She marveled at these realizations now, and very carefully, she stepped back, putting at least two feet between them.
This distance seemed to accomplish nothing.
A dam had broken, and there was no repairing it. Gone was his cool exterior, his eyes bright now with the fire of pain and hunger.The longer she looked at him the more unsteady she felt, and soon the fever between them reached a dangerous pitch, her own torment growing so acute she felt desperate to sit down. She wanted relief she didn’t understand, wanted something from him she couldn’t name. Her every feeling was so heightened she worried she might cry out if he so much as walked toward her.
“Cyrus –”
“We should perform the blood oath tonight,” he said, turning his body away.
“What?” She blinked; her head was swimming.
“If we’re to be married so soon, we should not delay.” His voice was rough, and he paused to clear it. “I’d prefer to have a couple of days to recover before the ceremony.”
This shocking statement produced precisely the cooling effect Alizeh required. It was an ice bath of reality, one she’d nearly overlooked.
Blood oaths were morally reprehensible, and yet she could not see a way around such a provision in this circumstance. It was the only way to be certain Cyrus would uphold his end of the bargain.
“I’ve never seen it done before,” she said, sobered. “I’ve only heard stories. Will it be very bad for you?”
He kept his eyes on the ground when he said, softly, “It is my understanding that, in the beginning, there will be a great deal of pain.”
“Will it get better?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
He shook his head, still avoiding her eyes. “These details are of little importance. If it’s amenable to you, I’d like to perform the oath tonight.”
She tried to adjust to the idea. “We’ll need a Diviner, won’t we? Is it too late?”
Again, he shook his head. “I can do it myself.”
Another shocking revelation. Blood oaths required an enchantment so advanced Alizeh had never heard of one being performed by anyone outside the priesthood. “Really?”
“Yes.”
She was quiet a long moment before she said, “Cyrus, will you never tell me the truth?”
He startled, lifting his head to reveal an unguarded fear. “The truth about what?”
“About who you really are. There’s so much you’re not telling me – so much that doesn’t make sense. Every time I speak with you I’m left with more questions.”
“Do you think I’ve been lying to you?”
“Yes,” she said, and paused. “Except that I have the strangest feeling you might be lying about how horrible you are.”
Cyrus almost smiled, though the action was weighed down by an unspoken grief. “Give me twenty minutes,” he said. “I need to prepare some things.”
“Are you going to ignore what I just said?”
He strode to the front door, which he opened in a fluid motion, shifting aside so she might exit.
She stared at him. “You want me to leave?”
There was a weakness in his eyes when he said, “No.”
“Cyrus –”
