” he said, stepping closer, making me swallow. “Hollow words. Do you?”
