You’re not Blooded. So what are you?
But he was wrong, wasn’t he? Because as much as she tried to convince herself she wasn’t over the years, now being an Exhauster is going to be the thing that saves her. She wonders what the bookies out on the street are saying, whether people are gambling their earnings on her now, rather than Astrid.
Axel is watching her, like he’s trying to work something out—tasting her emotions, perhaps. Between them, the music pulses, the type of rhythm designed to heat your blood. Someone moves past them, knocking Skylar into Axel. She scowls, ready to turn and find who did it, but Axel’s hand moves to her waist, steadying her. Beneath her dress, her skin heats, and when she looks back at Axel, she swears his eyes have darkened.
They are both still for a heartbeat, staring at each other. The air between them feels unsteady, reckless. It’s the moonflower and wine, it’s got to be. And for a second, she wonders what it would be like togive in to it. She’s never cared much who she slept with. It’s never an emotional connection for her—a release, nothing more. And right now, her body is craving that. Despite all logic and reason, it is cravinghim.
No, she tells herself. She doesn’t want him. She doesn’twantto want him.
He grabs her hand almost violently. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
He drags her through the fumca smoke and pockets of shadows, like he, too, is aware of the risk of staying here. They move into the welcome area, then through the door of bark and ivy. Skylar takes a breath of calmer air, her head clearing just a little. Here, the music is softer, mimicking the soothing sounds of nature, a song that feels vaguely familiar, though she can’t figure out why. Twinkling lights decorate the stone walls, tree branches sway in the breeze, and a few artists mill about, offering to paint bodies in greens and golds.
People are sitting on the grass, servers offering salads of fruits, herbal teas. From the giggling coming from a group under the canopy of trees to their left, the tea may have something a little extra in it. Axel doesn’t seem to know what to do, now that he’s dragged her in here. He looks down at their hands, like he’s surprised to find them still joined, and lets go.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “I’m not really the hand-holding type, either.” She glances around. “I thought Earth dragons didn’t exist,” she says conversationally. Even the dragons maintain that fact, after all.
“They don’t. Six sections just worked better, I imagine.” He glances at her as they start walking through the crowds. “It was a soldier you were talking to, wasn’t it?” So, he clearly saw more than he’s letting on.
“Yes.” No real point in lying if he already knows, is there?
“Someone you know was conscripted? That’s why you wanted to know where they’re being taken.”
Right. Not a hard guess for him, because of her stupid idea to ask for help on the morning of the Blood Binding. She doesn’t answer, but she presses her lips together as she nods.
“I’m sorry.” It sounds sincere—though foreign on his tongue.
“Are you?” Her tone is bitter—and maybe this is what she needs,this reminder of who he is and why it’s not okay to be attracted to him. Why it’s not okay to start thinking of him as anything other than her enemy.
“Yes. I know you might not believe me. And I know I’ve said I believe in what we need to do, to keep Vatra safe. That’s still true—I want to protect the many, not the few. But I’m still sorry that you’ve lost someone important to you.”Lost.Like she’s misplaced him, rather than him being taken from her. He stops walking, turns to face her. “If I could get them back for you, Skylar, I would.”
“But you can’t.”
“No. What happens to the conscripts is out of my hands.”
She thinks briefly of asking him about the Champions being taken to the Heart. But if he doesn’t know what happens to the conscripts, he’s not going to know that, is he? It all comes back to the king, doesn’t it? He’s the one ordering this. He’s the only one who could stop it—unless she wins the duel. Unless she wins, and kills him before he can kill her.
Axel sits on the grass, stretching his long legs in front of him. After a moment, Skylar copies him. She doesn’t know why she does it—why she stays here, with him. She doesn’t know why she’s hoping that what he’s said is true. That he’d help her, if he could.
“You know,” he says after a while, and she can hear the effort to return to a lighter tone, “I’ve been to a party like this before.” She glances at him as he leans back on his palms. “When Zryan came of age, there was a ball, just like this one. We didn’t have to wear masks, and the theme was Arach and fire, but it was the same sort of vibe.” He offers her a small smile. “You would have loved it.”
She wonders what she would have been doing at that time. Learning a new act, exploring whichever town she was in with Cam, juggling daggers for entertainment.
“What was it like?” she asks.
“It was pretty good.” She gives him a look to let him know that is not an answer, and he laughs. She likes the sound of his laugh, she realizes, even as she tells herself not to. “There were these epic flame throwers—not even Blooded, just talented with fire. There was a challenge to stand on hot coals for as long as possible—of course Zryanwon that one.” He pauses, and his voice changes. “My mother was there. She was supposed to be guarding Zryan, keeping him in check. And because I was with him, that meant me, too.” His lips curve into a smile that makes his face look different. Younger. “But it was like she knew just how restless that was making Zryan. This was before he had his stint in the army, before he—either of us—had really been allowed out of the castle.” Before the assassin killed his mother, Skylar thinks silently. “Anyway, she let us sneak away, drink way too much. I was sick later. Zryan pissed himself laughing about it—and Mum didn’t even comment.”
“What was her name?” Skylar asks after a beat.
He pauses. Then, said like he hasn’t said it in a long time, he murmurs, “Maya.”
“Maya,” Skylar repeats. She wonders what she was like, Axel’s mother. A bodyguard. A Precog. A woman who let two teenage boys sneak away, because she knew they needed to have some fun.
“What was your mother’s name?” he asks.
She doesn’t ever say it. She’s taught herself to avoid thinking of it, because that way, she can avoid thinking of what happened. But she finds herself saying it now, offering it in return. “Orinithia.”
“An unusual name.”
