Neither of us asked each other to take out what lay in our pockets.
Magnus always looked like expensive things you weren’t allowed to touch. Donning suits that cost more than cars and heirloom watches. No strand ofhis hair was misplaced in the slapping of generous oil. Even in his most frazzled state he could appear near omnipotent.
My brother wore a mask. Something he pulled on and off when needed. Most politicians did.
He looked at me with his charming smile, smoothing back his hair, telling me without words to forget the last few minutes.
I did.
He was a politician.
As I would be.
“Magnus,” I said. “I’m going to die in three days.”
“Do not worry Duckie, I will take care of it.” He winked.
I followed him into his ensuite and watched him wash his hands. He and Cynthia did not share the same bedroom. Magnus said it was because he worked too late and too early, and it disturbed her. But really, they weren’t in the same room very frequently at all. I think that was why they were Soulmates, they both enjoyed their solitude, only meeting in each other’s arms for galas or public speeches and photos that were printed in the paper.
“How?” A demand more than a question.
His mask cracked momentarily. Faint worry skipped through his face. He wanted to take care of it, but there was still doubt.
And I could not have doubt regarding my being alive.
I reached into my pocket and fingered the piece of paper, touching the worn creases and soaking my fingers into the inked words, offering a relief much more promising than my brother’s faint worry.
“Firstly, I can extend your time,” Magnus said. “A week or two after the Execution Battle. You’re busy at work with me and have been unable to have adequate time to find your Soulmate.”
Extensions were common but reserved only for those whose heart was beating wildly to find their Soulmate. One swift monitoring and blood test would show my heart was as still as windless water.
“Giving me more time does not solve the actual problem,” I pointed out. “I need to find a Soulmate.”
“You will find them.”
“How?’’ I held the paper in my pocket tight. “How will I find them?”
“Duckie—”
“I’m going out to dinner tonight,” I declared, fixing things myself. “Late. Don’t wait up for me.”
He frowned. “You and I were going to go over the speech for Tuesday.”
“I have dinner.”
“With who?”
“A potential Soulmate.”
Pure disbelief wound him up, but he said nothing, offering me only a wary glare and then finally relaxed his face. “If you want a night of sex—”
“Magnus!” My face turned warm. “I’m not discussing my sex life with you.”
He rolled his eyes. At least he believed me. “Whoever they are, they do not deserve you.”
“I might be sleeping over.” I twisted the paper in my hand. I think it tore. “Depends on how things go.”
Something irked him but he smiled through it. “Would you like me to make you your cocoa?”
