“I will speak to him.”
Eissa grabs my wrist. “I understand it is love.”
“Love?” The way he says it—the human word—is foreign to my tongue. “I do not understand.”
“Yes, you do. The Vyastil have been running from love for eons. They see it as a weakness. A tender place to strike. But we are not meant for that. You hear him, yes?” He taps my temple, and I flinch back.
“How—”
“Because I heard mine. His heart, his mind, his tongue. I loved him, Rathyn, and I was not brave enough to save him.”
I swallow heavily. “He will not go quietly.”
Eissa laughs softly and shakes his head as he releases me. “No. I suppose not. But I cannot guarantee that Prince Jyrion will leave him alone if you keep him.”
“And can you guarantee he won’t try to take him if I don’t?”
Eissa’s ears flicker. “I cannot.”
So, the choice is not so simple. I must keep Everest away from the prince. And in this moment, the only way I can think is to cut him free and send him far away.
But why does it feel as if I’m cutting off a part of myself as I consider it?
I do not know.
Perhaps it is love after all.
thirty
EVEREST
It feels like a hundred years have passed, though it’s only mid-afternoon. I’ve been pacing the floor between the living room and our bedrooms, jumping out of my skin every time I hear a noise outside the front door.
But each time, it’s nothing.
I’m hallucinating.
This is a fucking problem.
God, if they decide to execute him or something, will they even tell me? Or will I just rot here in this apartment until they try to move a new Vyastil in?
The thought of another living in my space—sleeping in our bed—makes me want to scream.
“Fuck, I can’t do this. I need to get out of here,” I say. I’m two steps toward the door when suddenly the knob turns. My heart is in my throat, and I stumble back, grabbing the lamp in case it’s a Vyastil coming to take me away.
The door finally opens, and my heart drops to my ass when Rathyn shuffles in. He looks the same as before, though maybe more exhausted. His arms are limp at his sides, ears not perked up, and I see he’s still wearing the tracker.
Fuck. That is not a good sign.
“What happened?” I rasp.
He looks up at me, and when I move to lunge at him, he shakes his head.
“Why? Is someone watching here?”
“No,” he says. “They are not.”
Well, then fuck that. I ignore him and throw myself into his arms, and he catches me easily, lifting me and not shying away from the kiss I give him. But it’s different this time.
