“Why not?”
“You ask me why I’m helping you? It’s for two reasons. One, I will never let Javed use you for what you can do. Too many people have lost their lives in the cross fire of his hunger for power. And two, I could not stand it if anything happened to you. And if I take what you’re offering, I’m just as selfish and corrupt as he is.”
“Not if I give it freely.”
I can practically hear his molars grinding. “No.”
“Why?”
“It was because of me that Javed set his sights on you in the first place at the ball. I refuse to put you in any more danger.”
I shake my head at once, hating the guilt that laces his words. “No, Roshan. Javed knew what I was the moment Helena told him about the arena. It had nothing to do with you.” I force a lighthearted note into my words. “Plus, let’s be realistic—the only thing you’re guilty of is feeling sorry for the sad, food-loving wallflower.”
Roshan exhales a puff of laughter. “You think I felt sorry for you?”
“Didn’t you? It’s not like there weren’t six dozen other ladies far better than me, waiting to swoon at your princely feet.”
His voice is quiet when he responds. “You are oblivious, Suraya. None of those other women could ever hope to hold a candle to you.”
I fight back an indecent rush of pleasure at his words. “If you’re trying to seduce me,my prince,flattery’s not going to work. I’m made of sterner stuff.”
His hips give an infinitesimal shift against me. “What will it take then?”
“Fawning. Lots and lots of groveling and fawning.”
He presses a teasing kiss to the side of my neck. “When this is over and you’re safe, I promise to drop to my knees for as long as you like.”
Seriously... damn being on this horse, damn having to be on the run, damn everything that isn’t the image he just put into my brain!We fall into silence again. The only sounds in the night are the measures of our dissonant breaths and the constant thump of the horse’s hooves on the rough earth. The feel of Roshan’s chest rising and falling behind me is steady, the rhythmic cadence unexpectedly comforting.
We’re in this together.
Even if we have no real future beyond what comes next.
I have no illusions about what is in store for us. Even if he thwarts his brother, Roshan belongs in Kaldari and I belong in Coban. Whatever this is will have to end, either in distance or... in death.
The crone’s words about the war that will end all wars haunt me and swirl in my mind, and I shudder. At once, Roshan’s arms tighten slightly around me. “What’s wrong?” he asks, so in tune with me that he can sense my spiking unrest.
I want to tell him about Vena’s prophecy, desperately. But another part is afraid of what he will say. I inhale a breath and start before I can change my mind. “In the inn back in Coban once, there was a man from the House of Fomalhaut who attributed Eloni’s vast wealth to the will of the Royal Stars. I knew he was arcanist, but it always stuck with me.” I flex my hands against his forearms. “They’re the same gods that granted me this magic. The old gods from Aran’s stories.”
“Do you believe they exist?”
“I don’t know what I believe,” I say, lifting my palms between his holding the reins. “But how would I be able to wield this kind of magic if they didn’t? As much as I wish it to be true, there’s no power in the realm that can give me the ability to incinerate people with starfire from my hands. Unless I’m high as a kite.” I laugh dully. “Actually, I haven’t given up hope that this might all be a delirious Jade-induced fantasy or Droonish brain fever.”
With a contemplative noise, Roshan adjusts his fingers on the reins. “Morvarid was very vocal about punishing those who didn’t venerate the king, even though the House of Fomalhaut has been known for its secret practices. I’ve always wondered why my mothernever returned to Eloni. I think my aunt might have thought her an arcanist. A believer, if not a practitioner, of magic.”
My jaw falls open in surprise. “Was she?”
“Maybe. She knew the stories, like the ones of the Starkeeper, but that’s all they were to me—stories.”
I’d never thought much about arcanism, but the Elonian mystics in the House of Fomalhaut had always been suspected of continued devotion to the old gods. I suppose if secret cities like Nyriell exist, then pockets of arcanism must still exist as well, of those who believe that magic will return one day to Oryndhr when the gods reawaken and akasha flows once more.
“Do you think the commander of the Dahaka is arcanist?” I ask.
Roshan tilts his chin down. “Why do you ask?”
“Because the Dahaka seem so focused on destroying the crown and Kaldari.”
He shrugs, his muscles bunching beneath mine. “Part of restoring balance is allowing people to have freedom of choice in how they live. How they feed their families. Where and what they choose to worship. Why and who they love.”
