“You will fail.”
“Why?” he said urgently. “Why can’t I open it?”
“Aren’t you meant to wield great power?” she parrotedback at him. “How is it you’re so unschooled in the workings of magic?”
“Alizeh—
“More important, why would you think I’d ever tellyou?”
Cyrus was breathing hard now, staring at her with something like desperation. He dropped his sword to the floor with a sudden, terrifying clatter. “Please. Tell me.”
“I will not,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Unlike you, I’m not bound to share my secrets with Iblees. Now give me back my book, or pick up your weapon.”
“I won’t fight you.” He shook his head. “Forgive me. I never should’ve lifted my sword against you.”
“Why not?” She bristled. “You don’t think me a worthy opponent?”
“You,” he said ardently, “have always been too worthy. I will not hurt you.”
The nosta burned against her skin.
Alizeh fought back a shock of feelings then, her heart convoluted, impossible to parse. Struggling to clear her head, she said, “You don’t need to worry about hurting me. I’m quite capable of defending myself.”
“Alizeh,” he whispered. “I would destroy you.”
Thismade her mad.
She lunged at him with an angry cry, slicing her sword through the air with brute strength and speed and still he dodged this and dove for his mace, which had been resting against a nearby couch, and spun around in an instant to meet her next blow, her sword crashing against his staff with astonishing violence. Again she advanced, swinging herblade in a diagonal arc, and again their weapons collided, the sound of metal clanging in her ears. Over and over she attacked; he retreated. She lunged; he evaded.
Alizeh had the advantage of fleet-footedness and strength and still Cyrus parried her every move. True, she hadn’t used a sword in several years, and as a result her skills were rusty, if not a bit outdated, but her preternatural gifts should’ve given her an edge; instead, they only seemed to balance the scales. She didn’t understand how Cyrus was so capable or swift, or how he seemed to anticipate her actions. Worse, he did not seem to tire, and he never lifted his weapon except in defense.
It was infuriating.
Finally, angrily, she held her ground and glared at him. She’d funneled so much effort into the exchange that she was now exhausted, her arms shaking a little, and had to resist the urge to stomp her foot like a child.
“Give me back my book,” she cried. “It belongs to me!”
Cyrus shook his head slowly, staring at her in wonder. His chest was heaving slightly, his voice only a little breathless from his recent efforts. “Marry me,” he said.
Alizeh tightened her grip on her weapon, her eyes widening in outrage. “You think this is funny?”
“I’m not joking.”
“Give me my book right now, or I swear I’ll tear this room apart.”
“Alizeh,” he said, shaking his head. There was a warning in his voice. “Please don’t test me.”
“Why not?” She was sincerely asking the question. Thelonger she stared at his heated eyes, the more she lost confidence in herself. “What are you— What are you going to do?”
“Touch my things,” he said softly, “and I will physically remove you from this room.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, but weakly, for she didn’t know whether he would. “Would you?”
When he only offered her a grim smile in response, Alizeh felt a bolt of fear, which she forced aside with great effort.
Calmly she walked over to his desk, and for a moment she studied the many bell jars he’d neatly organized, tiny labels reading things likeCryptocrystalline silicaandHexagonal scalenohedral mineral. Then she placed her hand on one of the glass domes. Very politely, she said, “Please give me back my book.”
He made a sound, something like a growl. “I can’t,” he said, frustrated. “You know I can’t.”
