Magdala moaned. “That’s so, so stupid.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to commit some kind of passive suicide.”
“I do! Because you are!”
“Someone is going to kill me eventually, and Zephyr, or Anton, oryou,Mags. Someone else will come down withme. Collateral damage. I’m just a bastard, and the only people who care about me are paid to do so.”
Magdala shook her head, and her voice failed her. Tears dripped off her chin; she dashed them away with the back of her hand. “Don’t you ever”—her voice trembled—“call yourself a bastard in my presence, Asherton Ageric. I will slap you.”
“But it’s true.”
“You are a human being with a soul, and people love you.”
“The nation of Allagesh is better off without me.”
“Stop that.”
“I don’t want to be king anyway.”
“Stop it!” Magdala grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “You bloody idiot! If you let yourself be killed, you will only take your pain and frustration and sadness and give them to Zephyr and me. You shrug them off like an old coat you don’t want anymore and make us wear them forever.”
He bunched his brow. “But you want this house …”
“How do you know about that?” She gasped.
“Oh, come now. I knew who you were when I saw your father’s surname on that letter. I’m not stupid.”
“But I don't …”
“You are here because you want my house. And you want to get me out of the way somehow. And if not by killing me, then by ‘saving’ me in whatever contrived manner you can to win my trust and get me to give you Elegy.”
Magdala opened her mouth, but only managed a lowmoan.
“Admit it, Mags. You want the house and you don’t really care about me.”
“I don’t care about the bloody house!” Magdala shouted. Her own words struck her like cold water. She reeled. This house meant everything to her father, but had it ever meant anything to her? Now that the truth spilled out of her like blood from a picked scab, she felt relieved. Lighter. Her next words shocked her almost as much. “I care about you.”
Asherton looked stunned. “You don’t really …”
“Yes, idiot, I do! Because I’m stupid, too. But I do. You’re …” She crossed her arms. “You’re my friend now, I guess—I don’t know.”
A slow smile lit his face. “Are we friends?”
“I think so. Maybe.”
He gazed at her thoughtfully, eyes narrowed. “Would you really be sad if I died?”
“Yes!” She reached for his hand, but changed her mind and picked at the blankets. “Everyone is valuable. Even if they’re a nuisance.”
“So, I’m a nuisance?”
She smiled. “Very much so.”
He chuckled. “The nuisance king sounds better than the bastard king …”
“You said that word!” She raised her hand and he caught her wrist.
“Alright, alright.” He laughed. “No need to be violent.”
