His gaze is so heavy on my face that my cheeks smolder. “Save you.”
“I’ve only ever met one.” I lower my eyes to the canal, wondering if Minimus is somewhere beneath the moonlit water. “Maybe the others would hate me.”
“I don’t think any being could hate you, Fallon.”
I inhale a deep breath, filling my lungs with salt and wind and starlight. “My grandfather does.”
“Your grandfather’s a fool.”
I gasp because we’re a boat-length away from the checkpoint, and two Fae soldiers are standing by the floating gate. “Don’t say such things.” Antoni’s brow creases, and I realize he must think I’m defending the man. “His influence is too great and his ears too sharp. And even though you swim, I don’t want you ending up in the channel.”
Slowly the furrows smooth and his easy smile returns.
I expect the guards to stop the boat, but at the tick of Antoni’s head, they slide the gate open. I sense one staring at me and turn my face into Antoni’s neck to shield it from the man’s attention. “They won’t tell anyone they saw me on your boat?”
Antoni’s fingers tighten around my waist. “Not if they care to keep their secrets a secret.”
Wood and metal creak as the gate is drawn closed behind us, and I release the breath stuck in my lungs.
“Those secrets you peddle must be quite terrible.”
“Quite.”
Although I think I should put space between our bodies, I feel indebted to Antoni, and it’d be a lie to claim I’m not enjoying his firm grip. The only other hands I’ve had on me were Dante’s, and that was so long ago, I’ve forgotten how they felt.
The bow of the boat carves through detritus—broken planks, bobbing bottles, bloated fish, chunks of feces—sending up a stink that makes me inhale solely through my mouth. No wonder the canal in these parts is so murky.
“Why don’t fire-Fae clean up the water?” My voice comes out a little nasal from how hard I’m trying not to pull in air.
“Because the king believes that humans must live in their filth and has made it illegal to use magic to improve life in Rax.”
My fists clench at my sides in shock and in anger. “That’s . . . that’s . . . heartless. If Dante were king—”
“He’d keep the ban alive.”
“He wouldn’t.”
Antoni’s arm turns rigid, then slips off in time with his smile. “I forget he’s your friend.”
“He cares about all of his people—pure-bloods, halflings,andhumans.”
“And yet, you’re here with me instead of at the palace with him, so he mustn’t care enough.”
My chest stings. “It’s the king’s revel, not the prince’s.”
Antoni has the good sense not to press the issue, yet, as we near the gnarled roots of the cypresses lining the shore, our argument festers between us like the refuse atop the water.
Eight
“Here.” Giana presses a lumpy, earthen mug into my hands as she sits on a rusted barrel that’s been flattened to look like a bench. “You seem like you could use this.”
I sniff the fizzing liquid, and the smell alone makes my eyes water. “What’s in this thing?”
“Alcohol.”
“I got that. I meant, what type?”
“Homebrewed ale. It tastes better than it smells.”
