But more than that… I needed him.
He was my protector, and then I became his.
I haven’t stopped commanding him since. I wouldn’t stop, especially when the cruelty he suffered moved past physical agony and came in the form of insidious verbal barbs inflicted by condescending fae, spurred on by our mother.
“How old were you when it happened?” Thyra asks.
“Ten,” he replies, the shadows around his eyes returning.
“I was thirteen when I was struck.” She grimaces. “I was told the scar would worsen as I grew, and it did. Claiming more of my shoulder over time. It still aches sometimes.”
A swirl of anger forms in the pit of my stomach as I consider the burn mark on her skin.
I can’t stand the thought that Ember fire touched her before I could.
“It’s worse in the cold,” Victor says, his forehead puckering. “It seems strange, but winters are painful. Summers are better.”
“That’s the same for me. The cold makes the burn more noticeable. I was lucky to grow up on the west coast. Winterwas never too harsh there, not even in the north.” Thyra pauses, then says, out of the blue. “This is your forge.”
Victor grins, the perfect side of his face lighting up, the monstrous side stretching. “My brother may disagree, but I like to think so.”
More like his fucking cage, but he’s found ways to cope, I suppose, immersing himself in his work here.
“I don’t disagree,” I mutter, my voice gruffer than I intended.
Thyra’s pale blue eyes are piercing as she casts her gaze at me. Then back to Victor. “The king needs his armor mended.”
Victor steps fully into the light, no longer shuffling. “So he does.”
I scowl at both of them.
Victor approaches quickly, one big hand landing on my shoulder. “You’re unpracticed at concealing your emotions without your armor, brother. This needs to be rectified immediately.”
“I didn’t realize I needed to conceal anything in your presence,” I snap back, unsettled by his warning.
I thought I’d mastered my facial expressions long ago. But then, it’s been a long time since my face was uncovered in front of anyone.
I smother a sigh. If Thyra thought I brought her here solely to fix my armor, she’ll soon discover she was mistaken.
Ignoring for now the unavoidable task ahead of me, I point to my face and then to my shoulder, indicating to Victor where the steel needs mending, although the broken helmet is obvious. “Here. And back here.”
“Let me see.” Victor steps closer while Thyra moves aside, allowing me to present my back to my brother, leaving me facing his workbench, which sits against the back wall.
I’m met with silence.
It’s broken only by Thyra’s soft footfalls as she relocates herself to the left of the workbench, where I can see her.
When I tilt my head at her action, she arches her eyebrows.
But of course. I told her to remain in front of me at all times. It looks like she’s willing to play my game for now.
Once she understands the real reason I brought her here, she may not be so willing.
Chapter Nineteen
Antony
The extended silence behind me as Victor considers my pierced armor is starting to worry me. Even more than how Thyra might react once I reveal why I really brought her here.
