“A hypocrite?”
“You might not have wanted him to kill me, but I bet you enjoyed the show.”
“If I’d enjoyed the show, I would’ve sat back and watched it play out. I wouldn’t have intervened.”
He’d only intervened so his brother wasn’t offed on the spot. Instead of sharing my theory, I asked another question that had been on my mind. “Why did you say you pitied the man who’d stand beside me the next time the Cauldron showed up?”
A beat of silence stretched likewitabetween us. “Because I’m no fool, Amara. I know you’re not planning on marrying me. And just so you know, you don’t have to use yourgajoïto get me away from you; I wasn’t planning on going through with the charade.”
I trusted he didn’t want to plait his essence with mine, butnot wantinganddoingwere two very different things.
“You think I’m lying.” Not a question.
“I think I’ll save mygajoïin case you don’t feel like standing up to your granddaddy.” The rose’s petals fluttered as I spoke. I wrapped my fingers around the stem and squeezed it until the dust liquefied and retreated into my palm, then tipped my head toward the gloves on the sink top. “Your gloves. I hope I didn’t ruin them when I took out the pie.”
“They won’t fit me anymore. Our hands aren’t exactly the same size, and I doubt the fabric is adaptable in this place.” He didn’t make any move to retrieve them. He didn’t make any move at all. He stood there like a giant piece of scowling granite.
I walked toward the gloves and picked them up. They’d kept my hands from getting sliced up in Deception Central and had proved a useful barrier against the cold. As I slid them back on, being all out of pockets, I cast a longing look at my Infinity. How I wished I could change out of my dirty jumpsuit. My gaze snagged on the bowl I’d filled. Although there was no soap on the countertop, water would get most of the dirt out, but doing laundry implied getting naked, which I obviously wasn’t about to do in front of Remo.
I tipped my head toward the upper floor. “Shall we see what’s upstairs?”Or who . . .?
The moody faerie finally shoved away from the island and lumbered over to me. “You shouldn’t cover your tattoo.”
In other words, what lay upstairs might go bump.Ugh.This prison sucked so much. “I don’t have a bag or pockets.”
With a sigh, Remo held out his palm. “I’ll carry them.”
My gaze slid down his mud-splattered tunic. “You don’t have any pockets either.”
“No, but I have a waistband.” He hiked up his top, and the thin stream of daylight coming through the window edged the taut skin stretching over a neat stack of abdominal muscles.
Why was I stunned to discover the boy had a six-pack?Alllucionagahad abs.
“Amara?”
I jerked my gaze off his stomach.
“The gloves.”
I pulled them back off and dropped them into his open palm, careful not to graze his hand.
“Make a knife.”
Fear slinked up my spine.
As he slid the gloves into his waistband, he added, “As a precaution.” Was he trying to reassure me?
Swallowing, I touched my tattoo, hooking the threads. Unfortunately, I started trembling, and the threads snapped right back into my palm. I tried again. Failed again.
“Calm down.”
“I’m trying.” I tried again, and again, and again. At some point, I rolled my fingers into my palms and squeezed them until my nails bit into the dark whorls.
“Can I try something?” Remo asked.
I nodded warily.
He picked up my wrist from where it dangled at my side. “Open your palm.”
