“Oh, she loves me more than anything. And Zeb. You know what mothers are like with their sons.”
No, but she knows what fathers are like with their daughters. Or knew, anyway. Another reason not to forget why this man next to her is the enemy. She tightens her grip on the vial.
“And what about her mate?” Astrid asks.
His voice is deadpan as he answers, “He’s tied for second with the tapestry.”
She huffs a surprised laugh. “So you do have a sense of humor. After you fled earlier, I thought your fragile little ego couldn’t take a joke.”
“There’s nothing little about me, Princess.”
Stars, what a typically male thing to say. “No, just whatever it is that rattles around in that skull of yours.”
She thinks she hears him laugh, but when she glances at him, his face is carefully blank.
“I apologize,” he says after a moment. “I shouldn’t have been quite that… abrupt.” Astrid is so stunned she thinks her tongue might fall out of her mouth. “The lizard skin—it was starting to chafe.”
“Well,” she says, “I have a cream for that.”
“I may need to borrow it.” His mouth quirks fractionally, as if a fish hook is tugging at his upper lip.
It’s stupid, the effect it has on her, the way something seems to flutter and settle in her belly like snow falling from a branch. She stoppers her vial and slips it back in the belt. He follows her every movement before his gaze rests on her face once more, looking at her like he’s trying to see inside her, see how she works. It makes her uneasy. She doesn’t know what he’s playing at, apologizing to her, joking with her,smilingat her.
She looks away first. “What’s so special about it, then?” She points to the tapestry. “I can’t make out the plaque properly. What does it say?”
“I’m a man of many talents, fluency in Old Vatran being just one of them.”
Not particularly impressive, given Old Vatran isn’t that different from the modern language. “Oh, really? You can speak a dead language but not Arturean?”
“Who said I can’t speak the language of the witches?” Zryan’s Arturean is perfect, and Astrid’s eyebrows fly up. Okay, that is impressive. For a Vatran. “It says what you already know, that this is an artist’s impression of the Battle of Sarkan during the Heart Wars between the witch king and The Dawn.” The Dawn—another of Aeloria’s nicknames. “My mother had me learning all sorts when I was growing up,” he says by way of explanation. “Interpreting art and tapestries, reading old texts, studying ‘dead languages,’ as you so elegantly put it.”
She hadn’t expected this about him. She looks him over. It’s all the leather, she decides. It doesn’t exactly scream “studious.”
He shakes his head and looks back at the tapestry. “They have a lot to answer for, don’t they?”
“Better the duel than a war. Better one person than millions.” The words come out more bitterly than she intended. She might only have to kill one person to save millions, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Not when his family might be planning to go to war anyway.
“Are you that naive?” There’s a note of pity in his voice that riles Astrid. “This has never been about saving lives.”
“No, I guess not. Not for you anyway.”
“Don’t presume to know me.” His tone is harsher now. “I will do whatever needs to be done to protect my people.”
“What, like feed them to your monstrous pets? Remind me never to ask for your protection.”
His eyes flash. “He was dangerous. A rebel.”
“He said you took his daughter.”
“He means the conscription,” he says tightly. “His daughter will be at one of the bases. Safe.”
“Ah yes, the conscription. For that army of Blooded you’re building.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. He barely reacts, tilting his head as he regards her.
“Things in Vatra are currently a little volatile. And what about your army? Or did you think we weren’t aware the witches were having their own recruitment drive?”
“Things in Arturea are currently a littleinhospitable.” Another reason, if she needed one, that he is her enemy. The Blight. “Our Ulvene are helping our citizens to survive. And we’re not forcibly taking people and separating them from their families, stopping them from seeing their loved ones again.”
His mouth forms a line as they look at each other, Astrid’s pulse skittering all over the place.
